Love Rewritten (Love in Pieces Duet #2)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Abby

T he security guard standing outside my room is another reminder of the worst day of my life. Everything has started to heal, but the crack in my skull, the bruises, and the busted lip are all unwanted mementos of what happened only days ago. I’m grateful someone is willing to stand guard when Dallas can’t be here, but my alone time has been considerably short since the day Sam lured me out of the apartment. Dallas has refused to leave my side for two days straight. Unless he needs to go home to shower and change, he’s here. He’s called into work, not wanting to leave me for more than an hour at a time. It’s the same with baseball practice. He won’t budge.

Bandages get changed regularly. Vitals are taken around the clock. Questions—so many questions—are asked. I’m certain I’ve answered the same ones repeatedly, but they’re all blending into the same question: what happened? One look at me and any stranger could guess I either got hit by a car or took a beating.

When the nurse comes in with discharge paperwork at the end of day three, it takes all my willpower to keep from sprinting down these halls to escape as quickly as possible despite any pain it would cause.

Dallas drives us home, probably the safest he’s ever driven in his life—avoiding potholes like the plague, moving over speed bumps so slowly they're almost unnoticeable, and I keep checking the speedometer to see if he’ll finally reach the speed limit at some point. Once inside, I settle on the couch and carefully pull my favorite purple blanket to my chin, thankful to be home.

“What can I get you?” Dallas asks, heading to the refrigerator.

“You know what I could really go for right now?” I ask with a mischievous grin. He raises an eyebrow and leans against the counter with both hands. “A super unhealthy greasy burger and fries. Oh, and maybe a chocolate milkshake.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “A burger.”

“Yes. A burger. After all that hospital food, I desperately need something to rot my gut.”

He smiles back at me saying, “Gut rot, coming right up,” and then pulls out his phone to order our food.

It shows up slower than I hoped, but at this rate, beggars can’t be choosers. Silence greets us while we shovel the deliciously greasy food into our mouths. As we finish up and rest against the back of the couch, I watch the ceiling fan spin slowly, the sound of the TV a distant noise keeping the fighting voices in my head from surfacing.

I haven’t allowed myself much time to process the last few days’ events. It’s been easier to bury and ignore it unless the cops ask. And somehow, I’ve been able to separate myself from the whole thing almost like it’s someone else doing the talking. At least mentally I’ve separated. Physically, I still wince with the smallest of movements. And Dallas is somehow tuned into my every move.

The pain meds I was sent home with aren’t crazy strong, not that they need to be, but I’m just not great at remembering to take them. Dallas and his incessant alarms are the only reason I take them on time.

The next day, I finally have to say something as he’s reaching for them on the kitchen island minutes before his alarm goes off. “Dallas,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose, “I need to you chill a bit.” When I realize that sounds harsh, I follow it with, “I just feel a little smothered. And I’m not upset with you about it. I think I just need to feel like my own person again. I can do most of this myself. And if I don’t take my meds right away, I’ll live.” I take a deep breath, preparing myself for a swath of yelling, hitting, and fighting I’m so used to from Sam.

But when he takes a deep breath and smiles, I remind myself that he isn’t Sam. I remind myself that this likely won't end in more bruises, or me cleaning up something broken and scattered across the floor.

He purses his lips. “Okay, how about this?” He picks up his phone and shows me as he clicks into his alarms. “I’ll turn off my alarms. The meds will still be on the counter for you. If you need or want me to do anything, just ask. I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Thank you,” I smile.

He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and then opens it again. “Since I’m here, do you want these now or should I leave them until you’re ready?” He holds up the orange pill bottle.

“I’ll take them now.” He hands me the meds like he’s done so many times before, but his hand lingers on mine when I take hold of them. My brows twist together. “What’s wrong?”

He drops his hand, letting me take the bottle before sitting beside me on the couch. “I just … I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Mess what up?” What is he talking about? We’ve been home for all of twenty-four hours.

“This,” he says, gesturing between us. “I don’t even know what this is yet, but I don’t want to ruin it.”

