Page 44 of His Promise

“I don’t care what you tell the press, Abi.” I pull my hand away like I’m disgusted, but my gut twists at the fading warmth. “I’m beginning to think Las Vegas isn’t the place I want to further my career, after all.”

“Then what are you so afraid of?”

“I’m notafraidof anything. I’m not lying to you.”

She throws her head back to stare at the ceiling and groans. “Yes, you are! You can think I’m an idiot all you want, but I’m not! Your aunt acted like you being there was a dream come true. Shemissesyou. So your story about not being connected to them is bullshit. Maybe you don’t talk to them now, but you obviously used to. So I’ll ask again, why are you lying about this? Why are you acting like you’re afraid of them?”

“I amnotafraid of them!” My fist slams on the table, echoing loudly off the blank, gray walls of the condo. Abi flinches and curls into herself. The look of terror on her face sobers me, and my jaw unclenches. My hands stretch out of fists.

Her body freezes like I’ve seen it do multiple times before, and now it reminds me of a cornered animal. It’s a reflex for her, and not one given at birth. This is a reflex developed over multiple episodes of violence, and I feel like a fool for not seeing it before.

Things begin to click into place, and suddenly I know why she came to Las Vegas, I know why she has the fake IDs, and I know why she’s so protective of her son.

I know what she’s running from.

Abi stands from the chair on shaky legs and starts toward the door.

“Wait.” I jump from my chair and catch her by her wrist. “Hey, I’m—”

A crack sounds from Abi’s palm connecting with my cheek, and a hot sting spreads a moment later. I let go of Abi’s wrist and bring my hand to my face, touching my cheek out of shock.

“Don’t fucking touch me. Not now. Not ever.”

“Jesus, Abi…” I raise my hands to settle her and open my mouth to tell her to calm down.

“No.” She raises a hand to silence me before words come out. “For days you’ve been quiet, not answering my questions, not giving me any details, nothing. So you’re going to be quiet now too.”

She sucks in a breath through her nose, and my eyes roam her face, landing on her tense jaw. She looks like she’s about to explode.

“I know the kind of man you are, Colter. You get off on having the upper hand, whether that’s with secrets or with pain. You don’t care about anyone but yourself, and you know what?” She looks me up and down and lets out a dry laugh. “Idoget why you don’t care about your family, even when they clearly love you. Men like you aren’t even capable of love.”

Anger brews inside of me, and my spine straightens. My teeth grit, and my face hardens.

I’m not capable of love?

Fuck. Her.

“You want to hit me, don’t you?” She stands tall and steps toward me so we’re inches apart. “Go ahead, hit me. I don’t even care anymore, and you know why? I’m not afraid of you either! I amdonebeing afraid of men like you.”

I take a step back, and for once in my life I hope my face displays my emotions clearly.

“Hit you? Is that honestly what you think, that I want to hit you?” I scoff and take another step back. “I don’t know what the guy did to fuck you up, but I am not him. Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m some wifebeater.”

She pushes angry breaths through her nose until the rage morphs to something else. Sadness. Grief. I’m not sure. Tears spring to her eyes, and she swipes at the few that leak onto her cheek.

I don’t know what kind of past is clawing its way from her right now, but it guts me. I don’t consider myself an empathetic man. I’ve seen a lot of pain in my lifetime, and I’ve experienced plenty myself. I don’t do comfort or compassion. It just isn’t me.

But right now, watching this ballsy woman fall apart, kills me. Thick sludge fills my throat, and it’s all I can do to swallow it down before it suffocates me.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” I ask because I can’t stop myself. “You're running from your ex-husband?”

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and bites down, not answering.

“Is he Zeke’s father?”

I don’t expect her to answer. She doesn’t need to. I’ve already put puzzle pieces I didn’t know I had together.

When I was younger, I moved in with a guy who had a lot of money, and it made me feel trapped…

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