Page 80 of Live for Me

“I was just about to,” Pop admitted.

“What the fuck is going on?” I quipped, looking back and forth between both of them.Why in the hell did Mags know something about Abbie I didn’t?

“This afternoon, I went to speak with her, Beau,” Pop began, raising his hands. “I just wanted to see if I could get some answers.”

My jaw tightened to the point of pain. “Why in the hell would you do that?”

“Because that woman is still in love with you.” This came from Mags.

My eyes sliced over to him, but I said nothing, grinding my teeth.

“Beau, look at me,” Pop ordered softly. He didn’t start speaking again until I did. “Abbie didn’t leave you because of you. She didn’t leave you because of her, either.”

A chill crawled up my back, my chest twinging painfully. “What did she tell you?”

“It’s not what she said. It’s how she acted.”

I looked to the cabin, tipping my head back to focus on her bedroom window. An owl hooted in the distance, and I was silent for some time, my mind racing. When I finally looked back to Mags and Pop, my voice was thick as I asked, “What are you saying?”

Pop’s eyes lifted to her bedroom window as he twisted his hands in front of him, trying to find the right words. “Why did Abbie leave me, Pop?”

His eyes met mine just before he shattered my world.

“Someone forced her to leave you, Son. Someone threatened her.”

I stared down at my wildflower, covered in moonlight and curled up in her sleep. Her dark lashes were resting on her cheeks, her lips parted, her breathing steady. The sound calmed me as I watched her body rise and fall with each breath. She was asleep on her side, facing the window, her knees bent, the quilt pulled over her shoulder. Her brown hair was tied in a bun at the top of her head.

Mags and my father left an hour ago, and as the weight of my father’s theory settled on top of my soul, it started to crush all the things I thought I knew.

I thought I hadn’t been good enough for her. I thought that, somewhere along the way, she’d fallen out of love with me. Hell, I’d even thought that maybe it was her own self-loathing that drove her away from me in the end.

Her being threatened never crossed my mind. Here I was, six years later, mentally kicking myself in the gut for not thinking of it sooner. The idea of her still loving me felt like a dream, one I was eager to make a reality but nothing about my father’s theory made sense. He told me about the conversation he had with her on the porch earlier, before I brought her to the cabin. He told me about her behavior, the emotions in her eyes, her confession.

“She didn’t mean to say that, Beau. I pushed her too hard, and she let it slip,” Pop said earnestly. “I’m telling you, on my own soul, Son, something isn’t right. Her hand was forced six years ago. That’s why she left you.”

When they left, I stood outside in the moonlight for a few minutes, the cool night air stretching across my bare chest and abs as I tried to get a grip on my emotions. Part of me wanted to barge into her bedroom and demand answers, but the other part of me just wanted to lay eyes on her, to watch her sleep because it was the only time she was ever truly at peace, even when we were together. Abbie wanted to take on the world, wielding only her pen, always fighting and challenging the evil of this life. She used to tell me how she dreamed of exposing the truth in her news articles.

Would she ever expose the truth to me?

After watching her for a few more moments, I reached out, brushing my finger across her temple, moving the stray hair out of her face. She shifted then, a soft moan coming from her as she laid on her back, stretching her legs out.

“You leave me to protect me, baby?” I asked, leaning over her, studying her face. “Or did you leave to protect yourself?” Of course, I didn’t get an answer. Abbie was a deep sleeper, always had been since she moved out of her mother’s trailer.

Unable to help myself, my hand cupped her face, and she nuzzled into it. “You still love me, don’t you, gorgeous?” I murmured, brushing my thumb across her softness.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, but they were still heavy with sleep. “Beau?”

I pressed my free hand into the mattress by her shoulder. “Hey, Wildflower,” I whispered, my face over hers.

Her hand slowly wrapped around my wrist, her touch electrifying. Her next words were barely above a whisper, spoken like a secret. “I love it when you call me that.”

My eyes dropped to her lips. “Know that,” I returned, just as soft. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be in here. I should be out there, searching for answers. Instead, I was hovering over her, wanting nothing more than to kiss her. To taste her. To make up for lost time. Slowly, I lifted my eyes back up to hers. “Know everything about you, baby. Inside and out.”

She nodded, her eyes shining as her bun shifted on the pillow. “You’re the only person who does,” she admitted, her voice cracking. I said nothing as she reached up to touch my face, her fingers trailing the line of my jaw. “Even in my dreams, you feel real.”

Stiffening, I pushed out, “You think this is a dream?”

Her hand on my face shifted then, and she hooked her arm around the back of my neck, pulling herself up. “I only get to kiss you in my dreams, Beau.” Her lips brushed against mine, and I jerked back.

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