The Ahern Brothers Collection, page 31
“Well, if you ever need an activities coordinator, I have some experience,” I offer remembering the summer I worked in Tahoe.
It was special. He’d come every weekend to be with me. If only we could go back to that summer. Not that I regret my current life. I prefer to be myself and not hide from everyone, including Wes.
“You’ll be at the top of my list when we start hiring. Sterling might not like it since you have the gallery and all that.”
The mention of his brother reminds me of last night’s text.
“Why did Sterling say I’m like scotch or whiskey to you?”
“He said that?” he snorts. “That’s a conversation for later.”
“This might be the only one we have, Weston,” I say heading toward the stairs.
As an afterthought, I turn to check on Chester who’s in the mudroom, drinking water. Right next to him is Oakley. I guess taking him to the dog park for some social classes paid off.
“You can let the dogs out in the backyard. It’s big and fenced.” I point toward the hallway. “The kitchen is down the hall, and you’ll catch on to the set-up right away.”
“How are your drawers, Lyons?” He smirks and winks. I feel like I’m melting and it’s not the heat.
“Still the same, Ahern. Some things never change.”
Fifteen
Wes
Abby’s house is kitschy and quaint. The windows aren’t the huge ones that are so fashionable now, but more the size I see in old country cottages, and like them, they’re mullioned. The place has an old-world charm to it. Last night I didn’t notice the path that starts from the sidewalk. It’s made out of stamped concrete which gives a little character to the house and differentiates it from the others on the block.
Once I cross the threshold, I’m impressed with both the technology and modern design. A smart doorbell and security cameras are among other electronics that I want to check out and play with. The place is tidy with dark hardwood floors and furniture in modern Scandinavian designs. Most likely self-assembled and all in pragmatically dark colors. The couches are dark chocolate: a spill-hiding color, child, and animal proof leather with scattered cushions all around. I walk to the neatly organized bookshelves where Abby has more books than I can count and rivaled only by framed pictures. The only compromise is the carpet on the floor, so clean it’s hard to believe anyone ever stepped foot on it.
I glide down the dark hardwood floors like a slinking panther discovering its new surroundings. The dogs walk right behind me. Chester stops by a glass door. His tail wags, his tongue hangs, and he smiles widely at me. I unlock the door and slide it open. He doesn’t wait for me to signal that he’s free to go outside. He just walks out without a backward glance.
“Go out, girl,” I tell Oakley who gives me an impassive look.
She’s not sure what’s going on or if she wants to be outside, but she’s so loyal that she never disobeys my commands. I follow her with my gaze and study the large outdoor space. Ivy cascades over the brick walls, sprouting tendrils in every direction. There’s a circular lawn with a path around it and a central bed of shrubs. On the perimeter of the lawn are four rose bush beds to fill up the square area.
The patio has an eclectic beauty, much so like the rest of the garden. The stones make a mosaic of sorts. There’s an artistry to it too, a fluidity I appreciate. It’s peaceful, and the hammock hanging from the old trees invites me to stick around and enjoy a summer afternoon with a glass of iced tea and a good book.
At the border, there’s a caged area covered in vines and red fruits with a few wildflowers growing around it. Birds play in the trees while butterflies visit the blooms. It’s like a temple where only goodness, happiness, and sunshine are allowed. I close the door, feeling like an intruder who wasn’t invited into paradise—at least not yet.
Making my way toward the kitchen, I’m impressed by its sleek, professionally designed granite counters and stainless-steel appliances. It’s spotless, scrubbed, and well equipped with shining copper pots hanging from the ceiling. There’s a modern coffee maker on the table. Next, to it, a stand with matching cups. It’s uncluttered. A set of clean folded tea towels sit on top of the kitchen island.
The double-doored refrigerator is a few sizes bigger than the average appliance. Its hum is pretty faint. Dried flowers sit in a couple of ceramic vases. Everything looks homey; nothing is superfluous. It’s uncluttered, and it feels like Abby.
I march toward the pantry which is well stocked, labeled, and alphabetized. The pots and pans are in drawers. Surprisingly all of them are in order, and the surface is covered with paper towels. I get bacon, eggs, and butter out of the fridge. Maple syrup and a gluten-free mix for pancakes. The bowls are under the sink, and when I open the drawers, I let out a chuckle. They are a fucking mess.
In one of them though, I find office supplies including a notepad with my name at the top of the first page. I hold my breath, because it looks so much like one of the letters that Abby used to write to me. Without thinking twice, I start reading the first page.
— — —
Wes,
It’s been a few months since we stopped writing to each other. This, like all the other letters since, is just for me. But I wish I could send it to you, just like the last kiss I wish I could have given you before we parted ways. That Monday evening when you came into my office and said you were leaving, I was relieved. If I knew it was the last time I’d see you, I’d have said something different.
I love you.
Or at least I would have kissed you one last time.
Now that it’s all over, I hope you remember me curled up against your body at night, listening to the sound of your heartbeat and counting along with you. Or remember me laughing at every silly joke you ever made because when I laughed, your face brightened. Or remember me scared but trusting that you would make everything better because you were right by my side.
