30. Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Dallas
T he amount of adrenaline running through my veins is surreal. Sam’s head hangs as he’s placed in cuffs, and I think this might be one of my favorite sights. He’s going away. Maybe not for as long as I’d hoped, but it’s something. And that’s better than a not-guilty verdict. To my surprise, Sam doesn’t say anything. He has to have known this would happen. Maybe he thought it would be worse and is afraid it’ll get worse for him if he opens his mouth. Good. Keep him scared. He deserves it.
Abby slowly sits back down in her chair, and I step over the partition to get to her, not wanting to let go of her hand. I kneel next to her and take her other hand, too. Her eyes are distant even though I’m right in front of her. My mom sits back down in her chair and faces Abby.
“This is good. We’ll petition for a new protective order and make sure it’s good for as long as possible. And if we need to renew it every year, we will. I’ll help you through it, okay?”
Abby nods but doesn’t look up. Tears stream down her face, but I can’t tell what emotions sit behind those eyes. She’s not sobbing or breathing heavily. She’s just crying a steady stream, staring at some dissociated spot in her head. As people slowly trickle out of the room, no one speaks until it’s only the three of us left in here.
“How are we doing?” my mom asks, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Abby’s head slowly shakes from side to side, and she shrugs at the same time. “I don’t know. I feel like …” but she trails off.
“It’s a lot, I know. I don’t expect you to know what to feel right now. Just know we got what we needed out of this. You did an amazing job. Truly.”
The corner of Abby’s mouth ticks up before it drops again, and she takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” she says, looking at my mom. “For everything.”
“Of course, dear.” My mom smiles and starts gathering her things. “I hate to force you out of here, but they’ve got more cases today, so we do need to leave.”
“Right. Sorry.” Abby gathers her bag and shoves the notebook back inside as she stands. We follow my mom down the middle of the gallery and back out the double doors. The hallway is full of people mingling and wandering back and forth between different rooms and the elevator.
Behind them all, huddled next to a bench, is our group of people. Logan, Rose, and Meredith stand talking quietly in their own small circle while, a few feet away, Cameron, Will, and Leslie stand next to each other, each group having their own mumbled discussion. When we approach, all conversation stops. Meredith immediately runs to Abby and hugs her. They stand there, braced together for at least a full minute before either of them pulls away.
Meredith smiles as she cups Abby’s face between her hands. “I’m proud of you. I hope you’re proud of yourself, too.” She gives her another short hug before releasing her.
Abby smiles back, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I am actually.”
I think it may take a bit for her to get back to her happy, sassy self that I’ve come to know and love, but this is good progress.
Everyone else offers hugs and some kind words before settling to the side. The only one who hasn’t moved from her spot is Abby’s mom. They make eye contact, and as much as it would have been a lovely sight to see the two of them run to each other for a hug, that’s not what happens.
Leslie stands and takes a step closer. She holds out a hand. Abby takes it a little hesitantly. They both stand there in silence for a moment, suspended in what almost seems like an unspoken conversation.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Leslie finally says, taking one more step closer until they no longer have to reach to touch.
Abby remains quiet, but I can see her throat bob as her eyes fill with tears and she lets them spill down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I was focused on the wrong things. I didn’t know what to say, and I think I panicked a little. I went back to my old, well, normal ways I suppose, and was ready to scold you for not being honest with me from the beginning. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have offered my support at the first sign of distress.”
Still, Abby stays quiet as those silent yet extremely loud tears slip past her chin, falling to the floor.
“I know it’s going to take some time, but I hope you can forgive me. Eventually. Not right now. I know I messed up. But I want you to know that I love you, and I’m here, and I won’t leave again.”
There’s another pause, and then Abby closes the distance and hugs her. It looks a little awkward, but I’m glad she’s coming to some sort of acceptance.
The days following are calm, and for the first time, I think Abby has almost completely let go of her fear. I don’t think it will ever fully go away, but she’s giggling at stupid jokes and sassing back to Logan and me more than usual. She still holds me at night like she’s going to lose me. I think that will take some time to settle, but I also don’t mind it. I just don’t want her to feel like I’m going anywhere, because I’m certainly not. No way in hell.
The next weekend, Abby doesn’t stir when my alarm goes off. I slip out from under the arm she has draped across my chest and head to start the coffee pot. It’s been over a week of almost normal life. No legal stuff. No watching around every corner we turn. Just our weekly work.
