Chapter Twelve
S itting behind the wheel of her truck, Abigail took a moment to collect herself—or, at least, to make a decent effort at it. She was badly shaken and not sure which emotions comprised the ingredients of this mental soup. With a deep, slow breath, she closed her eyes and began an inventory.
Shock—was shock an emotion? Well, it was certainly a feeling. Anger—she felt that, too. And a crushing, painful disappointment. She wouldn’t yet go so far to call it heartbreak; heartbreak meant the end of things with Mel, and it was too soon to say that. But what she felt was on that road.
He’d reacted to that woman’s words so quickly and with such force. And with so much meanness, right there, waiting to be deployed. He’d matched that woman’s pettiness instantly.
Only someone who had the same kind of thoughts in his head could have responded so quickly.
And he’d known—no, he’d assumed —the woman was referring to her, despite her name not being said.
Though he’d responded in ostensible support and defense of her, Abigail was now confronted with the idea that Mel saw her as that woman did.
She’d been hit broadside. Her only thought at that moment had been to remove herself from the tainted environment at once.
If she were going to welcome romance into her life at this late hour, when the life she’d been living was full enough just as it was, she would not welcome it with a man who even subconsciously felt she wasn’t exactly what he wanted, just as she was.
She’d hadn’t thought that Mel had any kind of reservation about her.
They’d shared a reservation about whether at their age, with their lives, they could build something that served them both well, and they’d worked through it together.
But if he looked at her and saw a ‘cow,’ whether he wanted to or not .
.. well, Abigail wasn’t about to get involved with someone who saw anything in her but what he wanted.
Yet hope wasn’t lost. This had been a single instance, in an unusual situation.
Abigail knew the anxiety she’d been feeling in the Hall, around so many Horde she didn’t know, likely had her more sensitive than usual, and she’d seen that Mel was anxious as well.
His energy had been fractious, his aura unstable.
Maybe this one instance was an anomaly. Maybe it didn’t mean what she’d felt it to mean.
Or maybe it did. Maybe this unusual situation had exposed a fault line between them.
They needed to talk.
But she was too beset with feelings and he was too busy with the club for a real talk.
So she’d leave him to his club and go home.
They’d both be busy through the weekend.
After the Harvest Festival, when things were back to normal, they could see if things could get back to normal for them as well.
Deciding that was the most reasonable approach, considering the options, Abigail put her key in the ignition, pressed down on the clutch, and got her old truck running.
As she grabbed the shifter to put it into reverse, the passenger door flew open. Mel climbed in before she could say a word.
“Hey, where you goin’?” He was slightly out of breath, and his voice had a low rasp.
One good look showed her that he’d been fighting: his salt-and-pepper hair was mussed, his left cheek was swollen and abraded, and bruising was already darkening his throat.
The last thing she’d seen before she’d left the Hall was that woman’s large, fierce-looking man set her aside and stand up to face Mel.
The thread of her previous thoughts fell away, and she reached over to set her hand on Mel’s shoulder. “You’re hurt.”
He caught her hand in his—his knuckles were ruddy and scraped—and kissed it. “Nah, I’m good. This is nothin’ at all. Totally worth it.”
It was a way they were different. To Abigail, very few things were worth violence, and petty words were not on her extremely short list. Mel was hardly the most pugnacious Horde, but he had a much lower bar for violence.
Though she’d known this intellectually, of course, and hadn’t thought it overly significant, now it loomed large between them.
She slipped her hand from his and gripped the steering wheel.
Gathering all her remaining calm, she said, “I’m gonna go home,” and she offered him a small smile, hoping to keep the moment as light as it could be.
Mel’s brow drew in tight. He closed the passenger door and shifted on the seat to face her. Reaching again for her hand, peeling it from the wheel, he said, “I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry about what that chick said, I’m sorry she hurt you, but it won’t happen again.”
He didn’t understand at all. By now Abigail wasn’t surprised, but her disappointment grew heavier.
She’d hoped to hold off on having a serious talk until the unusual circumstances of this weekend were behind them, but it looked like that wouldn’t happen. He was right here, staring at her, thinking he understood why she’d left, and he couldn’t have been more wrong.