Or remember the times I was happy because they were real. You made me so happy. Don’t forget my flaws, because even when they drove you insane, they’re a part of who I was, who I am. Please, remember our first kiss and the first time I came undone at your hands. I gave you a little piece of myself, and it will forever belong to you.
Stay true to your dreams and your future. That’s what I’m holding onto right now. Remembering the beginning, our first meeting, and every trip we took thereafter because those were the best moments of my life. Just don’t remember the ending. It’s scary and painful. Every night I rub oils on the scars hoping that they’ll fade.
But those oils I apply every night will never fade the scars I carry in my heart. It scares me that no one will ever accept me the way I am—that you never did either. Nightly, I pray that I’ll find someone who’ll love me—scars, nightmares, and all of it. I pray that you find someone too. Be happy, you deserve it.
Love,
Abby
— — —
My heart beats fast as I read the letter, and I wish I had time to read the others. I’m curious to find out when she stopped writing or if she still writes to me. I continue doing it, almost nightly. Mostly when I’m missing her. They’re just for me. I don’t plan on sending any of them. I’ve saved all of them throughout the years. Most of the old ones don’t even make sense, and my handwriting is shitty
Doubt cripples me as I realize what I just did by reading something she safeguarded.
Was it wrong to read it even though it was addressed to me?
I wouldn’t mind if she read what I wrote. It would be hard for her to understand them; God knows I can barely make sense out of them. Without overthinking it, I set the pad back in the drawer and start cooking. I hurry to prepare some eggs and pour orange juice while I make another pot of coffee.
“Everything alright?”
“I started drinking a lot after what happened to you,” I confess without any prompting. “After you went to rehab, I never had a sober day if I could help it. I did everything drunk. Except for driving. Aaron, my driver, was there all the time. I never had less than two full bottles of scotch. I never described myself as an alcoholic. I swore I could quit anytime if I wanted to.”
Those were dark times. I went days without knowing how I’d arrived at my office or gotten home and sat days on my couch drinking bottles of scotch.
“It’s easier to numb the memories,” I continue. “I have a hard time remembering what happened back then. The alcohol shut down the voices and alleviated the pain. It was easier than confronting what I was going through.”
This confession is harder than I thought it’d be, but precisely what I’ve been needing. “It might not seem like it affected me, but fuck if it didn’t hurt to learn what they’d done to you and I couldn’t do anything to save you. You’re precious to me, and the thought of anyone hurting you drove me crazy. Then, under my own nose, Shaun took you and hurt you, again. You weren’t here to …”
“Fix?” she prompts as I trail my gaze.
“Yeah, I needed to put you back together because if not, I’d have to admit that I was falling apart. Most days I pretended that I was fine. People either believed me or decided to ignore me.”
I chuckle. “It’s when you’re crumbling to your very core that you see people for who they really are. The only person who gave a shit was my little brother. Sterling kicked me out of my own company. I was a fucking mess. We don’t discuss you because he thinks I might fall off the wagon. It took me a long time to get my shit together and even longer to get over you.”
“Wes,” she mumbles, her eyes connecting with mine.
“I missed you every night,” I continue before I lose the courage. “Some days though, I couldn’t sleep for thinking about you while others I woke up because of a nightmare. I tossed and turned in bed, picking up the phone and dialing your number just to listen to your voicemail. I prayed that you were doing alright. That there was someone by your side consoling you while you were having nightmares.
“The regret and guilt ate me alive for a long time. I wished I hadn’t let you go so easily. I held onto you for a long time. Sometimes I wondered if getting in touch would be wise while others I just hoped you had found someone.”
My heart stutters as I confess what I lived through while we were apart. There’s this falling-spiraling-down-losing-control feeling flowing through my veins. I don’t let it stop me though.
“I missed you with every fiber of my being. There’s a part of my heart that’s incomplete. You have it. I pretended we were together for such a long time until I moved on because we both deserve so much more than being stuck in the past.”
Taking a full sip of air to fill my lungs, I finish. “I stopped chasing the past, and your ghost.”
“Okay.” She says when I pause.
“Now that I found you, I don’t want to lose you.” I pray that she doesn’t misunderstand the purpose of this long speech. “In fact, I’m hoping that we can go forward, together.”
“Forward?”
“I want to get to know the person you became. I don’t care about your hands, if you have nightmares, or if you need to count to a billion to take your next breath. Because I’ll happily count with you every single night if you’re by my side.”
“There’s a lot more to it than that, Wes.” Her voice is flat, monotone. Her chin trembles. “You just told me that you don’t live here. You have a life; you’ve found your passion. My journey just started. We’re definitely not the same people anymore, and we’re in different dimensions.”
A wave of pain suffuses my senses, but I shake it off and take a good look at my Abby. She’s trembling, holding her breath, waiting. I bet she wants me to give up. It’s going to take a long time to show her that I didn’t give up on her, but I wasn’t strong enough to be her rock. She may have changed, but her soul remains the same. The essence of the Abby I fell in love with remains intact. Although, I can’t wait to discover her new dreams.