After quietly getting myself dressed and then pulling some clothes out for Abby to dress in, I kneel next to the bed and rub her shoulder. I whisper her name, and she turns over but doesn’t wake up. I push a strand of hair behind her ear and try again.
She groans but doesn’t open her eyes. “What time is it?”
I chuckle, knowing she’s never been a morning person. “Five. I want to go somewhere.”
She strains one eye open and glares at me. “At five in the morning? Are you nuts?”
I nod even though she probably can’t see me. “Most of the time, yes. Come on.”
She groans again but does as I ask. I pass her the clothes I pulled out, a simple T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts. She looks at them and then back up at me. “Don’t tell me we’re going to work out.”
“No, I wouldn’t do that to you at five in the morning.”
“Yes, you would,” she says as she pulls on the shorts.
A wide smile takes over my lips. “Okay, I might, but not today.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” She eyes me curiously when I open the bedroom door, and we head out to the kitchen once she’s dressed. She squints into the kitchen when I flip the lights on.
“You’re only redeeming quality this morning is the fact that you made me coffee,” she says, taking the tumbler I pass to her.
I shrug. “Could be worse.”
She rolls her eyes and slips on her shoes, following me down to the car.
When we pull into the gravel parking lot of the park, she smiles over at me. The sun isn’t up yet, but the light has just started to trickle through the trees. We don’t speak as we make our way down the unkept path like we have so many times this summer.
I never imagined sharing this place with anyone. I only gave Logan the coordinates in case he ever needed to find me, but the only time he’s been here was to help me find Abby the day Sam came back from his work trip.
Neither of us has been back here since the night of the awards ceremony. As we turn the corner off the path into the clearing, the first thing I notice is the tree that usually stands tall above the bench providing some peaceful shade is now split down the middle in two pieces.
“Oh my gosh,” Abby gasps, holding a hand to her mouth.
From what I can make out, one half still stands up straight, but the other is hanging out over the pond, some of the leaves dipping past the water. It’s still attached to the base, barely hanging on. It’ll snap and fall in eventually. The metal bench is tipped over on its back. Somehow, out of everything, the shack tucked at the side of the line of trees still stands. The roof caved in a while ago, but there’s no further damage to it other than some small, downed branches scattering the ground around it.
“I bet the storm a couple of weeks ago took it down. That’s crazy. That tree is huge.”
“Do you think someone will come take care of it?” She looks up at the divide of the tree, skimming her eyes over all the splinters poking out at sharp jagged angles.
“Back here? Probably not. It’ll end up staying like that until it dies.”
She lets out a hum while I tip the bench back up and make sure it’s sturdy enough to sit on before we both take a seat and sip our coffee.
Neither of us talk while we watch the sunrise. Abby cuddles into my side and leans her head on my shoulder. It’s a warm morning, but I’m still thankful for the contact. It doesn’t take long until we see a sliver of the sun peeking its head over the silhouette of the trees on the other side of the pond. The orange, pink, and purple hues create a gorgeous ombre over the sky, coloring the clouds like watercolors. The reflection of the trees in the pond looks almost surreal with how still it is. It’s like glass, like a mirror, painting the same picture between the divide of the horizon.
A flock of birds flies past the growing sun, chirping to each other about where they should go next. A chipmunk skitters across the fallen tree, perching on the split log momentarily before darting behind it into the pile of fallen branches. A single mourning dove coos somewhere across the pond, and it echoes over the great expanse of water.
Serenity. Peace. Maybe even a little hope.
We watch until the sun is fully visible, the ball of yellow flames coating everything in an orange hue.
Abby tips her head up and looks at me. “Thank you for bringing me out here. Even if you did wake me up before the ass crack of dawn.”
I grin. “Hey, you’re the one who suggested the first time I brought you here that we should see a sunrise together.” I chuckle when she pokes me in the side. “You’re welcome. I figured it was good timing after … everything.”
She smiles and hums as she leans her head back on my shoulder.
“Maybe this is bad timing, but have you talked to your dad since karaoke?”
I let out a short laugh. “No. It’s going to take a while before he and I are on talking terms again. That’s something I’m implementing. Not him. I just need some time to sort through my own feelings on the matter. Eventually, yes, I would like to reach a point where he and I can at least be in the same room where I don’t feel that ache in my gut at just the sight of him. I’m hopeful we’ll get there. But not today.”
“I think that’s fair. Do it on your own terms. Don’t force it.”
