Chapter 25 Abby
Abby
Imust’ve passed out right after our shower. Between the champagne, the all-night adrenaline rush of being completely turned on, and oh yeah, finally getting that release with Jonathan, I was exhausted. Three times. He shattered me three times, in the best and most surprising possible way.
I wake up to clanking in the kitchen, coffee mugs knocking together, the faucet running, a drawer sliding open. I smile and push my face into the pillow, breathing in the smell of him, that signature Jonathan scent I used to claim I hated.
He’s not in bed with me, so I assume he’s the one making all the noise.
Probably fixing us coffee, because he’s considerate like that.
Jonathan Slack: unexpectedly kind, infuriatingly sexy, and…
so much more than I ever gave him credit for.
His words roll around in my head: I think I’m falling in love with you.
I grin like an idiot, cheeks flushed even though no one’s here to see it. He said my whole name too, Abigail Jean, like it meant something. Like I mean something. For the first time in a long time, I experience an emotion I didn’t realize I was capable of feeling again after what Marcus did to me.
And then, like clockwork, self-doubt creeps in. Would Jonathan lie about loving me? No. Why would he? We’d already had sex twice by then, so it’s not like he needed to sweet-talk his way into my pants. They were already on the floor.
Still, a wave of uneasiness washes over me, dragging bliss out to sea and replacing it with dread. Anxiety blooms in my chest, familiar and unwelcome. This is what happens when you get left at the altar and never actually process it, your baggage starts leaking into everything.
Me and Jonathan… a real relationship? Does he even want that? I mean I’m sure he does. He basically said I love you, you emotional moron. I shake my head like I can knock the thoughts loose. Nope, still there.
I crawl out of bed and tug the sheet around me, wrapping it like armor.
I just need to see his face. That’ll tell me everything.
I know him better now. I know his expressions, his moods, his energy, like a dog-eared, favorite book.
If he’s legit, I’ll know. And if he’s full of shit… well, I’ll know that too.
I step into the doorway, just in time to hear his phone ring.
He answers in a low whisper. “Hey, Manny.”
I exhale. Okay, it’s Manny. Not some secret girlfriend. Crisis averted.
“I can’t really talk, bro,” Jonathan says, his voice still hushed.
I tiptoe closer, curiosity overriding every polite boundary I’ve ever had.
“No, I’m not lying. I told you in the text,” he says, sounding… frantic?
A chill runs down my spine and my stupid-happy smile falters.
“Bro, stop it. I told you already. I don’t like AJ,” he admits.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My heart drops straight into my stomach and I go ice-cold. I can hear Manny’s voice on the other end; it’s indistinct, but Jonathan keeps going.
“I’m just using her to get that promotion from Victoria. She’s using me too, for Marcus. I have no feelings for her like that.”
My ears start ringing, body goes still and every nerve in me curls into a knot.
“Yeah, I know how it looked last night,” he adds casually.
“But it was all a show.” He laughs, freaking laughs.
“Bro, you know how good I am at faking it with women. How many times have I lied to them?” And then the final blow: “Yes. I’m sure.
I’m not in love with AJ.” He says it with a weird emphasis, like the phrase itself is a joke.
Silence passes for a few second and then he adds. “Okay. I’ll see you at the lake.”
He sets his phone down and turns back to the kitchen like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just shred up my heart with a fillet knife.
I think I’m shell-shocked. That’s what they call it in the military when your body just shuts down and you can’t move, right? Because I can’t move. I’m frozen; somewhere between wanting to cry, scream, or punch Jonathan Slack right in his infuriatingly perfect face.
I force myself to breathe. In and out, repeating until I avoid a full-on panic attack. Then I bolt into action. Clothes. I need clothes. I’m still naked under this sheet and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him see me like that again. Not after hearing what I just heard.
I throw on a lake outfit for later today, swipe on some deodorant, jam a toothbrush in my mouth and thrust my hair into a ponytail like I’m about to run a 5K fueled by heartbreak and spite.
Tiptoeing through the cabin, I grab my bag like a thief escaping her own dignity, then fling open the door and slip out.
He doesn’t call after me. Doesn’t even notice I left.
The second the door closes behind me, I start walking with not the slightest idea of where I’m going, but I don’t care.
As long as it’s away. Away from Jonathan Jerk Face Slack and his fake declarations of love.
Away from his lies and his stupid charming grin and the way he made me feel something.
How could I be so na?ve? So stupid? He never loved me.
He doesn’t even have a heart. He got what he wanted, sex and that’s all I’ll ever be to him.
A pawn. A game. A distraction on his way to a promotion.
Well, fine. He got his one night and that’s all he’s getting. The second this retreat ends tomorrow, I’m making it crystal clear: whatever we were pretending to be? We’re not anymore. This charade is over.
Maybe I should just come clean. Spill the whole messy truth to everyone: Marcus, Victoria, the team.
So what if I lose face with Marcus? So what if I tank the promotion I’ve been gunning for since last year?
So what if I get fired? Okay, yeah. Crap, Abby.
Let’s not spiral that far. I can’t tell the truth.
What I can do is avoid Jonathan like the lying, smooth-mouthed traitor he is.
I’ve survived him before, so I can fake it for one more day.
Hell, I’ve faked smiles in worse situations.
