Chapter 56
Chapter Fifty-Six
ABBI
“Abbi, where are you going?” Danielle tugs at my hand, and I nearly lose my balance for a second.
“I need a drink!” I laugh, stumbling away from her and the others who are on the light-up dance floor the guys organised for the reception after the wedding. I thought it was terrific when I first saw it. However, I’ve changed my mind. Now I’ve had several very large drinks, and the lights are a little too bright and seem to be moving faster.
Sitting in my chair, I look at the table to find a drink, but they are all empty. The bar is only on the other side of the tent, but I have a funny feeling if I walk over there right now, a certain arsehole may see how drunk I am and start butting his nose in where it’s not wanted; again.
Pulling my phone out of my bag, I search the screen, hoping for a message from Eddie, but there is still nothing. I haven’t heard from him in four days, and I’m starting to think he’s ghosted me. Things were going so well; I thought he cared. He even told me he loved me when we went to the bar the other night. How can he go from telling me he loves me to cutting all contact?
Opening the messages, I type out a new one.
Abbi: It’s me again. Are you mad because I couldn’t tell you where I was? I can now and will explain everything if you will let me. Please get in touch and let me know what I can do to make it up to you. I miss you.
My finger hovers over the send button, but I can't decide if it sounds too needy. I don’t want to sound desperate, but looking around at everyone now, I can't help feeling lonely, so I send it.
All my friends are so happy, and I hate how jealous I am. Jasmine has four husbands, and Verity has her three fiancés. Danielle may be single, but she loves it, as apparently, the last person she dated turned out to be a cheating bastard; even Chelsea, Dad's old PA, has her three men surrounding her, placing hands on her growing stomach and making a fuss of her daughter; and then there's me. Desperate for someone to actually give a shit for once. However, that doesn’t include the person whose eyes I can feel watching me from across the tent. There again, it’s not like he actually cares; he just likes trying to control me.
Ever since Dad was killed, I’ve felt so lonely. He was my best friend. I spoke to him all the time, and he was there whenever I needed him, but he’s gone and is never coming back. I miss him so much. My eyes start to burn as my heart pounds in my chest. Fuck, I need a drink.
Standing from my chair, I make my way over to the bar, thinking about each step and trying to hide how drunk I am already so no one will have another go at me. I almost manage it, but when I reach the bar, I find Christian leaning against it and watching me. He’s lost his jacket and is now just in his shirt and waistcoat; his sleeves are rolled up to his elbow as he holds a whiskey glass in one hand and leans against the pop-up bar they booked in the other, talking to one of Chelsea's men.
“You okay, Abbi?” he asks, frowning.
“Absolutely,” I smile, forcing myself to stand as tall as possible. “I’m having the best time,” I add, quickly placing a hand on the bar to steady myself.
“I’m glad to hear it. It means a lot to Jasmine that you could be here today with her. She thinks very highly of you and has been worried,” Christian points out. I know she's been worried; she tells me all the time it's getting tiring.
“She has nothing to worry about; I’m absolutely fine.” I can feel how fake the smile I flash him is, and I know he can tell, too.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks as he stands behind the bar.
“Vodka and cranberry juice, please. Make it a double.”
“She will have a bottle of water, nothing else.”
Every muscle in my body tightens. The bartender looks to the arsehole behind me, then to Christian.
“Water,” he agrees, nodding to the prick behind me and turning his attention back to Chelsea’s guy.
“I don’t want water; I want a vodka,” I order through gritted teeth.
“You’re being cut off. It's soft drinks or nothing.” His voice comes from behind me again, causing me to clench my teeth.
“If I want to drink, I will have a drink.” I turn to give him hell, but my heel snags on my dress, and I nearly topple over; his arm around my waist is the only thing stopping me from landing on my arse.
“You have obviously had more than enough, Abigail. You can have water or head home; the decision is yours.”
Stepping to the side and putting some much-needed space between us, I turn and glare at him.
“Stop telling me what to do; you are not my father,” I snap.
“No, I’m not. He would have dragged you out long before you started making a show of yourself.” His voice is quiet but deep as he chastises me.
