Chapter Twenty-One
Abbott
It takes me longer than it should have, probably longer than it took Rian, to find my way back to the house. The moment I burst inside, I call out, “Rian?” But I know from the feel of the place, how quiet and empty it feels, that he’s gone.
Rian is letting me go.
Knowing I could turn him in, that I’ve seen Conan and know stories about Cillian and the others. He left me here, in this space, that I know meant so much to him, because it’s where he, Cillian, and Moira spent time—where he came after Moira died.
I could have the cops out here, could invade this place he loved, the place he brought me, and it would be the first step in ruining him, in ruining his whole family. Yet he let me go.
“Rian?” I call out again, just needing to say his name, I think.
I don’t smell him in here, don’t feel him.
The cabin is colder than it was before. I make my way through each room, stopping when I get close to the table where he first handcuffed me.
There’s a burner phone on it, along with my wallet, house key, and a note.
Doc,
I’m sorry. For everything. As long as we’re safe, you’ll be safe.
I give you my word. I’m trusting you with my family.
That is…not easy for me to do. But if you prove you don’t deserve that trust, you won’t get a second chance.
It is my job to keep them safe and nothing will stop me from doing that.
R
Doc. My first thought is that he called me Doc again.
It’s a ridiculous thing to focus on, considering I’m alive.
He let me live, said he trusts me, but also made sure I know that any wrong move and I can die at any second.
But using the name Doc again, feels like he’s trying to create distance between us…
something I should want but I don’t. All I should be thinking about right now is my life.
Will Conan come after me? How can Rian be sure he won’t?
I turn, looking over my shoulder as though Conan is somehow here with me. That man wants me dead. He won’t hesitate for a second to kill me.
I give you my word.
I’m trusting you with my family.
He shouldn’t be letting me go. I’m glad he did, because walking toward my own death this morning reminded me that no matter how lonely I am, I don’t want to die, but Rian shouldn’t have let me go.
If I had any sense, the first thing I would do is get out of this house and go straight to the nearest police station.
Yes, they have their connections, but not every cop can be dirty.
If that were the case, he wouldn’t worry about me going to the police because he’d know he could get off.
But I’m not going to. God help me, but I’m not. Which means every single life that Rian takes after this will be my fault…because I could have stopped him…and I chose not to, because I love him.
*
I use the phone to call a car service so someone can come and get me. I don’t have a vehicle anymore because Conan got rid of mine, which pisses me off, now that I think about it.
Rian left my medical bag, but any of the other clothes and supplies that Conan brought are all gone—even his toothbrush. It’s like he tried to completely erase the fact that he had been here with me.
It’s not until I’m in the car, on the way back to Boston, that I remember the monitor on my ankle. It’s quickly become part of me, and now that I know I have no fear of being shocked by it, it was easy to forget it’s there.
Rian can find me anywhere at any time as long as I’m wearing it.
Conan can too…
I lean down, as though I’m scratching my ankle and just…
feel it there. Did Rian leave this on me so he can find me?
It’s sturdy like the ones used when people are on house arrest, so I know that unless I find a way to remove it, he will always know where I am?
So I’ll be looking over my shoulder, or thinking about him watching that dot on his phone, keeping track of me?
How often will he watch me? Only because he’s making sure I don’t do anything stupid or because he just needs to know where I am… because he wants me.
Heat travels from my ankle—where the monitor is—and up my legs and thighs, landing in my groin.
My dick plumps just slightly at the thought, only distracted from hardening even more because of the truth of how much that turns me on…
how much I like the idea of knowing he’s always there.
Like the idea that Rian wanting me so badly would have him watching me, knowing where I’m going, maybe even showing up where I am, or following me like he did the night we met.
It’s not like me to crave that kind of behavior.
In fact, the logical part of me knows I should be running as far and as fast as I can from anyone who does that sort of thing, but anyone isn’t Rian.
And it helps that I know it’s not common for him either, that only two people have inspired that kind of behavior from him—the woman he married and lost, and me.
Despite everything—who he is, what happened, and the fact that we won’t ever be together—I know Rian truly wanted me.
That from the first time he saw me, when he got that tingle on his nape, that we were being pulled together for a reason.
