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Chapter Twenty-three
Abel
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My eyes dart open andinstantly land on the waves of blonde hair spread out across the pillow next to me. I can’t resist the urge to reach out and run my fingertips through it. Peyton doesn’t stir when I do.
I didn’t plan last night. When the evening started, I had a much more creative use of my dare in mind. But then I saw her from my balcony. She was climbing out of her car, the wind whipping through her hair and causing her dress to flutter in the breeze.
She looked so beautiful that I nearly forgot how to breathe. Like a perfect angel sent down to Earth just for me. And that’s exactly how she looked with the sun glittering off her blonde waves. An angel.
I look at my hand as it slides through Peyton’s hair. It’s been two days since I took off my ring, yet every time I look down I expect to see it there. It’s strange but was something I needed to do. Claudia was right, it was time.
When I slid the band from my finger it felt like someone had stuck a knife in my side and was turning it over and over again. The pain was enough to put me on the verge of vomiting.
But then something strange happened. A sort of calm washed over me. It was like this heavy weight had lifted. I felt lighter than I had in years and I knew, in that moment, that Finley was with me. That she was there, telling me it was okay. That I was doing the right thing.
I roll onto my back and look up at the ceiling where the bright morning sun peering through the blinds casts stripes of light across it.
Peering back toward Peyton, I let out a slow breath. I keep waiting for the panic to claw at my chest and my stomach to coil the way it always did when I’d wake up next to some random girl after a night of drinking, but I don’t feel an ounce of that. That has to mean something, right?
In fact, if anything I feel happy. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the sensation I had almost forgotten the feeling.
And yet there’s still that voice – the one telling me that I can’t possibly give her what she needs.
That’s what scares me the most. How could I ever be enough when I have so little of myself left to give? Peyton doesn’t deserve someone who can only give her half a heart. She deserves someone that can give her his everything.
I want to be that man. I want to be that man for her. But deep down I know I can’t be. I already gave myself to another, and when she died she took me to the grave with her.
Deciding there’s no way I can possibly go back to sleep; I gently toss back the covers and roll out of bed. Grabbing my shirt from the floor, I slip it over my head, then tiptoe out of the bedroom in an attempt not to disturb Peyton.
Pulling the door closed softly behind me, I pad out to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. Before Finley, I never drank the stuff. I couldn’t stand it. But after living with her and Claire, I just got in the habit of making a pot every morning. When I moved to California, the first morning I woke up there I immediately went to the coffee pot and started brewing a pot. It took me a good two minutes to realize that I was making coffee for no one. Because I was alone and I would always be alone.
The thought of never brewing a pot of coffee again was so unsettling that I poured a cup and made myself drink it. I did it again the next day and the next, until one day when I sat down and put the steaming cup of coffee to my lips, it didn’t taste quite so bad. Somewhere along the line I had gotten used to it.
I’ve been a coffee drinker ever since.
It takes a few minutes for the pot to run through. I pass the time by tidying up the kitchen and putting away the dishes I left on the counter to dry the night before.
I’ve just grabbed a coffee cup from the cabinet when Peyton appears in the doorway of the kitchen wearing the sundress she had worn the night before.
“Hey.” She smiles, running a hand through her hair.
“Hey.” I smile back. “Coffee?” I grab a second mug before waiting for her response.
“Yeah, coffee sounds great.” She moves to the far counter and hoists herself up onto it, her legs dangling off the edge beneath her.
“Did you sleep okay?” I glance in her direction as I fill our mugs.
“Really good, you?”
“I slept pretty good as well,” I admit. “Sorry if I woke you.” I gesture back toward the bedroom.
“Oh, no, you didn’t. I’m usually a pretty early riser. Especially when I’m in a strange place.”
“Did you just refer to my home as astrangeplace?” I quirk a brow in her direction.
“You know what I mean.” She crinkles her nose playfully.