I know Abby won’t be pushy on the whole parent-relationship thing, not after everything with her mom. I can sense she wants to say more, but she never does. She keeps her head on my shoulder, our breathing turning into one smooth motion.
It isn’t long before she sits up and digs through her purse for something. I watch her curiously before she pulls something metal out of the bottom. She holds it up for me to see but doesn’t say anything as she gets up and moves to the edge of the water. It takes me a second to realize what she has in her hand. Her old apartment key. I watch from my spot on the bench, resting an arm over the back.
She looks back at me and says, “It’s metaphorical.” And then she winds up and chucks the key far into the pond. It lands in the water with an almost silent plunk, sinking to the bottom of the pond never to be seen again, sending a ripple out in every direction. She holds her arms out wide like she’s flying, like she feels free.
Even for me, that small action warms my heart, knowing she’s committed to being done with everything related to him. I hadn’t realized she still had that key. I thought she got rid of it after wandering into her old apartment a while back. I can only imagine how good that feels to her.
She walks back to me and takes a seat, leaning forward, her elbows braced on her knees.
“Feel better?” I don’t move toward her.
She tilts her head slightly but doesn’t look at me. “Maybe?”
I’m not sure if I expected her to continue, but she doesn’t, so I rest a hand on her back and ask, “How so?” hoping letting her talk through it will help her feel a little better.
She shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, that felt really good, but I think I thought it would be a little more cathartic than it was. It’s like a dopamine hit that doesn’t last as long as you want it to.”
“Makes sense. As much as I’m sure we both want it to, throwing a key into a pond isn’t going to magically fix everything.”
She leans back. “If only.”
“If only,” I repeat.
If only.
“Would you ever let me read your short story? Is that something you’d share with me?” I ask more for selfish reasons, but also because I want to support her even after the fact.
She pulls a knee up on the bench and rests her chin on it but doesn’t look at me. “It’s about you, you know.”
The corner of my mouth ticks up as I think about the passages I’ve heard her read aloud.
“Not the whole thing,” she continues. “But parts of it. Like I said in court, it’s my life’s journey so far. The past, present, and future.” She looks out over the pond. “I got writer’s block shortly before I met you. I couldn’t figure out why I was having such a hard time coming up with the rest of the story. But then you walked into my life, and suddenly, the words were all there, just waiting for me to write them, to put them on paper, to share them with someone, anyone willing. And I realized why I couldn’t finish the story while I was with Sam.” She turns to face me with a smile. “Do you remember the spot about the hand reaching out for me?”
I nod, remembering her reading that section at the LAO awards ceremony.
“That’s your hand. That’s you reaching for me, Dallas. I couldn’t finish the story because I didn’t know what it really felt like to be free from him, to be in a healthy relationship. You showed me that.” She takes a deep breath. “So, to answer your question, yes. You are more than welcome to read it.”
“Thank you,” I smile and press a kiss to her lips.
It’s another few minutes of sitting together on the bench before either of us says anything. The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “What do you want, Abby?”
She looks at me curiously before turning her attention to the water. There isn’t a right or wrong answer. No particular direction I was taking it. She can make it mean whatever she wants it to mean. She doesn’t look at me when she answers.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before.” She pauses, fixes her ponytail, and settles her hands in her lap. “I want to feel like I have a place in this world like everyone else does.” She pauses again. “Sam told me something once. It stuck with me. More than anything else he’s ever said to me.”
I furrow my brows, waiting for her to continue.
“He said I exist because he lets me. I don’t want to feel like I’m only here because he’s allowed it. I want to feel like my own person, like people want me here, like people want me to exist. And I’m realizing now that I want to exist, too. For you, but even more so for myself. I want to love and be loved.” She pauses and turns toward me. “I want you, Dallas. Not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, spiritually, all of it. And I want …” She pauses to take a deep breath, and she averts her eyes to the grass. “I want you to know that I love you.”
I take a deep breath to process what she’s said at the same time that my heart seems to sew itself to hers. Her first words make my heart hurt. But the rest of them … I’m so fucking happy. It’s music to my ears.
“Abby,” I say, pulling her chin toward me. She looks up at me with those eyes that make me melt every single time. I press my lips to hers, lingering until I hope she feels the weight of what that kiss means to me—what she means to me. “I love you more than you can ever comprehend.” She smiles as her eyes soften and her shoulders sag, but it’s not a sad movement. It’s relief. “There is no shame in how you exist. You simply exist in this space the way you do. And I love the way you exist.”