So Abigail killed the engine and shifted on the seat to face him. “She didn’t hurt me. You did.”
His expression showed confusion first, then shock, then a deeper confusion. “What? How? Did I—oh, fuck! Did I hurt you when I pushed you behind me? Or did I knock into you when he first swung?”
The scene she’d missed began to render in her mind, and she shoved the image away. “No, Mel. That’s not the kind of hurt I mean.”
His brow furrowed still more, and he shook his head. “I’m not followin’.”
Yes, and that was the most disappointing thing. He didn’t even realize.
So she explained.
“I learned a long time ago that other people’s opinions about me matter only as far as I give them power.
Someone I care about, someone I trust, their opinion has some power, because I trust them to have me and my best interests at heart.
A stranger, though? Someone I haven’t invited into my life?
That opinion is vapor, fading away as soon as it forms. What she said would only matter if I gave her power—and if I believed what she said was true.
I don’t give her that power, and I don’t believe what she said was true.
I’m not a cow, and I don’t take that on as either an insult or an observation.
His brow still bunched, Mel nodded. “I—”
He stopped when Abigail put her hand up.
She wanted him to hear everything before he responded.
“I also believe that people who say unkind things about others are trying to fill an empty place in their own soul. They need to bring others down to feel better about the lacks in their lives, in their selves. I don’t take offense when someone directs a small unkindness toward me.
I wonder what dark or broken thing in them makes them need to do it. ”
He smiled. “You are a helluva woman, Abs.”
“Mmm,” Abigail hummed dryly as she prepared to deliver her hard truth. “What you did, though, hon—you, a person in my life, someone I trusted, someone I gave that power to? You hurt me.”
All expression disappeared from his face, and he stared slackly at her for a long time. She let that time extend until he discovered words to speak.
“I don’t understand, Abs. Trust ed ? Like in the past? Like you don’t anymore? I don’t—whatever I did, I’m sorry for it, but I don’t know what I did that hurt you. I was trying to protect you. I want to take care of you.”
As she gathered her next words, Abigail shifted her eyes from Mel’s for a moment—and caught movement in the side mirror behind his shoulder.
“Double A?” she said, perplexed, as the club vice president yanked the passenger door open.
Mel swung around, surprised, as Double A said, “Get your ass back inside. You made a bigger mess than you know.” He sent Abigail a rueful grin. “Sorry, Abigail.”
“It’s alright,” she said, because it was the most expedient thing to say.
Mel’s attention held on Double A. “I’m in the middle of somethin’ important here, Dub.”
“I do not give a fuck. Get your ass inside.” With that, he pushed back, turned, and returned the way he’d come, leaving the truck’s door open.
Mel turned back to Abigail. “I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
She knew he was sincere, but an apology without understanding was an empty box wrapped up like a gift. And anyway, he hadn’t really apologized. He’d expressed sympathy.
“That’s not enough, hon.”
“What does that mean?”
Tears gathered in her throat, but she swallowed them down. “It means we need to do some serious talking, but now isn’t the time. You need to go back inside. I’m gonna go on home. Call me when you can, and we’ll figure something out.”
He sat there, clearly hurt and confused. Unused to romantic connection and its complicated emotions, Abigail began to doubt her own feelings. Was she being unfair?
It didn’t matter in this moment. They couldn’t talk it out here and now, and nothing would get settled until they could. “You have to go, Mel.”
He grabbed her hand yet again. “I don’t feel like I can. This—you and me—I don’t want this to be over. I hardly feel like we got a start.”
“I don’t want it to be over, either. But we can’t fix anything right now. You know you have to go.”
Swiveling his head to look through the back window, he stared at the clubhouse door.
Abigail hadn’t been intimately acquainted with anyone in the Night Horde until recently, but she understood how it worked. Men of the Horde always chose the club first and trusted the club to step back when family had need.
There was need here. But she wasn’t family. Not yet, at least. As he’d said, they’d hardly gotten a start together.
“You have to go, Mel,” she said again, much more softly and with less conviction this time.
With a last glance her way, but not another word, he slid from the truck, slammed the door hard enough to rock the cab, and stalked away.