I laugh, shaking my head slowly. “You can’t. I’m the problem in this relationship. The one with all the issues.”

He raises both brows. “Okay, first of all, you are not a problem. You will never be a problem, Abby. Your issues ,” he says with finger quotes, “are not issues. They’re beautiful quirks that make you, you. ”

I open my mouth to speak, but he stops me, one finger held in the air, so I press my lips together.

“I’m not done. Second of all, relationship?” He smirks but relaxes against the couch with an arm draped across the back, finally waiting for me to respond.

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s certainly more than a friendship, don’t you think?” I watch for his reaction, but his features don’t change. “What’s with the smirk?”

He lifts one shoulder. “I guess I never really imagined myself in another relationship. At least not for a long while.” He locks his fingers behind his head, his arms tense with the motion.

“Why?” I pull my legs up into a crisscross position on the couch. I feel like I’m in for a story.

He laughs and tips his head in my direction, those brown eyes meeting mine. “Well, it seems a little stupid now, but uh …” he trails off.

“Tell me. It’s not stupid.” I lean forward and rest my chin on my hand, forcing myself to stifle a groan from the pain in my ribs.

He takes a deep breath before continuing. “My ex-girlfriend, I had been dating her for a year when I caught her cheating on me.”

“I’m so sorry.” The corner of his mouth twitches but he leans forward and runs his hands down his face.

“My brother. She cheated on me with my brother, Cole.”

“Shit,” I blurt and then scrunch up my nose.

“Shit is right. It was all the same night. The cheating, and then his death. I left the party the second I found them together.” He rubs his jaw, and the stubble from not shaving for a few days is evident on his face.

I don’t know what to say at this point. What do you say to someone who feels like they lost everyone in one night? There are no words to make this better. It just is. And I hate that saying. It is what it is. What a joke. Instead, I shift toward him and lean my head on his shoulder in a gesture I hope he takes as I’m not going anywhere.

The moment passes while I’m sure both of our minds run wild. But Dallas is the first to speak. “So, relationship, huh?”

“If you want it to be,” I say, hoping he responds with an enthusiastic yes.

He sits up, forcing me to sit up, too. He looks at me curiously. “Do you want it to be?” I nod so fast I feel the bun on top of my head bounce with the movement. A bright smile covers his face. He turns to face me fully and takes both my hands in his. “Well, I suppose there’s only one option here.” He straightens and clears his throat like he’s about to give some big speech. “Abigail Cooper, will you be my girlfriend?”

I giggle, but I can’t help how giddy I feel inside. “Okay, cheesy, but I accept.”

He obnoxiously peppers my face with kisses before placing a much more intense kiss on my lips. The only reason it ends is because my damn ribs won’t cooperate with the movement.

I wince and Dallas pulls away quickly, a hand on either arm. “Sorry, you okay?”

“I’ll be better once this bruising subsides a bit. I don’t know how much longer I can survive on just kisses.”

He presses his lips into the firm line. “Mmm, you see … the flirting makes it really difficult to not go in for more.”

I lean a little closer. “I suppose you’re going to have to wait.”

“I’ll always wait for you.”

I’m a puddle. A complete and utter puddle. His words melt into every corner of my body, sending warmth through me that I haven’t felt in days. “Give me another kiss before I need to rest again.”

He smiles, places a delicate kiss on my lips, and then we settle together into the soft cushions of the couch to watch another movie, the only thing I have the energy for lately.

“We’re heading to the gym and then we have practice after. Will you be okay here with Rose?” Dallas asks.

Dallas’s sister, Rose, and I sit on opposite ends of the couch halfway through a random comedy movie. Her pastel pink pixie cut looks freshly cut and dyed within the last day or two with a slight pinkish hue following her hairline. We smile at Logan and Dallas as they put their shoes on. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I just want you to be comfortable. Your meds are on the counter. If you need help with anything, just ask Rose. You can also call me—”

“Dal,” I say, cutting him off. Even Logan looks impatient as he runs a hand through his short black hair.