“Well, tell me everything. That’s what I’m here for,” I request eagerly. “I can’t wait to get to know you because as I once said: we belong together.”
She offers a fake smile while shaking her head. As if saying, poor man, he couldn’t be more wrong. Abby unbuttons her shirt to open it, as I stare into her beautiful brown eyes. I see her soul shuddering. I want to grab her and cocoon her in my arms until she calms down.
Instead, I move my gaze to her torso. There are thin lines across her skin. Marks that gather along her ribs and her stomach. Too many scars; too much pain. I kiss my finger and trace them.
“He did this?” I say, controlling my voice and my emotions.
I knew he had cut her. The doctor said, multiple cuts in the torso. I just never saw them until today. My heart aches more and more as I trace each line. How I wish I had held her when she was in the hospital. I just thought that I didn’t deserve to be close to her after I’d failed her.
“Yeah, that night,” she says with a dry sob. Abby breathes heavily, her hands in two angry fists.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “You have no idea how sorry I am that I couldn’t get to you in time. That I allowed him to touch you again. It wasn’t my fault but still. I’m fucking sorry that you went through hell.”
“I don’t talk about it often,” she says, closing her eyes briefly. Her lower lip quivers. She’s holding back the tears and the pain. “He wanted me to suffer what his sister suffered because of me. They planned to cut my body into tiny pieces, so no one could ever claim me.”
I breathe a few times, letting the anger slip through every exhale. I remind myself the fucking asshole is gone. He can’t hurt her. Corbin is paying, and Abby is still alive. I try to stay focused on her because she needs me to understand her and understand that there was more to that night. I’m grateful that she’s sharing even if she intends to push me away later. She might not believe it, but my need for her is stronger than anything else in this world. I wasn’t sure about it myself until I saw her last night.
She’s the center of my universe.
My sun.
“I’m thankful that you’re here.” I stop myself from taking her into my arms. It seems too forward, a million steps from where we’re at right now.
“Somedays I didn’t want to be. Even before Shaun kidnapped me.”
She takes a step away from me. I draw a sharp breath, hating the distance, but I don’t say a word.
“It took me a long time to come to terms with what I want and who I am. To understand that I deserve to breathe as much as the next person. Taking my life back was hard, but it’s mine, and I decide what to do with it.”
“Is there something I can do?”
“No, Wes.” She shakes her head while fixing the buttons on her shirt. “I’m showing you this so you can see half of what I deal with daily, the other half is inside my head. Usually, when a guy asks me to go out with him, I simply say: I’m not interested. If they insist, I casually show them my hands.”
She extends her hands, opening her palms. “Most times, that’s all I need to push them away, but you need to know more to convince you that this isn’t something you’d like to pursue. Your friendship meant everything to me, but I can’t be friends with a man I loved. It might work for some, but I just can’t see it happening. Not between us.”
“I still want to be your best friend, but also more.” I pause, watching her take my words and continue. “Everything.”
“Wes,” I barely hear my name coming out of her lips.
“We’re not starting from zero, we’re starting from minus infinity. I’ll regain your trust, show you who I am, become your friend, and conquer your heart.”
I plate her breakfast and set it on the small kitchen table. “You weren’t around to tell me what you wanted so I made you your favorites.”
I kiss her cheek and call Oakley who is in the backyard playing with Chester.
“I hope you’re ready, Lyons.”
“For what?” She looks confused as hell.
“I’m planning on showing you that we belong together,” I say firmly.
“We don’t,” she insists. “That’s why we ended it three years ago.”
“No, we ended things because I was a clueless, immature idiot. This time, I know who I am, and what I want. And don’t forget that I work hard to pursue my dreams.” I take her hands and kiss them. “You’re my biggest and most important dream.”
She stares at me, mouth agape.
“See you soon, Abby girl.”
Sixteen
Wes
On my way to the penthouse, I stop at the flower shop where I buy a bouquet of red roses for Abby. I sign the card and instruct them to deliver them after six.
I can’t wait to see you again.
W
At home, I make a few calls to ensure that every day she receives something from me. Tonight, it’s chocolate covered strawberries. I create a list of treats and trinkets I’d like to give her so I can search for the right vendors around town.
By eight o’clock, I’m in San Jose, at home. I stare at the phone waiting for her next move. The ball is in her court. Is she going to call? I’m now pacing back and forth around my home office wondering if I’m coming on too strong. The knots in my stomach have knots. I’ve never felt this nervous before. Not even when I asked Suzy Thomas to go to the fifth-grade dance with me.
When the phone rings, my heart beats out of control, and suddenly I’m unsure if I want to answer. But it’s just Mom.
“Is it Sunday?” I ask, taking several deep breaths to calm myself.
“How are you, darling?” She ignores my question.
It’s legit. She only calls me on Sundays.
“I’m doing well, Mom. Are you okay?”
“Can’t a mother call her son just to say hello?” she asks. Her tone is low, and she sounds a little sleepy.
“Any other mother, sure. You aren’t that kind anymore. These days, you have a schedule set and too little time to fuss around with us,” I explain. “What’s going on?”