“Don’t you dare try to tell me what my father would be doing right now. He’s dead because of you.” A few heads turn in our direction, and I know I’m making a scene, but I don’t care.
Alasdair McIntire stares at me, his eyes wide, and I know I’m meant to be scared of him, but I’m not. How everyone, the O’Reillys included, feels the need to suck up to him, I will never know. He’s not the big, scary man everyone makes him out to be.
“Christian, Abigail is going home. Please pass on our congratulations again to the lovely Mrs O’Reilly. Abigail will be in touch soon.”
His eyes don’t leave mine as he takes hold of my arm and pulls me away from the bar.
“I’m not leaving,” I hiss through my teeth, stamping my feet.
“I think it might be for the best, Abbi. Jasmine will call you tomorrow,” I hear Christian say. When I look in his direction, he gives me a sad smile and nods before turning his attention back to the guy beside him. McIntire forcibly guides me towards the entrance to the tent, and I know there’s no point fighting it. I don’t want to cause a scene, not where Jasmine and the others might see at least.
“Aren’t you even going to let me get my things?” I snap, trying to pull my arm from him, but his grip tightens further.
“So you can make an even bigger show of yourself? No. Roman has already gone to collect them.” Roman, his security guard, is just as stuck up as the prick manhandling me. “Now, stop fighting me and get in the car, Abigail. The last thing you want is to cause Jasmine any more worry on her special day. You have done enough of that already.”
“What the hell have I done?” I snap as I stop fighting and let him lead me away from the party. The second we are away from where people can see us, I pull my arm from his grip and storm away towards where I can see his car.
“Miss Young,” his driver smiles as I approach and opens the door.
“Samuel.” Climbing into the back seat, I cross my arms over my chest and look out the window, paying no attention to Alasdair, who sits beside me.
“Here are your things.”
I take my shawl and purse, purposely not making eye contact. The car pulls away from the party, and I watch the house disappear from view. As the vehicle speeds up, I have to place my hand on my stomach as it starts to roll. The last thing I need is to throw up in front of him.
“Here, it will help.” He holds out a bottle of water, but I ignore it. I don’t want anything from him.
“Do you have pen and paper, please, Roman?”
I watch as he opens the glove compartment and hands me a notepad and pen. Thanking him, I write an address and rip it from the pad.
“Can you take me to this address, please?” I reach out to hand the piece of paper to Roman to relay the address to Samuel, but it’s snatched from my hand before he can take it.
“That’s not for you,” I snap, reaching for it, but Alasdair has already read it. I’m furious when he screws it up and places it in his pocket.
“There is no need for you to go there,” he says matter-of-factly. I glare at him and his audacity to tell me what I can do.
“I don’t remember needing your permission to go anywhere. If I want to see my boyfriend, I will.”
“He’s not your boyfriend, and you will not be seeing him again.” I know I should be terrified by how he looks at me, but I refuse to bow to this man.
“Fuck you, arsehole,” I snap, turning in my seat to look at him properly.
“Language, Abigail!” He gets a warning in his voice when I am pushing my luck, and right now, I don’t give a shit.
“Stop treating me like a child. I am twenty-three years old, not three.”
“Then start acting like it!” Alasdair roars, startling me. “If you don’t want me to tell you what to do, then stop fucking things up and act your goddamn age! Because there is only so much I will be willing to do to protect you and clean up your messes.”
“What’s that meant to mean? What exactly are you trying to protect me from?”
“Yourself, Abigail, I have spent the last 2 days cleaning up yet another of your messes, and you don’t even realise it.” He leans forward, closing the gap between us. “Things need to change because you cannot carry on ruining not only your life but other people’s.”
“Whose lives am I supposed to have ruined now?” I yell, throwing my hands up in the air.
“How about young Jasmine? You know, the one who has called you daily, supported you, no matter what she was doing or going through.”
“I would never hurt, Jaz.”
“You ruined her wedding!” he snaps in my face.
“How?” Who the fuck does he think he is? There is no way I have ruined anything for her. I would never do anything that would cause her any type of pain or heartache.
