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Chapter Fourteen
Abby
Exactly two days passed without Abby hearing from or seeing Damian. She hated that she was counting. It had also been two days since she broke the news to her mother that she no longer wanted any part of their ludicrous revenge scheme. Well, she hadn’t told her that in person. Like a coward, she’d waited for a time that she knew her mother wouldn’t answer her phone to call and leave a lengthy message.
She just couldn’t continue without destroying herself. After the things Damian said about her father, she’d lost it. The man hated her family, and he had proudly verbalized that he led her father to his death. He’d even implied that he had no feelings for her, and there she was, in bed with him. Revenge scheme or not, Abby had hated herself too much in that moment. However, it was the reality of what she felt waking up beside Damian that morning and the mornings before that had sent her over the edge, along with the pain of him mentioning her father. She’d liked waking up beside him.
By the time her third night sleeping with him rolled around, she hadn’t even had revenge on her mind. She hadn’t gotten up in the middle of the night to make an attempt to learn his secrets. No, she’d lost herself in enjoying those steamy nights with him. They were unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. The things that man made her feel both physically and emotionally was incredible. He was so passionate, so charming, so surprisingly easy to be around. Abby had fallen into the illusion that they were a couple. Then, to hear him say such vile things about her family had been like being doused with ice water.
Keeping her composure had been impossible and instead of standing her ground like she always did, she’d fled. After rushing off to the bathroom, she’d spent minutes over the toilet heaving and choking on her self-loathing. Then, she’d cried because crying always eased a bit of the heavy burden she’d been feeling lately. When Damian left her that morning, a part of her never wanted to see him again, while the sick part of her hoped to see him soon.
Abby let out a long hiss of breath. She was a mess.
Hopefully, a day to herself would make her feel better even if it was only temporary. She was locked in her apartment, alone with only her canvas and paintbrushes. Painting was a sort of therapy for her ever since she discovered her love for art. A sad smile stretched her mouth, as she reminisced about her father pushing her to show the world her paintings. He’d been encouraging her to do so since she was a teenager, and she still hadn’t mustered the courage to come out of the closet with her art. She’d stick to her job, working with and around other artists’ work.
Abby leaned back to look at the portrait she was working on. It was a scene of her favorite pastime—lounging on the sofa in her father’s office while he sat behind his desk. “This one is for you, Daddy,” she said, quietly. He would have loved it. Of course, he loved everything she painted, or so he’d claimed. Abby laughed aloud, the sound filling her small apartment. She was sure her father lied about liking some of her earlier work.
Her peace was soon interrupted by her cell ringing on the coffee table. “Damn, I forgot to turn it off.”
Determined to ignore it, Abby lifted her paintbrush as she examined her work so far. The phone rang again, and she groaned. Her curiosity overwhelmed her need for peace. To her dismay, it was her mother. Figuring she may as well take the harsh words and get it over with, she answered. “Mother …”
“Abigail.” There was no mistaking the note of disappointment adding steel to Celeste’s tone.
Getting up from in front of her easel, Abby paced to the window to peer outside. “I thought you would have called sooner. I didn’t think you would wait an entire day before lecturing me over that message I left.”
There was a brief pause. Abby braced herself for the onslaught of hurtful words. “What do you mean you’re done?”
“Just that, Mother. I’m no longer a part of your ridiculous revenge scheme. I can’t do it. Maybe Elaina can do what I couldn’t.” She certainly had the heart or lack thereof, to get such a grisly task done. “Why didn’t you have Elaina carry out the charade from the beginning?”
Celeste could be heard taking a deep breath. “Because she and Coldwell have a history,” she said. “He wants nothing to do with her.”
History? Abby stood taller as an absurd wave of jealousy surged through her. She’d suspected something happened between Damian and Elaina. The thought of him in bed with Elaina, making her feel everything he made Abby feel was sickening. She wanted to throw something. Preferably at Damian’s head. She wasn’t supposed to care what he did or who he did it with, but she couldn’t help it.
“I suspected as much,” she said. “Look, Mother, I tried. I couldn’t find anything on Damian.”
“There is something there,” Celeste said. “A man like him has to have a closet full of skeletons. We only have a matter of weeks left, Abigail, before we’re out on the street with nothing to our names.”
Abby’s brows shot up. Only Celeste and Elaina would be out on the street in a matter of weeks. Wyatt would be back at school, nice and cozy in his dorm, which she could continue paying for, and she would be fine because she actually worked for a living. “I’m sorry, Mother ... Maybe you can meet up with Damian yourself and ... grovel. He isn’t as heartless as you made him out to be.” Despite the way he treated her a couple of mornings ago, Damian had been kind of sweet otherwise.
“Abigail, I’m your mother. You’ll do as I say.”
Abby hadn't meant to allow her burst of laughter to escape, but there was no holding it back. “When have I ever done what you’ve told me to do? Except for the one time where I agreed to help you blackmail someone. A lapse in judgment on my part ...”
“Damian Coldwell killed your father.”
Abby sighed. “Unless you have proof that Coldwell wrapped the rope around Daddy’s neck and hung him in his closet, don’t give me that. I’m tired of hearing it—the rumors. What is the actual truth?” Abby was getting agitated. If Celeste continued to push, she’d have to hang up before she did something that she’d avoided for years—severely disrespect her mother. Celeste would deserve it, but Abby’s father would turn over in his grave.
Celeste sighed. “Sit down.”
“I am sitting.”
“You’re pacing. That’s what you do when you’re upset or nervous.”
Abby stopped her march in front of the window with a small smile. “I’m surprised you know that.”
“We rarely see eye to eye but you are my daughter, Abby.”
“You just called me Abby.”
