19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Abby
S omeone knocks on the front door, and Logan, Dallas, and I all send each other confused glances. Logan hops up to answer it and when he opens the door, a police officer stands on the other side with a yellow manilla folder in hand.
“Good afternoon, sir. May I speak with Abigail Cooper?” He smiles lightly, peeking around the room from where he stands. His eyes land on me, and he waits patiently for me to get up.
I eye Dallas curiously before standing, my blood suddenly running cold. Cops don’t show up at people's doors for no reason. Dallas shrugs but sits up a little straighter. When I approach the officer, Logan hovers close behind.
The officer speaks again before I do. “Abigail Cooper?” I nod, and he continues. “I’m a deputy sheriff with the Oxly Police Department. I am here to serve you with this. If you have any questions, there is a number you can call at the top of the front page. Have a wonderful day.” And then he leaves. No explanation as to what he’s just given me. He just leaves.
I blink, too stunned at the situation to say anything or question what just happened. Logan closes the door when I step back. The front of the folder is labeled in black Sharpie with my last name, then my first name. I turn it over to pry up the two metal prongs to open the top flap. Inside is a small stack of legal papers. The top one displays the court case between Sam and me. My brows twist together, and I hear Dallas rise from the couch. Both boys stand behind me on either side, reading over my shoulder.
Below the case name, in bold, all-caps typesetting, it reads, “Subpoena to testify in a hearing or trial in a criminal case.” I keep reading even though my heart is racing. I don't need to be a lawyer to know what that word means. The beginning of the next line is also in all caps, making it read even scarier: “You are commanded to appear in the district court …”
I stop reading, almost dropping the papers as my hands start to shake, but someone catches them just before they slip from my grasp. My eyes stare straight ahead at some distant spot out the window. My mind is so far from where I stand that I can’t drag it back.
The walls aren’t moving, but they feel like they’re closing in. The ceiling is intact, but it feels like it’s falling. The window looks like it’s slowly slipping away, and no matter how hard I try to draw it back, it keeps fleeing from me.
A muffled voice breaks through, but I can’t tell if it’s Logan's or Dallas’s. Dallas moves around to stand in front of me, breaking my stare out the window, a hand on either arm, squatting down just enough so our heads are level.
“Abby,” the voice says again. Dallas. It’s his lips moving. “Please, sit down.”
He pulls my arms forward until I’m in front of the couch and he guides me down. He kneels in front of me, his hands resting just above my knees. He’s watching me carefully, but I can’t meet his eyes, so I stare at the emblem on his shirt instead. Logan stands to my left. They both seem to be waiting. For what, I’m not sure. But I’m waiting, too. For the panic attack to set in. For the frantic breathing. For the tears. For the shaking and that knot in my body that I know so well.
But it doesn’t come.
I’m numb.
Immobile.
Completely consumed.
“I’m just gonna…” Logan says, words tapering off before Dallas nods, and I hear Logan’s bedroom door shut.
Dallas shifts in front of me and positions his phone to his ear. “Mom?” He listens a moment and then says, “Yeah. We … we got that.” He sighs, rubbing his brows. “Nope. That’s my fault. I should have called you back, but I forgot.” Another pause. “Yeah, one sec.” He places the phone on the couch next to me and says, “Okay, you're on speaker.”
Trisha speaks calmly. “Abby? Honey, I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to warn you before they served the paperwork.” She pauses like she’s waiting for me to say something.
I can’t. Nothing forms in my head. It’s a void right now, a black hole. Maybe, if I’m lucky, it’ll suck me in, too.
Someone takes a deep breath. I’m not sure who.
It’s Trisha who speaks again. “We’ll need to meet and discuss what this means for the case. I won’t say too much over the phone. It’ll be easier to talk in person. But please take some time today to relax. Put this aside for a while. Do something fun tonight. Lean on Dallas. You’ll be okay. I know it may not feel like it right now, but I promise you, we’ll get you through this.”
Right. Through it. Not over it, around it, under it. Directly through the middle. I don’t have that choice anymore. That was taken from me. Ripped from my fingers, from my heart, from what should be my freedom, but here he is. Still in control.
One question pops into my mind through the void. The only one I care to know.
“Who ordered it?” I ask with a surprising bite to my words.
