Page 55 of Live for Me

I blinked. “You mean the hunting cabin that burned down in the fire Val was in?” I asked as a gentle reminder.

Mason chuckled, and Denver’s lips twitched, shooting a humorous look back to his brother. “Glad to know our ranch still has secrets.”

“Oh, there’s still plenty that needs to come to light,” Mase drawled.

“What the hell are you two talking about? What fucking cabin?”

Denver looked back at me. “The cabin my father built for yours.”

I said nothing, staring at my friend in shock.

“It was after your mom,” Mason added softly.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I whispered, something cracking open inside my chest.

Denver stepped forward, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll talk about it later. You need to go help Abbie.”

In that second, Dave came into the living room, devastation coating him. He looked at me behind his glasses. “Beau, you need to see this.”

I moved, my footfalls echoing through the living room as the cowboys behind me fell silent. “What is it?” I demanded lowly.

Dave looked gutted, his cheeks shining with leftover tears. “She won’t leave her art room.”

I bit down, grinding my teeth as looked down the hall, my eyes focusing on the small doorway at the end on the left. When I was here the other night, it was only shut door in her house. I didn’t bother going in there to grab anything, knowing what sat inside.Her soul.

Without saying another word, I slowly walked down the hallway. As I reached the doorway, I bent my head and removed my hat, holding it to my chest as I took in the sight.

Abbie was on her knees, her back to me, in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the damaged pieces of her soul. My throat tightened as I took a second to survey the damage. There wasred paint slashed across all her walls, paint supplies, and empty canvases. The small window to the right of her, which gave her a good view of the mountains, was smeared with red paint, a message across within it.

Come back, or I’ll destroy everything you love.

My brows snapped together, and slowly, I looked back down at her, watching her shoulders shake in time with her quiet sobs. I stepped into the room, careful to not step on any of her paintbrushes scattered across the floor. As I came around to her front, I spotted the small, wrapped canvas clutched to her chest.

“Abbie,” I murmured after a few long, silent minutes, not taking her eyes off her face.

She wasn’t looking at me. Her focus was on the group of huge canvases—her finished projects—leaning against the far wall, all splattered with that damned red paint.

“Those are her commissions.”

My eyes snapped up to find Dave standing in the doorway, wiping his tears, his partner, Harris standing beside him. I nodded and looked back down to her, noticing how white her knuckles were wrapped around the canvas she clutched to her chest.

“Abbie,” I whispered, lowering down to my haunches, putting my hat back on.

She said nothing, staring straight ahead, another tear silently escaping her eye. It cascaded down her already-wet cheek, dipping underneath her soft jaw before rolling down her neck and disappearing. There were a few stray hairs sticking to her tear-stained cheeks, her skin splotchy, eyes red-rimmed.

“We have to go,” I tried again, ignoring the pain and fury coursing through my veins as the threat written on the window burned into my brain.

She blinked, swallowing. “Okay.”

“That means you have to get up, alright?”

Those warm brown eyes snapped over to me, allowing me to see the utter devastation swimming in them. “I have nothing left,” she whispered.

Her words struck me, hitting me directly in my broken, hopeless heart. My face relaxed, shock and sadness washing over me like a summer rain. “That’s not true,” I whispered back.

God, I wanted to touch her.

I wanted to reach out and cup her wet face, to spend the rest of eternity wiping her tears.

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