Like when he stole my campaign idea in ‘23 and I had to clap for him in front of the entire marketing floor without launching a stapler at his face. Unfortunately for me, that was when I hated him. Back when my heart didn’t skip a beat every time he smiled at me or called me AJ like we’ve been a couple for our whole lives.
Back before I thought, clearly felt that maybe I loved him.
Which, now I know I don’t. Because you can’t love someone who was just pretending.
If it wasn’t real to him, then it’s not real to me.
I glance up and realize I’ve wandered so far I don’t even recognize where I am. I’ve crossed the entire resort on autopilot. Oh great. I’m emotionally wrecked and directionally challenged.
Off to the side, I spot a cluster of empty picnic tables shaded by trees. No people. No noise. No Jonathan. It’s the most optimal spot for me to gather my thoughts.
I beeline over and sink onto the bench like a limp rag filled with stinky chemicals and regret.
My phone suddenly buzzes. It’s a text from Liar Slack himself.
Hey! I made you coffee and you’re not here…
Another one immediately follows.
You okay?
Sure. I’m fantastic, thanks. Just replaying your fake love confession in my head on loop while contemplating throwing steaming coffee in your face.
I don’t reply. Instead, I grip my phone so tight I swear I feel it begging for mercy. Then, in a fit of rage and chaos, I do what any self-respecting woman betrayed by a hot coworker would do. I hurl it over my shoulder like a javelin of fury.
“Ouch.” I hear a voice cry out.
I freeze, then start to twist around to see who it is. It’s not Jonathan thankfully. It’s Marcus. I literally just hit Marcus with my phone.
He flashes that signature slant-smile as he bends down and scoops up my phone from the grass. Without a word, he places it on the picnic table, then rubs his arm where it hit.
“I forgot you’ve got an arm,” he says with a chuckle.
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when your grandpa wanted a grandson and raised you on Yankees stats.” I grab the phone like it personally annoys me. “Sorry,” I add. “Didn’t know you were back there.”
He waves it off. “It’s okay.” Then he pauses, his gaze shifting from light to concerned. “You okay?”
My phone buzzes again. It’s another text from Jonathan.
I guess I’ll see you at the lake. Please call me.
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t pop out of my head and land on the picnic table. I slam the phone down on the wooden top like it burned my skin.
“Relationship troubles?” Marcus asks, eyes flicking to the screen.
“Oh, I’m sure you wish,” I snap, folding my arms across my chest like a bratty six-year-old whose favorite toy just broke.
He sits down beside me, close enough for warmth but far enough to test the waters. “I do wish it.”
I blink. My mouth opens, ready with a retort but then the words actually sink in. “Wait. You wish it?”
He nods and takes my hands, surprising me into stillness.
“Abby, I messed up. Big time. And I’ve regretted every single day since I hurt you,” he says with an urgency behind it. “But how do you make up for something like that? For breaking someone like you?”
I stare at him, unsure if I died from shock or if I’m just speechless.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll always be sorry. That’s why I bought the company. To be close to you. To see if I still…” he trails off, like he can’t find the right words or maybe he’s afraid to say them. “And I do. I still have feelings for you. A lot of them. Probably more than I ever did.”
He lets go of my hands, as if even he knows he might’ve crossed a line.
“I thought you said you didn’t know it was my company at first,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
He sighs, evidently caught. “I lied. I knew it was your office.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like people throw down giant checks just to flirt. “I even bid way over asking, just to make sure I got it.” He smiles, proud of himself.
Meanwhile, I have absolutely no words. Me, the girl who can talk to a tree, a lamp, or a bathroom mirror for three hours straight is without words.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I ask, my throat suddenly constricted.
“Because I need you to know how I feel. And I need to know how you feel.” His voice dips lower. “Abby, please. Just… give me another chance.”
And just like that, my eyes burn and the tears come.
Tears I’ve held in for almost four years.
I’ve waited so long, literal years, to hear those words.
To know he regretted it. That he still thought about me.
That I mattered. But now that they’re here, laid out like some kind of emotional buffet, all I can think about is insufferable Jonathan Slack.
Why? Jonathan is nobody to me. The worst, phony boyfriend at best. A long-time nemesis.
A walking red flag with really good arms and way too much tongue talent for someone who doesn’t truly care.
He used me. Lied to me. Seduced me like it was all part of some game.
And still… my heart is not breaking over Marcus. It’s breaking over Jonathan.
I cry harder now, no longer able to tell if I’m mourning what could’ve been with Marcus, or what should never have happened with Jonathan. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe I’m just pitiful.
Marcus wraps his arms around me and for a second I feel it, that recognizable safety I used to cling to like a lifeline.
The kind of safety that made me believe in soulmates once.
Marcus used to be mine… until he wasn’t.
He still smells exactly the same, stupidly expensive cologne mixed with just…
him. Known in a way that makes my chest ache.
I pull back slightly and he wipes a tear from my cheek, his fingers stroking my skin with that similar gentle confidence that used to undo me.
He cups my face like he’s memorizing it, then leans in and kisses me.
It’s the kiss I’ve been dreaming about since the day he walked away.
It’s intimate. The kind of kiss that says, I still love you.
Lord help me and my mental spiraling, because I kiss him back.
I let myself melt into him, let him pull me in and kiss me deeper, like no time has passed.
Like we’re still the same people. Except we’re not.
Because the second his lips touch mine and his hands find my waist, the only thing running through my head is one traitorous, involuntary, unwelcome thought: He doesn’t kiss like Jonathan.