“Who do you think was to blame for the flowers, the dresses, and the hotel? Your boyfriend and his sister were.”
“You’re lying, he would never-”
“Never what? Lie to you? Take you for a fool? Because he did, Abigail. He was only with you because he knew he could get information out of you when you’ve had a few drinks.”
“You're lying.”
“I can assure you I’m not because I tracked him down, and he confessed everything. Your drinking made everything so much easier for him. Apparently, you only need a few drinks inside you, and you become an open book. You told him everything he needed to know to help his sister to destroy your best friend's wedding.”
He continues to stare at me, but I can’t look at him without feeling sick. I want to believe he’s lying to me, but I know deep in my heart that he is telling the truth. He has no need to lie to me, not about this.
Turning my attention back to the window, I think of all the times Eddie and I met up or when he called me. It doesn’t take much persuading for me to drink these days. It’s the only thing that helps with the pain.
“Where is he now?” I ask, already guessing the answer.
“Where he belongs, that’s all you need to know.” His voice is stern and to the point. My jaw clenches as I try to blink back the tears, but they escape anyway.
“Does Jasmine know?”
“She knows who was to blame for the damages, but I believe Christian was holding back on telling her any more than that.” In other words, she probably doesn’t know he's dead. Does she know I was the one giving him the information? I open my mouth to ask but close it quickly as I feel the urge to throw up. I will never be able to face her again.
“Abigail, I want to help-”
“Don’t.” I shake my head, unable to look at him. “Don’t say another word to me.”
The rest of the journey is silent. For the first time since I met him, he does as I say and doesn’t try to talk to me again, giving me time to think.
But thinking doesn’t help. It makes everything a million times worse. It gives me time to realise I am the worst friend in the world.
Since the day of Dad's murder, Jasmine has been by my side. She has held me as I cried, raged and screamed. She has called me at least once a day and messaged me constantly. Every time things became too much, she was the one to make me talk and help me through it, and this is how I repay her: by destroying her wedding day.
The car pulls up outside of my home, and I can't get out quickly enough. The second I’m on my feet, I lean over and throw up. The vomit keeps coming as I sob through the pain. Jasmine was hurt because of me. It was all my fault.
A hand touches my shoulders, and I instantly step away from him, stumbling slightly, thanks to the alcohol.
“Don’t touch me,” I snap, standing back up. When I finally look at him, the hatred I feel towards him intensifies. “I fucking hate you,” I snarl before storming towards the front door.
“I know, and I can live with that, Abigail. However, can you live with the hate you feel towards yourself?”
The door opens as I approach, and my mum stands before me.
“Abigail?” I can see from her face that she wants an explanation, but I’m not giving her one, not tonight.
“I’m going to bed.” I snap at her, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. Storming through the entrance hall, I rush up the stairs and hide out of view as I try to catch my breath.
“I’m sorry Molly, she wouldn’t slow down, and I had to intervene.”
“I understand. Thank you for bringing her home, Alasdair,” Mum sighs, and I know she will be close to tears; she always is these days. “Maybe this will be the one time she realises her actions have consequences and stops drinking so much.”
“I’m afraid it will take more than this,” he replies. “If there is anything I can do to help, you know I will.”
“Thank you. You’ve been such a big help already.”
What help has that bastard been? If he had been helpful, we wouldn’t be in so much pain, and my dad would be alive.
Pushing myself away from the wall I’m leaning against, I head to my room, not wanting to be around the bastard for another moment. As soon as I’m in my room, I head to my wardrobe, where I have a bottle hidden. Pouring myself a strong drink I down it in one go before pouring another.
“If there is anything I can do to help, you know I will.”
Why would we want his help? I want him gone. Even if the others haven’t clicked on to what an evil bastard he is, I have, and I’m going to make sure he stays as far away from my family as he can. Because I’m not going to stop until I’ve made sure he knows what pain feels like and is dragged from that throne he thinks he sits on.
Alisdair McIntire needs to be brought to his knees, and I will be the one to do it.