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Abby folded the sleeves back to free her hands and smoothed her hair away from her face.
“It’s warm. That’s all I care about.”
A heartbeat of stillness settled between us as I took Abby’s wrist and climbed onto my Harley. I pulled her behind me, her body pressed against my back. Passing my helmet to her over my shoulder, I didn’t care what a risk it was to ride bare-headed. I didn’t have a spare helmet and I would gladly give up my life if it meant Abby was safe and unharmed.
As Abby gave directions back to her house, I fought every minute to focus on the road and not the way her arms were wrapped around my middle, or how close her lips were to my exposed neck.
When we pulled up to the old farmhouse outside of Merry Field, the street was quiet, the stars were bright overhead, and crickets chirped brightly. No police sirens. No lingering smell of smoke and burnt tires.
Abby didn’t budge. She pressed her cheek against my back and didn’t say anything. I reached back, curving my hand over her ankle. After a few seconds without protest, I dared to move a few inches higher up her leg, curling my fingers behind the crook of her knee, tangled with the silky fabric of her skirt and her chilled skin.
“You should get cleaned up,” I said softly. “Take a shower and wash that glass out of your hair.” I paused before adding, “Do you…need me to call someone for you?”
I felt Abby shake her head behind me, her chin bumping against my shoulder blade. She finally withdrew and removed my helmet, setting it on the seat as she climbed off. When she turned toward the house, her steps faltered.
The adrenaline was wearing off. Facing that big, dark house alone after tonight’s nightmare was probably nerve-racking.
Abby tugged at the sleeves of my hoodie and glanced back at me with uncertainty. This was her call to make. A few days ago, she told me to stay away because the life I lived was too dangerous for her family.
She could invite me in. Or she could tell me to go. It was her choice.
Without a word, Abby stepped closer and clasped my hand, leading me inside.
Chapter Eight
Abby
As soon as I saw Joel in that parking lot, with the broken windows, shattered glass, and the acrid scent of smoke hanging in the air, I felt nothing but calm. The stress, anxiety, and worry melted away. All I wanted was him.
So, I let him take me home, despite everything I’d said to him about staying away from us. I probably should have felt bad about leaving Henry at the cafe, but I decided to deal with that later.
For now, I needed to deal with the adrenaline crash that was developing into a migraine, throbbing in my temples. I needed to get the glass out of my hair and clothes, scrub the smell of smoke and sweat from my skin.
When I crossed the threshold, with Joel following close behind me, the realization finally hit me that we were alone. Cam wasn’t here. The implication could be misleading but I didn’t say anything different either.
“The kitchen is that way,” I said, gesturing to the right. “Make yourself at home. There’s no beer, but I plan to polish off a pint of ice-cream or two after I get cleaned up.”
Joel nodded, delicately brushing his thumb against my cheek. He slipped his hand around the back of my neck, his palm settling warm and firm there to anchor me.
“Call me if you need any help.”
As I watched Joel make his way through my house, toward my kitchen, it struck me just how comforting it was to see his broad shoulders filling my living space. My home. I had started this night on a date with Henry, but I never once considered the possibility of inviting him into my house like this.
When Joel was out of sight, I headed for the bathroom. In front of the mirror, under the unforgiving light, I looked wrecked—ghostly pale beneath my makeup, mascara smudged. After giving my face a good scrub, I started to clean the cut at my hairline. The microscopic pieces of glass were nearly impossible to see and even harder to get out. My hands were too unsteady and I couldn’t stop trembling.
I made a noise of frustration and flexed my hands to steady myself.
“Let me do it.”
I startled at Joel’s voice as he emerged from the shadows of the corridor. He rested his hand at the small of my back when he stepped into the bathroom. Standing a full head taller than me, his presence seemed to suck all the air out of my lungs.
“I…I’m fine,” I said. “I’ve got it covered.”
“Abby,” he whispered, holding out his hand. “Let me help you.”
Reluctantly, I surrendered the tweezers and cotton swab to Joel’s care. I turned to face him with only a few inches of space separating us. With a gentle touch, he slid two fingers beneath my chin and tilted my head up. He smoothed my hair back as his gaze roamed over me before setting his attention to the cut. It didn’t even hurt as he plucked the glass out.
I brought my hands up, fingers wandering over the frayed stitches of Joel’s belt, mapping the cracked and scarred leather. I drifted higher to the buttons of his shirt and the patches on his kut.
