Page 37 of Wild for the Knight

Hiding this from her might not be difficult; she thinks Abby and I hate each other. I just fear that when she finds out, and she will because there’s no way I’m letting that woman in there go, it’ll blow up in a way none of us want. I’ll give it six months, let them get through their wedding in a few weeks, and go on their honeymoon. Then, maybe if we figure things out, we can tell them over Christmas. Yeah, that's a good plan.

Chapter 18 - Abby

We go home today, which means my little bubble of peace is about to pop. The guys and Zeke left early this morning, leaving Greyson, Hannah, Tate, and I to clean up, pack, and say goodbye to the cabin of fun.

I fold the last of my clothes into my suitcase when Hannah strolls in, humming a catchy tune that I’m sure I’ll curse her for later. She sits on the edge of my bed like it’s her room, hands framing her hips, a soft smile on her face. A picture of pure contentment.

I glance over my shoulder, eyebrow raised as I ask, “What’s got you all rainbows and unicorns over there?”

She gives me a smug, devious smile before dramatically throwing herself backward, arms and legs moving like she’s making a snow angel on the comforter. “Whatever do you mean?” she sings, voice dripping with faux innocence.

I snort before turning back to my suitcase. “You’re humming. You never hum unless you’re plotting something or...” I hear her gasp, but I continue anyway. “You just got laid.”

I’m met with a pillow to the back of the head, making me fall forward a bit. “First of all, rude.” She says as she hops off the bed, coming to stand in front of me with her hands on her hips. “Second of all, I do hum. On occasion.”

I shoot her a knowing look, and she responds with a shrug. “Can’t a girl just be happy? Geez.”

I roll my eyes but can’t hide the smile, because this is so us, Hannah filling silence with her shenanigans and me pretending I don’t like it when she does. “Can you try to do something for me on your drive back?” Ahh, there it is. She needs, or rather wants, something from me.

I straighten as I pull the suitcase off the bed and place it on the floor. “Okay, what?” She falls back on the bed, rolling over to her stomach, placing her hands under her chin as her feet kick behind her.

I’m going to miss this, these little moments where we can just be. She’s so much more comfortable being herself these days, she doesn’t try to hide who she is, or the awful southern words she sprinkles into conversation sometimes.

“Wanna see if you can find out who Tate’s dating?” I deflate like a tire that struck a nail. No, I do not. Because I know who, and damn it I don’t want to lie to her, but I also don’t want to give her hope if this doesn’t work out. I’m not convinced my brain won’t kick back into “Get the hell away from me” mode as soon as we get back home and into our normal routine.

My hands tighten around the jacket I picked up off the bed, channeling every bit of the ‘I hate Tate’ energy I have, and I look her dead in the eyes. “I would rather pull every single eyelash out, one by one.” She stares blankly for a second before her head falls forward and a silent laugh rolls through her body.

I chew on my bottom lip, my thoughts begin swirling as I think about the rest of the day. Eight hours. Eight long, confined hours I get to spend in the car with him. How in the world am I meant to survive that? How am I supposed to pretend my body isn’t still singing from his touch? That my mind isn’t still wrapped up in all the ways he unraveled me.

Lord almighty, that man is a machine, and I was all too eager to let him play my body like an instrument. But that’s not what has my stomach in knots. It’s the way it felt to be under his command. Natural, like he was always supposed to be mine. Like maybe, in some cruel twist of fate, we were made for each other.

Sure, I asked him to help me lose control, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t fight him tooth and nail to take it back. It doesn’t mean I didn’t feel like the world was falling out from under me with every whispered, “Let go, Abby.” I should listen to that. I should take it as a waving, blazing red flag and walk away before I get too deep. But if I’m being honest with myself, I already am.

There’s no undo button on what we’ve done, the lines we’ve crossed. No going back to the way things were before, before the fights turned to flirting. Before I saw his hard edges soften, just for me. Before I knew how his lips felt against mine, how his arms caged me in like they could keep the rest of the world out. Before I learned that he melts for me, too.

Hannah clears her throat, pulling me back to the present before I can fall too far down the rabbit hole. My gaze snaps to hers, it's sharp, assessing. Looking for cracks she can attack for her little mission. Her head tilts to the side, brows pinching like she’s working through the world's hardest crossword puzzle. When she juts out her bottom lip, my stomach jolts. That’s her ‘I’m about to pester you until I get what I want’ look.

“No,” I say as my finger points at her. I gotta shut this down before she can even start. Her arms slide out to the side as she drops her upper body on the bed with an exaggerated groan, slamming her forehead into it a few times, as if her dramatic reaction will get me to give in.

She lets out a long, agitated sigh before rolling to her back, tucking her hands behind her head as she settles. Her voice is gentle when she drops the bomb. Dare I say, deceptively gentle. “When are you going to settle down, Abs?” she whispers. “I don’t want you to be alone when I move out.”

I freeze. My jacket clenched tightly in my fist as I fight to free the breath that’s caught somewhere between my ribs. Her words burrow deep, twisting like a knife. I’m aware that this is a gross overreaction, yet here I am, spiraling. Again. Bat signal, bat signal, freaking bat signal.

I drop my jacket onto my suitcase, my jaw locked so tight it aches. I take a deep breath, trying to settle the flames burning me from the inside. It doesn’t help. I’ve spent this entire trip trying not to think about this very thing. I’ve been mostly successful. Until now.

“Abby?” she tries again, somehow even more gentle this time. And that’s the detonator.

I can’t do this. I move before I can even blink, my feet carrying me toward the bathroom. I pause just before the door, my head turning slightly so I can just make her out in my peripheral vision. But I don’t meet her gaze. I can’t.

“I’m perfectly fine on my own, Hannah,” I say, voice tight. The words taste like betrayal, but I force them out anyway. I need her to believe them. Hell, I needed to believe them. My skin feels like shrink-wrap under a heat lamp, my fingers twitching with the urge to scratch, peel, whatever it takes to get this feeling off.

“In fact,” I continue, voice void of emotion, “I prefer it that way.” What a steaming pile of crap that is. She goes silent, and somehow that makes it all twenty times worse. I grip the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely. The weight of everything presses in harder.

Tatum.

The abuse.

The texts.