Trisha sighs on the other end of the phone. “Sam’s attorney. I’m sorry, Abby. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“So, Sam asked for it more than likely,” I say flatly. “Just to fuck with me.”
“I have no way of knowing, I can only see who ordered it, not who initially asked for it.” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. She sounds almost as defeated as I feel.
That’s all I needed to know. Dallas and Trisha talk for a little longer before they hang up. I stopped listening after getting my answer. Dallas reads through the papers again. I’m not sure why or what he’s looking for, but it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. And now, yet again, Sam left me to pick up the pieces he’s shattered while I walk through them barefoot.
As the numbness slowly dissipates, though not all the way, it’s anger that replaces it. Not panic like I was prepared for.
When he sets the papers down again, he places a tentative hand on my knee as he rises to sit on the ottoman behind him. “I know we planned on going out for dinner tonight. Did you still want to go?”
I shake my head. Going out is the last thing I want to do tonight. There’s no way I’m in any shape to keep my terrible poker face in check. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, hell, clearer than that even. All the other innocent customers don't need the halo of rage I'll bring with me to disrupt their nice evenings. “Can we go tomorrow instead?” I finally look up and see just how much concern laces Dallas’s features.
“I work tomorrow night, and I’m training the new guy, so I can’t call in.”
“It’s fine. Forget it.” I shake my head and push up from the couch, but Dallas grabs my arm and pulls me back down.
“No, I’m not going to forget it. You wanted to go to your favorite restaurant. We’re not skipping that. Two days from now, we can go. How does that sound?”
I take a deep breath, trying to rid the anger from my voice before I speak. It’s not Dallas I’m mad at. He doesn’t deserve to get the brunt of it. “Okay. Two days. I’m holding you to that.”
He smiles, trying to break the tension. “I would expect nothing less.” He pulls me into a hug that I didn’t know I needed.
It’s everything right now. The warmth, the security, the unwavering protection. Somehow, the numbness fades to almost nothing. The anger is doused to barely a simmer. I pull my focus back to where I sit on the couch, back to the arms wrapped around me, drawing his scent in through my nose, letting it out in a long sigh from my mouth.
“Better?” Dallas asks, his chin resting on top of my head. I squeeze him tight one more time before letting go and nodding.
It’s time to forget about everything for a while, to do what Trisha suggested, and find something else to distract me for the night. I feel like I’m doing a lot of that lately, distracting myself rather than processing it. But it’s working for now. And there are already too many changing variables in my life to add another one.
“Good. What would you like for dinner? I’m sure we can whip something up in that almost empty kitchen.”
No one has been grocery shopping in almost two weeks, and it’s growing apparent by the trash can that's filled with takeout boxes. Dallas heads to the fridge. I head to the pantry. He turns around and pulls out some chicken from the back of the freezer. I turn around with a bag of rice.
He smiles. “I think we can figure out a meal with this.” He turns around again and searches the refrigerator. He sets half of a stalk of broccoli on the counter and grabs a block of cheese. “There. Even better.”
“Okay. But I want to bread the chicken. It’s so much better that way.”
“Deal.” He tosses the chicken into some warm water in the sink to thaw and then grabs a cutting board to start chopping up the broccoli.
Logan returns from his room with his phone in hand and he shoves his wallet in his pocket. “You two good? I’m headed to a uh … friend’s house for the night.”
“Yeah, we’re good. Have a good night.” Dallas fakes a salute to him, and he heads out the door.
We both look at each other and burst out laughing.
Once I catch my breath, I say, “A friend? That’s code for ‘I got a booty call and need to leave ASAP before she changes her mind.’”
Dallas catches his breath and agrees. “He’s never been sneaky about it. He’s far too easy to read. He might as well come right out and say it. It would be way less awkward, for him and everyone else.”
I shake my head and get back to the task at hand.
The flour is on the second shelf in the pantry, and I’m shocked when I find half a container of breadcrumbs next to it. I start the rice before finding a few larger bowls to make a three-step system of flour, egg, and breadcrumbs and start heating a pan of oil to fry the chicken in. Dallas finishes chopping the broccoli and starts shredding the cheese.