Dallas takes a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“I’ll be fine,” I repeat. “Go.”

“Okay.” And with that, they leave.

We settle into the couch to finish the movie. I’ve grown to like Rose. She doesn’t ask too many questions and isn’t pushy with the ones she does. It’s welcoming to have someone other than Dallas and Meredith to talk to.

Or not talk to.

I haven’t reached out to Meredith since she called the cops on Sam at the baseball field. At the time, I was furious. Now, I understand why she did it. I’m still frustrated, but I’m madder at myself for letting it get to the point it did before I truly grasped the extent of the situation I was, and still am in.

“Another one?” Rose asks as the credits roll.

“Absolutely.”

She scrolls through the options before landing on another comedy. It’s been a good change of pace for me, the humor. As much as laughing hurts, it feels good to be happy, even if it’s for fictional characters.

I’m almost sad when the front door opens and Logan and Dallas return. I’ve been in this phase of stillness, where I feel like I haven’t had to deal with anything to the point that I’ve almost forgotten what got me here. Dallas’s return brings back memories, the good outweighing the bad, but he’s still a reminder of what happened. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I don’t hate being around him. In fact, he’s my safe place at this point. I just wish he didn’t have to be.

Logan heads to the kitchen for some water. Dallas kisses the top of my head before heading to his room to drop his bag off.

“How was the movie day?” Dallas asks when he returns, wearing his work uniform.

“Good. Relaxing.”

He smiles as he rounds the couch to sit next to me. “Good.” He pauses. “I unfortunately have to go to work now.”

I groan, visibly pouting.

“I know. I’m sorry. I promised I’d be back today. I don’t want to leave again either, but I don’t have a choice. I’ve got to make money somehow.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t quite prepared for an entire day without him. After a full week of him being home, and as nice as today has been with Rose, I’m really starting to grasp just how attached I’ve gotten to him. And now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t know that I’m a fan of that. I used to be so independent, even with Sam. But here I sit, a babysitter on one side, Dallas on the other and all I can think about is when he will get home from work.

“Can I come with?” I blurt out.

Dallas glances at Rose for a moment before returning to me. His response is careful and calculated like he’s afraid if he says the wrong thing, it’ll set me off. “Abby, it’s only been a week since … everything happened. And they haven’t found Sam yet. I would love nothing more than for you to join me at work, but I won’t be able to keep an eye on you. I just don’t want anything to happen—”

“I’ll go with,” Rose pipes up.

We both look over at her now. She’s sitting forward on the couch, hands on her knees. Dallas’s lips press together, and he looks like he wants to argue this one.

“Dallas, please. I need to get out of this house. I can’t stay here for the rest of my life.”

He bobs his head side to side, seeming to think about his next words carefully. “Fine. But you sit where I can see you, and you stay with Rose the entire time.”

I frantically nod, not wanting to push him any further.

Landry’s Bar and Grill is full when we arrive. Rose and I find the last empty booth near Dallas’s spot behind the bar and settle in with a pitcher of water and some snacks. Tonight, the solo singer sits on a stool in front of a microphone playing an acoustic guitar. The music is calm and relaxing. Exactly what I need for the night. It’s brought in a different crowd than usual, and it doesn’t seem so rowdy. I can hear Rose across from me without either of us needing to yell.

She asks some simple generic questions, nibbling on her fries, before asking the one that seems to have been festering in her mind all night. “So, I don’t want to pry, but can I ask what happened? Like the full story? I’ve picked up bits and pieces, but I’m having trouble connecting some spots. And maybe that’s just me being nosey, but I’m curious.” She scrunches her nose slightly, surely waiting for a rebuttal.

I suppose I could fill her in on a few things even if my stomach does feel like it’s doing flips at just the thought. “What do you want to know?”

She smiles, now giddy for the information. Her reaction almost makes my face pinch together. “Okay, well for one, what actually happened at that first party?”

