Almost Beautiful, page 16
“You’re looking at me like you just fell in love with me all over again,” she said.
“I did.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing tonight, but I clearly need to do more of it.”
“I just … I like this,” I said, gesturing to the space between us. “You and me, out, dressed up, just enjoying each other’s company. Like we’re …”
“Adults?” she asked with a knowing grin.
“Yeah. Crazy, isn’t it? I was in high school two years ago and now I’m your husband. It’s like I slipped into my own dream life. Except I’m living it. Do you feel like that? Is it just me?”
She slid her left hand across the table and intertwined her fingers between mine. “It’s not just you.”
I rubbed her wedding band with my thumb. “Best thing I ever did.”
“Me, too,” she said. I stared at her ring, and she must’ve seen something in my expression because she squeezed my fingers. “What else is going on in that head of yours?”
I tried to relax my brows. I hadn’t realized I was frowning. “It’s nothing. I don’t want to ruin our night by having this conversation again.”
“Baby, look at me,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ll reassure you as many times as you need. I miss you when you’re gone, and when you come home from work, I still get butterflies in my stomach. Not a day goes by that I’m not ridiculously happy that I’m your wife.”
I squeezed her hand back. “I fucking love you.”
“So,” the waiter said, stepping up to our table. “Unfortunately, we’re out of the Caprese, but we do have an amazing Bruschetta that I know you’ll love.” He leaned in and whispered his next words, “Also, don’t look but there are two men back there who look like they haven’t been laid in years eyeballing your table since they were seated.”
“Oh?” Abby said. “Weird.”
He kept his voice low. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but they only ordered waters.” His eyebrows bounced up once. “At Biasetti’s? Sketch as hell. And we’re not really out of Caprese. I just wanted to give you a head’s up.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Go ahead and send the Bruschetta instead to make it look legit.”
“Done,” the waiter said, winking before walking away.
“We’re going to keep talking normally for a minute, and then I’m going to take a look,” Abby said.
She didn’t wait a full minute. She nonchalantly raked her fingers through her hair, and barely adjusted enough to see behind me.
If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t have realized that’s what she was trying to do.
“Pretty slick, slick,” I said.
She giggled, then reached across for my hands again. That allowed her lean in closer. “It’s not the same men who came to the apartment.”
“You think they’re Feds? You think they’re going to arrest me?” I said, my throat feeling tight.
Abby’s smile didn’t fade. “If they wanted to do that, they would’ve done it already. They’re watching.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Not sure. To rattle you, maybe? Hope you’ll make a mistake? Let’s just have a good night like we planned and go home.”
I nodded, but I was acutely aware that the Feds were behind me because through appetizers, another round of drinks, dinner, and dessert Abby pulled off unbothered perfectly. It pissed me off that it was a relief to pay the bill and finally step outside. Once we got into the car, I sighed.
“Not yet, baby,” she said. “Wait ’til we get home.”
I knew exactly what she meant. No conversations in the car. I found a parking lot to pull into, and slammed the gear into park, jogging around to open her door. We held hands while we walked far enough away that she was comfortable to talk.
“I was going to tell you at dinner, but I have news,” Abby said.
“What?” My mind came up with a hundred different scenarios before she could even answer.
“Adam made bail. We need to find a way to talk to him. Discreetly.”
“When?”
She blushed. “A few hours ago. I’ve sort of been checking obsessively.”
I thought for a moment, trying to process what that meant and what to do next. “That’s why they were there tonight. Adam made bail, and they’re hoping I’d go straight to him. What if he doesn’t want to go anywhere near me? Or, worse, what if he made a deal with them?”
Abby nodded, and then hugged me. “We need a plan. We have to do this right and we need to know whose side he’s on. We have to know what he knows, what questions they’ve asked him. What they know about you.” She looked up, her eyes meeting mine. “But you’re right. They’ll be watching all of us, and they expect you to connect with him eventually.”
I nodded, kissing her forehead. “Let’s go home. I just want to crawl into bed and hold you.”
“Sounds like a perfect end to a perfect date.”
I grinned. “Perfect, huh? Even with federal agents as chaperones?”
She laughed. “When this all goes away and we have normal days and normal dates and normal conversations, you might just get bored with me.”
My eyebrows pulled together as I matched her gaze. “That would be like me getting bored of my eyes or my hands. You’re part of me, Pidge.”
She pushed up onto the balls of her feet and kissed me.
I’d kissed that woman a thousand times, but that night, her lips tasted like forever.
Chapter Eighteen
Secrets
Abby
CAMILLE WAS ALONE AT A table for two, a perfect wooden square that sat in the morning sun.
As I approached, I noticed my probably-soon-to-be sister-in-law twisting a napkin in her tattooed fingers. When I took the seat across from her, she was still so worked up from whatever she was thinking about her attempted smile was crooked and pained.
“Hi, Abby,” she said, her voice sounding small.
“Everything okay?”
Her head bobbed up and down in a quick motion. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“How did the doctor appointments go?”