The universe is just cruel enough that, despite all of that, Rian and I could never really be together.
And I shouldn’t want us to.
I turn to face the window, watching the scenery go by—turning from rural to city as we make our way into Boston.
“Thank you,” I tell the driver as he pulls up in front of my house. The brownstone somehow looks different than it did before—like this storybook house in a story that’s not me. Was it me before, or was I playing pretend? Maybe I’d never been who I thought I was, or maybe Rian changed me.
I grab my things, exit the car, and then use my key to get into my house.
It’s dark, even though it’s daytime, all the lights are out. It feels empty, the quiet of the space somehow a loud echo in my ear.
It’s too big for one person. I’ve always thought that. Maybe I should get a new house, something smaller or just not so empty.
I shake my head, confused about where these thoughts are coming from. I haven’t been gone very long, so why does everything feel so different?
I set my things down, turn on lights, then move through the first floor of my own house as if I’ve never been here before. There’s dust on the shelves and tables, a vase pushed over just slightly into the mess. There’s only one reason it would look like that—someone moved it.
I go toward the back door, but it’s locked. The pillows on my couch look the way they always do, sitting in the same position I always have them in, everything just how I left it, only it feels as though someone has been here—looking around, touching things, moving them.
“Rian?” I say before making my way toward the stairs. I’m halfway up them when one of the steps creaks, and I still.
What if Conan is here? What if he’s here waiting for me, ready to kill me because Rian didn’t?
He said I would be safe. The note in my pocket is proof of that, but maybe he can’t trust Conan. What if he goes behind Rian’s back or sends someone else?
But also…maybe it’s him…?
“Rian?” I say again, then continue upstairs.
I search every room.
Each floor.
My drawers are slightly out of place, small things have been moved around—things most people don’t notice, but I do—and somehow, believing it was Rian, that he came here before he went anywhere else, brings me comfort.
I take a shower, then get dressed in my own clothes for the first time since Rian took me. Less than two weeks, and my life won’t ever be the same.
I can’t stand being in the house anymore, so I call another car service and head to the hospital.
People stop and say hi when they see me, but most don’t realize I was gone. None of them has any clue that there is anything different about me…and there is. I’m not the same man I’d been, and I don’t think I ever will be.
And when I go to talk to the other surgeons at the clinic, telling them I need extended time off for personal reasons, they’re all surprised, but to them, I’m just a colleague—a man they work with and don’t need in their lives outside of that.
When I get back home, my neighbor, Dominique, is working in her garden. She gives me a wide smile and a wave. “How’s it going, Dr. Abbott? Your car break down?”
I chuckle. “I got rid of it before I went out of town,” I say. “I’m getting a new one.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were gone. I hope you went somewhere fun.”
A sharp pang lands in my chest. It has no business being there.
It’s not as if Dominique and I are close.
Why should she have noticed I was gone? But it’s just a reminder that I don’t have anyone in my life that cares about me really, and that even though my time with Rian changed everything…
nothing changed at the same time, and I’m still utterly alone.
*
I’m home less than twenty-four hours when my home phone rings. I’ve been meaning to have it turned off for years, but haven’t taken the time to do it. Still, it rings so infrequently that the sound almost startles me.
“Hello?” I answer, heart racing in a way it shouldn’t due to a phone call. If it was Rian, he would use the burner that I haven’t let out of my sight.
“Preston, it’s your father. I just…called to see how you are.”
I frown. He called to see how I am? This is the man who couldn’t even be bothered to message me himself on my birthday. I had to call him. He had no idea I was even gone. How long would it have taken for someone to realize I was missing? And would that person have been my dad? Probably not.
“I’m fine.”
“I heard you took a leave of absence from work. Is there something I need to know about?”
His question lights fire to my already short fuse where he is concerned.
“Why the fuck would you need to know anything about me? You don’t give a shit about me!
You have no business asking about anything in my life.
” You didn’t even realize I was gone. She would have known, and she would have cared.
“Whether you like it or not, I’m your father.”
“Prove it,” I say. “You have never once cared about being a father to me, and I have no idea why you’re pretending to care now.”
Without another word, I hang up. I have no idea what that was about, why he’s suddenly calling me the day after I get home. All I know is, I want nothing to do with him.