I feel the lump in my throat forming with the coming words, but I force past it. I can’t ignore my past forever, and I trust Rose to be a safe person to talk to about this. “Well, from what I can remember, Sam—”

“No, not with Sam. With Dallas, silly. I need details.” She folds her hands on the table and leans forward.

Relief washes through me at her words and I’m sure it’s visible from where she sits. “With Dallas?” I let out an anxious laugh, resting my head against the red cushion of the booth behind me. “That's what you care about?”

She holds her hands up in surrender. “Guilty.”

“And here I thought you wanted to know about all the drama with Sam.” I fully recline into the red pad of the booth, letting my shoulders sag though it’s not very comfortable.

“I’m sure all those details will come out eventually, and when you’re ready to talk about them, but I don’t want you stressing about all of that if you don’t have to. I want to see you happy and talking about things that make you happy. And clearly, Dallas makes you happy.”

“Is it that obvious?” I shy away, looking at Dallas behind the bar. He shakes a drink above his shoulder, and I find myself wishing his uniform sleeves were just slightly shorter. He smiles when he notices me watching.

“Girl.” She cocks her head, following my gaze. “Have you seen the way you two look at each other? It’s kind of hard to miss, even for a stranger.”

I shrug, still grinning from ear to ear.

“So, spill,” she says, tapping her hands on the table like a drum.

All through a cheesy grin, I explain how Dallas and I met. There’s not much to tell, yet so much to tell at the same time. Even through my drunken state at the party that night, I still remember the whole spilled drink scene rather vividly. And the conversation in the bathroom after. Retelling the story makes me giggle, and even though I was terribly sad about Sam, it almost doesn’t matter anymore. Almost.

“You know what he told me that first night he brought you home?” She refills her water from the pitcher before taking a long sip.

“What?” This could either be really good, or absolutely terrifying.

“That you gave him butterflies for the first time in over a year. Like, proper butterflies.”

My brows rise instinctively. “Dallas said that?”

“Yep. Hard to believe he’d say something so sappy, right? And so soon after meeting you. He’s got a soft side. Believe it or not.”

I let out a quick breathy laugh, imagining him getting all mushy with his sister. “I’ve seen his soft side, but not quite that sappy.”

“He cares about you, you know? A lot.” Her tone has shifted into a seriousness that draws my attention back to her.

“I know.” It’s no secret that he cares about me. But like Dallas said a week ago, I don’t want to mess this up either. We’ve both got so much going on in life that I’m not sure starting a relationship is a good idea. But at the same time, it’s the only thing I want.

“What are we talking about?” Dallas asks, sliding in next to me. He eyes me carefully. I’m sure he sees the smile I’m having a hard time hiding.

“Nothing,” I lie. No way am I divulging this conversation to him.

Rose giggles knowingly, resting her chin on her fist. “Just things.”

He looks between us curiously. “Sounds ominous.”

We both shrug and smile at each other like two giddy schoolgirls. “How’s work been?”

“Nod bad. Pretty calm for Saturday. I don’t feel like I’m racing around the place. There’s a lull in the crowd, so I figured I’d get my girl time in.”

“Girl time?” Rose asks, stifling a laugh.

“I may not be able to hear you over there, but I can tell you’re gossiping. And likely about me by the way you oh-so-discreetly peek over at the bar.” Dallas narrows his eyes at me.

I narrow mine back at him, but I’m not sure what my goal is. I know he already knows the answer to his comment.

“Dallas! I need you back up here!” the bar manager, Aubrey, yells from the bar. I don’t miss the irritated scowl she shoots me, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of responding to it. I don’t know why she’s always had such a problem with me other than my being here might pull him away from the bar a few more times than usual.

“I can’t get two seconds of peace from her,” he mumbles. Dramatically planting both hands flat on the table, he stands. “I’m afraid I must take my leave.” He theatrically bows before leaving the booth.

Rose shakes her head as she watches him get behind the bar again. She turns her attention back to me with a smile and points toward Dallas with her thumb. “You are a force of nature with that one.”