She looked down at her hands and put down the napkin when she realized it was nearly shredded. “Everything is healing. Trent hasn’t been sleeping well, though. Sweating at night. He just feels like crap all the time, but he keeps saying I’m overreacting. He’s more concerned about the doctor saying he’ll have physical therapy for a while. He’s nervous he won’t be able to tattoo anyone again.”
“He didn’t break his hand,” I said.
“His wrist. A lot of his job is in the wrist.”
I tried to offer a comforting smile. “He will. What about you? How’s the head?”
She touched the still-pink scar that ran along her hairline. “I still get headaches. Blurred vision sometimes. It’s okay, though.”
“I’m glad you’re both okay.”
“I know,” she began, hesitating. She picked up another napkin, wringing it like it was her enemy. “I know you blame me. I can’t defend it, so I won’t. I’ve thought about the accident a hundred times, and I would feel the same way you do. He’s already been in a horrible wreck with a previous girlfriend, and he was anxious about getting in a car with anyone else. So, naturally, when he gets in the car with me, I don’t stop. I don’t slow down or pull over. I keep driving—bawling, upset, and not giving the road my full attention.”
Her words caught me by surprise. It was like she’d read my mind, and that made me soften a bit. “Trent said no one could have avoided the asshole who ran into you.”
“Trent says a lot of things,” Camille mumbled. She was touching one of her many tattoos Trenton had drawn on her. “My point is, I tell myself all those things, but I can’t take it back. I can’t blame you for being angry with me, because I’m angry with myself. But I can promise to be more careful and thoughtful, and to learn from my mistakes.”
“And Thomas?”
Camille winced. “Wow, no wonder Travis married you. You don’t pull any punches, either.” I arched one eyebrow, and she wiggled like she was an ant under a magnifying glass on a hot day. “What do you want me to say, Abby?”
“Are you still in love with him?”
“Yes.” A tiny gasp left her mouth, as if that wasn’t what she’d intended to say. “Abby,” she said, closing her eyes. “I love Trent. I’m in love with Trent, and I only want to be with Trent. Thomas and I are over.”
“You’re sure?”
She frowned. “What if … what if Travis died?”
I glared at her.
She held up her hand. “Just hear me out. What if Travis died and years later, you came across someone who made you feel things you never thought you’d feel for anyone else but Travis? Maybe even stronger?”
“Impossible.”
“Right, but what if it wasn’t? That’s how I feel about Thomas and Trenton. Thomas is no longer in my life in that way, and he’ll never be, but I will always love him. When Trenton came around, I couldn’t not fall in love with him. Believe me. I tried.”
“So, you don’t want to be with Thomas?”
“No.”
“What if Trenton hadn’t come into the picture?” I asked, crossing my arms on the table.
“Thomas had already ended things. He knew we wouldn’t work. And it’s irrelevant, anyway, because Trent happened, and it’s permanent. I don’t wish I was with Thomas. I’m truly happy right where I’m at.”
A waitress approached our table and set down two waters. “Hi, I’m Shannon. Anything else to drink?”
“Coffee,” Camille and I said in unison.
“Easy enough,” Shannon said, turning for the kitchen.
“Camille, I want us to get along. I love Trenton, and he loves you, and that makes you family. I just …”
She looked disappointed, but not terribly surprised. “You don’t trust me, and you can’t put your finger on it.”
“Correct.”
“Well, maybe I’ll grow on you.”
“Perhaps. Thomas and Trenton both fell in love with you. There must be something amazing in there somewhere.”
“Maybe I’m just spectacular in bed.”
I wrinkled my nose and she snickered, sitting back when the waitress brought our coffee.
Shannon pulled out a pad and pen. “Breakfast?”
“Pancakes,” I said, handing Shannon the menu. “Eggs over medium. No hash browns or toast.”
Shannon nodded and then looked to Camille.
“Just bacon. Burned, please.”
“Done,” Shannon said, scribbling quickly before taking Camille’s menu. She turned on her heels, leaving us once again for the kitchen.
Camille poured half and half and sugar into her mug and then stirred, taking a small sip while looking out the window. She didn’t seem as upset as before. Not that we’d solved anything, but she obviously felt better talking about it.
“Here’s the thing, Cami,” I said. “If Travis did die—if I could fall in love again—the next man I fell in love with wouldn’t be his brother.”
“So, do you dislike me because I put Trent’s life in danger, because I was with Thomas, or both?”
“Both,” I said without hesitation.
Camille nodded. “Fair enough. But I can’t fix either of those things, Abby. Can’t you just be mad at me instead of disliking me?”
“I’ve tried,” I said. “I’ve also tried thinking it was because you’re the first Maddox girlfriend after me, and I’m just not going to like any of you.”
Camille smiled. “Technically that was America.”
“That’s different.”
“So, you don’t like me, and I’m not special. You are a savage, Abby Abernathy.”
“Maddox.” I said with a smirk. My smile softened. “And so I’ve been told.”
“You’re right. You were first to marry into the family. But what if I’d been first? What if Trenton and I had eloped, and you had just started dating Travis? What if I didn’t approve?”
