Page 32 of Assassin's Game
And then the rest of her message knocked me upside the head. For how long?
The thought had me stumbling on the concrete stairs up to the first floor. A shard of pain shot through my knee as it hit the edge of the next step, but I ignored it. Ignored everything but getting to her as fast as humanly possible.
When I reached our bedroom, the door was wide open. I could see Abby’s tiny form huddled in the middle of the bed, her shoes still on, purse still clutched close, her body shaking so much I saw it from yards away. I was across the room in the next breath.
“Abby?”
I rounded the bed, needing to see her face, needing to know she was all right. But she wasn’t, was she? How could she be?
Her cheeks were flushed red, her eyes squeezed tight against the tears tracking down her face. I knelt beside her, reached for one tightly balled hand pressing against her chest.
“Abby? I’m here, little bird. I’m here. Look at me.”
She shook her head, and a sob racked her body.
I could think of a thousand dumbass demands to make, a thousand questions to ask—but I didn’t. I kicked off my shoes instead. Pulled Abby’s off. Set her purse on the floor. Then crawled onto the bed and pulled her resisting form into my arms.
“Don’t!”
I palmed the fists banging against my chest, gripped the back of her neck, and threw a leg over her lower body. Tucked her in close. “Shh. Shhh.”
“No!” She struggled against me, getting nowhere. “I needed you,” she cried. “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”
For a stupid moment I found myself wondering why she hadn’t told me—and then my brain kicked in and I knew why. Because I hadn’t been around. Because over and over I’d walked out to deal with my own ridiculous shit, shit that didn’t matter anymore. But those nightly decisions had put Abby at risk.
I’m pregnant.We were pregnant.
I pushed that thought away. I couldn’t fully realize it right now, not when my woman hurt so badly she shook. I rocked her against me, soft and careful. Let her cry out her agony, all while closing my mind off to the cause—because I couldn’t let that in yet. Not yet.
“I’m scared, Levi. I’m so scared.”
She repeated the words over and over, ripping me apart every time. It seemed like she cried forever. Slowly I relaxed my hold on her hands and moved to rubbing along her back, up and down, up and down. And all the while the feeling of helplessness grew in my chest. I’d built my life on being able to protect those around me. My family. And now the woman I loved more than life itself...
I squeezed my eyes shut, willed back my own tears. I hadn’t cried since I watched my uncle shoot my parents in the head. I wouldn’t cry now, when Abby needed me to be strong.
Minutes passed like molasses, but finally Abby’s crying came to a hiccuping stop. Emotion like that, you couldn’t sustain it forever, no matter how much you wanted to. Eventually you went numb just so you could survive.
I brushed her beautiful red hair back from her face. She wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t open her eyes, just breathed in and out through her mouth as if she were drowning and her next breath might be her last. I squeezed her neck carefully, reminding her she wasn’t alone. “I’m here, little bird.”
Abby’s eyes flashed open, the anger there hitting me like a punch to the jaw. And then her palm connected with my cheek.
Her limited range of motion was the only thing that saved me. The slap was more sting than pain, but the violence of it shocked me. I jerked back.
Abby rolled away from me.
We lay in silence for a long time.
“I’ve known for weeks,” she finally rasped into the quiet, voice like gravel with pain and tears. “I wanted to tell you. I mean, we hadn’t planned it, but...” Her voice cracked. “I was so excited.”
There’s still hope.Wasn’t there? But I couldn’t open my mouth to ask, too afraid of the answer. Too afraid to know if this was my fault. I hadn’t been here where she’d needed me.
I’d failed the one person that mattered most in the world.
I couldn’t make it right, but I could be here now. Fuck all that was going on—nothing mattered more than Abby.
Little late to learn that lesson, isn’t it?
“I’m sorry.”