I don’t know how, but Dallas and I haven’t ever cooked together like this. Out of the three of us, it’s always only been one person who’s made the meal. It’s easy with him. We flow together at a rather effortless pace. And I find it adorable. The way he sneaks glances at me out of the corner of his eye when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s a small kitchen, so when he moves past me, a hand on the small of my back lets me know he’s there. He presses a kiss to my cheek when he passes, too.
All of it makes me blush. I’m not sure why. It’s not like this is new territory for us, but all the small gestures make my heart leap and flutter like the excitement of a teenage crush. I can’t keep myself from smiling. Neither can Dallas.
The now-coated chicken gets set into the heated oil. The sizzling makes me jump backward and I topple the bowl of flour. It hits my back and goes flying across the kitchen, coating almost every surface in the white powder. All I can do is stand there in shock, mouth hanging open while Dallas almost keels over from laughter, gripping his ribs like they’re going to fall out.
The mostly empty bowl of flour sits tipped on its side at the edge of the counter when I carefully turn around. Dallas is still laughing the hardest I’ve seen him laugh. Of course, most of the flour missed him so his black shirt is mostly spotless. Can’t have that now, can we? So, I scoop up some leftover flour and fling it at him, leaving a bright white streak of powder across his chest.
“Oh, is that what we’re doing now?” He says, finding a pile of flour next to him and carefully pushing it off the counter into his hand. He holds it up, ready to strike with a wide grin. “You really want to have a food fight?”
I shrug, fully aware of what I’m starting. And then he throws his fist full of flour at me, coating my face and dusting it into my black hair, now making it look gray.
I can’t help but laugh at what I started. I don’t remember the last time I had a food fight, if ever.
I reach for the broccoli scraps behind me and chuck them at him as he reaches for the rest of the breadcrumbs in the other bowl. A piece of broccoli sticks in his hair, and one slips through the collar of his shirt, making him jump. Another piece lands in the oil, making it spit and sputter. The breadcrumbs stick in my hair before piling on the kitchen floor. Oil spray from the pan hits the backsplash, the rest of the stove, and the counter.
He grabs for the kitchen towel that hangs on the oven handle and swings it in the air in surrender. “Okay, white flag! You win! You win!”
I laugh and bow, some of the breadcrumbs in my hair joining the rest on the messy floor. He grabs the tongs and pulls the piece of broccoli out of the pan before lifting the fried chicken pieces out and setting them on a plate with a paper towel. I head to the hall closet to find the broom.
By the time we've wiped the counters and cabinets off and have the floor swept clean, the rice is almost done, and Dallas starts combining everything into a large pan to mix it together like a casserole.
I take a seat on the barstool to watch him finish making dinner, sipping on my glass of water. “I need a shower,” I say when he hands me a full plate of food.
He laughs and tries brushing some more of the white streaks off his shirt but to no avail. It doesn’t move or fade. “Me, too.”
We eat mostly in silence, but Dallas can’t help but poke fun at me. He points with his fork to a spot on one of the cabinets that’s still coated in white. “You missed a spot.” I roll my eyes and shove his shoulder. He laughs through a mouth full of food. “Hey, you started it.”
“I have no regrets.”
“I’m going to be scrubbing flour out of my hair for weeks.”
I purse my lips. “Sounds like a you problem.”
“Could be a you problem.” He shoves a final bite of food in his mouth, gets up to set his plate in the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes, and disappears down the hall before I can see the sly grin he’s no doubt wearing with pride.
I can practically see his thoughts when he grabs two towels from the hall closet and disappears through the bathroom door. I frantically shovel the rest of my food in my mouth and stick my plate in the sink on top of his. I peek my head into the bathroom as he’s hanging the first towel over the rail next to the shower. He knew I’d follow. I move the rest of the way into the room, and he hangs the second one before turning around, hands resting on my hips.
I smile up at him, my hands already finding the bottom hem of his shirt. “This shower is not nearly big enough for two people.” I lift his shirt, and he slides it the rest of the way off. I’ll never get used to seeing his bare chest, or his naked form. He’s too gorgeous for his own good.
He looks at the shower, the water already on, and says, “Well, then I guess we’ll just have to get really close to each other.”
“I suppose that’s not such a bad thing.”
He pulls my shirt over my head, more breadcrumbs falling to the floor, and I step out of the rest of my clothes while Dallas does the same. He hops in and offers me a hand to follow.
