Page 110 of Live for Me

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I leaned forward, sinking to my knees on the floor, unable to handle the poisonous agony coursing through me. For six years, I’d held onto that night. For six years, I suffered in silence, made myself out to be an enemy, all to protect him. For six years, I ignored my broken heart, putting on a show for the rest of the world.

Now, the secret was out, and as my tears showed no signs of stopping, another realization crashed into me like a freight train: I was dying, rotting from the inside out. My ears began to ring.

I’d spent the rest of my twenties pretending to live.

Knives gathered in my throat, slicing the soft tissue, cutting off my ability to speak.

“Abbie,” Jigs’ gentle voice murmured from above me.

My head shot up to look at him, the image blurred by tears. “I’m not Amanda,” I rasped, my throat hurting.

A pained look slashed across his features then, his creases deepening, his smile lines almost disappearing as his lips turned down. “I promise I’m not her, Jigs,” I cried out. “I loved Beau. I still love Beau. Leaving him was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he urged.

Something else cracked inside my chest, and I couldn’t look at him anymore. “I’m not her. I’m not a mean woman. I’m kind. I’m good. I promise. I’m not her.” Each word grew softer, more broken.

I felt Beau then, and I opened my eyes to find him on his knees in front of me. “No, you’re not,” he rasped, his arms hanging down, his torso bent. He was wearing a similar expression as his father, but the rage was still there. “You’re my wildflower.”

My face crumbled again. “Beau.”

His throat bobbed. “You’re my Abbie, and that’s all you’re ever gonna be to me. You hear me?”

“I—I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, my breath hitching as my body continued to succumb to everything I’d kept beneath the surface. “Beau, I never wanted to leave you.”

His stared at me, tears shining in his eyes now, his throat bobbing.

“I wanted to say yes,” I cried out, shoving my hands into my hair. “I wanted to be your wife, Beau! I—I never wanted to hurt you. But I couldn’t live like that! I couldn’t live—I would never been able to live with myself if something happened to you because of me,” I cried out, not caring about all the people in the room, the eyes watching the shit show that was Abbie damn Spears. I put my hands to my chest, feelings I’d kept locked up spilling out of me, and I was powerless to stop it now. “I wasa mess, Beau. The entire fucking town hated me because of my mother. They only tolerated me because of you. You were cut from good and decent cloth—clean and perfect. I was trash!” My voice bounced off the walls of the Langston dining room as the tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over. I dropped my head, shaking it as I croaked, “I couldn’t live like that, and I was so afraid, Beau. I was so afraid they would hurt you, and if they couldn’t get to you, then they might have come after Jigs—Denver and Caleb.”

At the mention of his son, Denver softly cleared his throat, and I looked over Beau’s shoulder to find the ranch owner staring down at me with regret swirling in his gray eyes. “Abbie,” he began, his deep voice the softest I’ve ever heard it. “I would’ve protected everyone. Trust in that.”

I straightened. “No. No, Denver, you don’t understand—” I cut myself off, looking back to Beau. “These men, they were professionals. After that night, I constantly felt like I was being watched and…and the day you proposed to me….” My voice faded, the memory of my rejection coming to the forefront. That day would haunt me for the rest of my life.

“What about that day, baby?” Beau asked quietly.

My chest nearly caved in. “I felt them watching me—us.”

The flame of fury in his eyes burned everything else lingering within them, and he looked at Denver. “Call Chase.”

“No!” I blurted, grabbing his arm.

“Abbie, this—”

“The other two men, the ones who pointed their guns at me.”

His jaw tightened. “What about them?”

They still weren’t getting it. I had to make them understand.

“Theylookedlike professionals, possible law enforcement or former military,” I explained as Harmony came into view, her arms wrapped around herself.

“Abbie, I need you to get off the floor please. You’re killing me,” she said, her raspy voice sweet.

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