I thought about her hypothetical question. My first inclination was to say I wouldn’t care, but that wasn’t true. I could ignore it, but not being liked by a brother’s wife would always bother me.
“What if,” she continued, “I held it against you for breaking his heart so many times, and for dating Parker when you knew Travis was in love with you—”
I pointed. “I didn’t know he was in love with me.”
“Bullshit. You’re not stupid, so don’t pretend.”
“I thought I was a novelty. To be honest, I thought something was wrong with me. He actually told me once he didn’t want to sleep with me because he liked me too much. I was sure I’d been friend-zoned.”
Camille laughed. “I remember that. It came back to haunt him for months. But it all ended up perfect, right?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much.” I picked at my nails, sorting through my feelings.
Camille made great points. She wasn’t half bad to chat with, but something was still bothering me.
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Maybe something you haven’t told anyone. There is something that’s not sitting right with me, and I can’t shake it. If you’re not being completely honest with me, spill it and we can start over.”
Camille’s eyes glossed over.
“Oh, shit,” I said. “What is it?”
“How? Are you psychic or something?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What aren’t you telling me? What aren’t you telling Trent?”
She leaned across the table, took my napkin, and held it to her face as she cried. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I, um … I was … pregnant. The doctor said it was likely that I lost it during or just after the wreck. He gave me two choices: to wait for a natural miscarriage or have a D&C. I decided not to hurt Trent further, so I opted for the D&C. And … he doesn’t know. He’ll never know.”
“What?” I asked, trying to process what she was saying. “You’re pregnant?”
“I was.”
I looked down at her stomach, unable to control the repulsed look on my face. I didn’t have kids and was an only child. The whole pregnancy thing was foreign to me. She was the first person I knew who was close to my age that was pregnant—or had been.
“Cami, you can’t keep this from him.”
She shook her head. “I can’t tell him, either. I can’t hurt him again. Not after Thomas.”
“But it wasn’t your fault, Cami. You can grieve together.”
“I’m”—her bottom lip trembled—“I’m not grieving. I’m relieved. We were in no position to have a baby.” She looked down, ashamed. “Maybe that’s what you’re sensing about me? That I’m selfish.”
I sat back in my seat. “You trying to carry this alone isn’t selfish at all. But it’s the wrong choice. You should tell him.”
“There was an infection after.” She shook her head. “There is a slim chance to none that I can ever get pregnant again. You want me to put all of that on him right now?” Camille dabbed her eyes with my napkin, my attempt at understanding making her emotional. “I don’t want to see that kind of hurt in his eyes. You know how much he loves Olive. He will be such a good dad, and I know he really wants that someday. He won’t leave me over it. It would devastate him if I left him over it. You tell me, what good would it do to tell him?”
“You’re okay now? No pain?”
She shook her head.
“You’re right. He wouldn’t leave you over it and wouldn’t want you to leave him. He loves you more than he wants kids. But he’d understand, Cami.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Are you not telling him because of what he’s been through, or because you’re not sure if it was his?”
A single tear fell down Camille’s cheek. “The last time Thomas and I were together like that was months before Trent. It wasn’t Thomas’s baby, Abby. Jesus.”
I covered my face for a moment. “God, I’m sorry. I’m … bad at this. Do you want a … a hug or something?”
Camille rolled her eyes. “No.”
I looked down at my hands, the guilt slowly settling in. She’d just told me she’d lost her and Trenton’s baby—my niece or nephew—and I was chatting with her about it as if it were something else to judge her for.
“Camille … I don’t think it’s you that’s the problem. I think you said it earlier. I’ve done a lot of shitty things to Travis. Maybe I don’t want to be the only one. Maybe I need to focus on your failings so I can ignore my own.” The moment I said it out loud, the cloud of anger I felt toward Camille lifted. “How far along were you?”
“Six weeks.”
“Pancakes with eggs over medium,” Shannon said, startling me.
I sat back, realizing I’d been sitting so far forward my chest was touching the table.
Shannon sat my plate in front of me, and then Camille’s. “Bacon … burned to a crisp.”
“Thank you,” Camille said, sniffing.
I carved my pancakes and then put a bite in my mouth.
Camille just picked at her crumbling bacon, touching tiny pieces on her finger to her tongue.
“You’re right, you know,” I offered. “He’s been through a lot, but he can handle it. And he’ll understand you more. Neither of you are going anywhere. Healing together is better than betraying his trust.”
She thought about my words, then nodded. “You’re right. I should tell him. But now he’ll be pissed that I didn’t right away.”
“Do it anyway,” I said. “Better to be late than not at all. And Cami … I really am sorry. I know you guys weren’t ready, but that doesn’t make it any less sad.”
Camille took a bigger bite, staring at her plate while she chewed. “Thank you ... and … Abby? Can we … can we start over? Can we just agree that we both messed up and probably don’t deserve the love we have, and that we’ll work our asses off to reverse that?”
“Oh, we deserve it. They’ve messed up, too. At least, Travis did. Plenty of times.”
Camille chuckled, taking another bite.
“Are you okay, though?” I asked. “I mean, really.”
