Page 16 of Obsessed Heir

“Dammit,” I swear under my breath as I move forward to readjust our angle before carefully retreating. I don’t have it quite right, so I push ahead again, trying to position the chair correctly.

Feeling like a fool, I struggle to center the chair enough to get through the narrow doorway. I don’t want to jostle her more than I already have. The room is deathly quiet, so every creak of the wheel seems like a scream breaking the silence.

This is way more complicated than I thought it would be. Why the hell didn’t Stein warn me? I shoot him an annoyed glare, catching the bastard trying to smother a grin.

This is just one more thing I wouldn’t have to deal with if it wasn’t for Abigail.

Chapter Five

Abigail

“Let’s get you up to the cabin,” Barron announces, his gruff tone disappearing.

“I can take her,” James volunteers.

Barron’s comment spurs me into action. I jump to my feet.

“I’ll take her,” I offer, stepping forward to take control of the wheelchair. This is exactly why Miss Opal wanted me to come with her.

“I’ve got her.” The icy, dismissive edge in Barron’s voice cuts through me like a knife. I flinch, jerking my hands away and curling my fingers into my palms.

With anyone else, I would have a retort ready for such a rude remark. But this is Miss Opal’s son, the person she cherishes above anything in this world. If I fire the scathing reply on the tip of my tongue, it will deeply upset her. Nothing in the world could make me hurt her further after the accident I inadvertently caused.

Resigning myself to silence, I restrain myself and step back. Barron turns the wheelchair in one direction then another, like he’s trying to figure out what to do.

Does he know how to maneuver when using a chair? I had a steep learning curve when I first had to do it. We knocked into walls and furniture until I got the hang of it.

Watching him is painful. I want to speak up and offer guidance, but I don’t want to provoke his ire any further. I’ve already annoyed him just by being here. Still, I have to think of Miss Opal.

Taking a breath, I hesitantly instruct, “It’ll be easier if you back out.”

His broad shoulders stiffen. Okay, that’s my cue to get out before I make things even worse. I pivot and head to the door. James has already disappeared into the hallway. The poor guy schools his features into a neutral, diplomatic expression. Smart moves on his part.

As soon as Barron appears, James marches off. “The elevator is in this direction,” he states in a no-nonsense manner, leaving me to hurry after him. Anywhere is better than waiting here to have Barron stare me down.

How is it I can almost feel his gaze boring into my back when he hasn’t uttered a single word? The silence radiating off him feels as oppressive and overwhelming as the strange wave of vertigo I experienced earlier.

James presses his key card to the sensor then folds his hands behind him. He keeps focused on the floor numbers lighting up as we wait for the elevator to arrive. Barron is standing there, his powerful presence making him appear bigger than life.

The doors finally glide open with a muted hiss, and I clear my throat. “Back into the spot, so you’re facing the door. It’ll be easier for you to exit.”

Miss Opal is unusually quiet as her imposing son wheels her into the spacious elevator. I can’t help wondering if she senses the tension as acutely as I do.

James holds out a hand, gesturing me ahead politely. “Please, Miss Abby.”

Barron did exactly as I instructed, only he stopped in the middle of the elevator. I have no choice but to squeeze into the confined space next to him, no matter where I stand. It’s as if he takes up more area than a man of his size should.

James follows me inside, making the area feel even smaller and more oppressive. He taps his card on the control panel, and the doors glide shut.

Tension fills the air, and that spot between my shoulder blades tightens painfully. The elevator begins its smooth ascent, with a faint hum. The numbers on the indicator crawl by at an agonizing pace—far too slowly for my rattled nerves.

This must be what it feels like to be inside a pressure cooker.

Miss Opal breaks the strained silence with a sigh. “I’m so glad you decided to come along, Abby,” she says.

Exhaustion is etched into the fine lines beside her eyes. It makes her appear older and more fragile than she did yesterday. A crushing wave of guilt chokes me. I’ve caused her this pain through my carelessness.

Yet I can’t bring myself to agree and claim I’m happy to be here. That would be a bold-faced lie. Instead, I paste on an encouraging smile and reply, “I’m here to help, Miss Opal.”

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