The water is the perfect temperature, and this shower is small enough that Dallas’s legs still get sprayed by the water while I stand in it. His eyes rove over me while I tip my head back to wet my hair. I bite my lip mostly to see how fast I can turn him on, but the excitement between his legs is already growing apparent.
He takes a step closer, but I stop him with a hand that meets a chest of stone. “Can I get the flour and breadcrumbs out of my hair first?” I laugh as he groans.
He takes a step back but takes my hand from his chest and kisses the top of it. “Give me your shampoo.”
I pass him the bottle and he adds some to his hand before working it into my hair. He does the same with the conditioner. He’s surprisingly good at head massages, too. We take turns while the soap erases the food fight from earlier, but creates a new impatient fervor.
While I’m rinsing the conditioner from my hair with my head tilted backward into the stream of water, he steps closer, mouth hovering a mere inch from my ear. His voice is low when he speaks. “I’m done waiting, sweetheart.”
And then he kisses me with so much hunger that it’s impossible to resist.
I’ve never been a fan of pet names, especially after Sam, but the way he said that turns me into a puddle so deep that I don't have any desire to climb out of it. I'll gladly drown in it if it means I get to have Dallas like this as often as I want.
He grabs my waist, pulls us chest to chest, and spins me to pin my back against the cold tile of the shower. I yelp at the sudden temperature change. It only makes Dallas chuckle before his lips are on mine again, kissing me fast and hard as if he's never going to get the chance again. His hands roam my body with a tender yet eager longing.
A moan rumbles from his chest when I wrap a leg around him, pressing the length of his cock against my stomach. He hoists me up until our hips are level. I lock my feet behind him at the small of his back, my arms wrapped around his neck, and continue exploring his mouth like it’s the first time we’ve kissed.
He moves his lips to my neck, sucking and nipping, setting my skin on fire, the water cascading over us like a waterfall quelling any remaining sting. I moan from the sensation, and even without seeing his face, I can feel his lips curl into a smile. He drags his tongue up the center of my neck, kisses my chin, and looks me in the eyes. There’s a desire in them, a lust for me, craving me, yearning to be buried inside me.
“Hold on,” he says with a sly grin.
I smile back at him, already breathless, entwining my fingers into his hair as if that’ll give me any more stability for what’s coming.
He adjusts until he’s positioned himself to slowly slide inside me. It’s a welcoming pressure, one I’ve felt many times before, but still, my breath draws in sharp until he settles, our hips pressed so close that I’ve taken every inch of him. He grunts at the sensation, too, and when we’ve both gathered ourselves, he braces a hand against the wall and starts thrusting with slow, calculated movements.
Our moans mix, the steam in the bathroom growing heavier with each breath. His grip on my thigh tightens as his thrusts quicken. Each unyielding press in and slow drag out invigorates every nerve in my body until I’m on cloud nine, feeling like my body is floating through this space with him.
He leans his forehead against mine as our breaths mix in what little space remains between us. My grip in his hair tightens, tugging his head backward, giving me access to kiss a trail down the line of his jaw, the stubble of having not shaved for a couple days rough against my already swollen lips.
I pull myself back to his eyes just as I feel my core tightening and rake a hand across his back. I feel his cock pulse inside me as he comes and I let go of my resolve only seconds later, my mouth falling open, barely breathing from the pleasure.
He moves slowly as we ride out the remaining satisfaction and catch out breaths. When he pulls out and lets me down, my legs are like Jello, wobbly even though I barely did anything.
He chuckles, amused by my shaky stance. Both of his flexed arms are braced on either side of my head, still not letting me move from where I’m barely standing. He kisses me one more time, much softer than our entire previous encounter. I’m certain that’s what’ll make me melt, but then he kisses my forehead with the same soft passion before pulling away.
All I can do is smile while I continue to catch my breath. Still pulling myself back to the present. Still reeling from his lips and hands scouring my body, the ghost of them still lingering on my skin.
Once we both finish in the shower, cleaning up for a different reason this time, he wraps a towel around me. “You know, I think I could get used to Logan disappearing for a night here and there.” He smirks after his comment and leaves me in the bathroom to get dressed.
So could I.