There was a sign duct-taped to the wood board that said the space was for rent, with a number to call.
From there, it was all pretty simple.
The guy who owned it said he was still cleaning it out, but that it would be ready in four or five days. So I dropped by his place, set down a deposit, then made my way toward one of the nicer hotels in the area, the one overlooking the Navesink River.
I don’t know. I guess I just figured that the woman could use some luxury that didn’t come with pain and abuse as well.
Once that was all handled, I made my way back to the clubhouse, stomach tied a bit in knots. Because I’d made all those plans without once consulting Abigail about any of it.
She’d had someone controlling every aspect of her life for so long. She didn’t need another man doing it for her. But, I reasoned with myself, this situation was different.
I had to get her safe.
And I also had my orders from Fallon.
If she wanted to change some of the plans once I got her out of the clubhouse, that was fine. We could figure it out together.
“You got something to fill me in on?” Brooks asked when I got back into the lot and climbed off my bike.
“How’d you know?”
“Because Dezi has been chatting up that girl who claims she knows you for the past hour.”
Jealousy and possessiveness assaulted my system all at once.
Why?
Because Dezi was talking to her? I mean, this was Dezi we were talking about. He talked to every woman. Literally every fucking woman. He didn’t have to be attracted to them. He struck up conversations with the old ladies at the grocery store just as much as he did with the pretty college girls at the bars.
It was all just part of what made Dezi… Dezi.
Still, though, there was no denying the swirling discomfort in my stomach, the tightness in my chest.
Over a woman I had no claim over.
She was a part of my past.
Though, admittedly, she was clearly a part of my present as well.
And as I filled in Brooks on what was going on, I had to admit to myself that there was some part of me that thought a future with the woman who’d saved me when I couldn’t save myself didn’t sound too shabby…
CHAPTER SEVEN
Abigail
“So, what are your feelings on mini-cows?” the guy who’d introduced himself to me as Dezi said as he dropped down in a chair across from where I was sitting on the couch.
From the looks of his outfit, he’d just gotten back from the gym like Cary had. But that didn’t stop this man from cracking open the pastry box on his lap and plowing right into a jelly donut.
“I, ah, I’m sorry?” I asked, confused.
“Mini-cows. Yay high,” he said, gesturing to the side of the chair. “Spotted. Big eyes. You like them?”
“I’ve, um, I’ve never really thought about it,” I admitted. My world hadn’t exactly involved cute farm animals.
“What about babydoll sheep?”
“I don’t think I even know what that is,” I admitted.
“Hm. Alright. Just working on a theory,” he said, shrugging. “Donut?” he asked, holding the box out to me. “Come on, you know you wanna.”
“I just ate,” I said, even as my mouth salivated at the idea of something so sweet.
“What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?” he asked, making a strange laugh bubble up and burst out of me.
“What?”
“I dunno. Something some older lady said to me once. Stuck with me. I just eat all the time. Still manage to eat a donut or six after.”
So then he gave me a donut. And I pretended to eat it demurely. But Dezi must have been onto me, because he barely paused after I finished before handing me another one. And then another.
My stomach screamed at the too-full feeling after so many years of surviving on the bare minimum. And all the sugar had me feeling like I was buzzing.
But, God, alive. I felt alive for the first time in far too long.
“I’m going to get some more coffee,” I told him, even though I didn’t need any more sugar or caffeine in my system right then. But it was too novel to be able to get my own food and drinks to turn down the opportunity to do so. “Can I get you some?” I asked.
“That sounds good. Wash down all this sugar with more sugar,” he added, giving me a wink.
This Dezi guy was, arguably, really attractive. But in a way that I guess had never been my type. He was a rough and dirty sort of handsome with his long hair, his tattoos, his scruff that looked more careless than cultivated, and his abundance of scars.
Still, though, I felt absolutely nothing at that little wink of his, or the warm look in his eyes.
Nothing like the gut-kick sensation I’d felt when I’d finally seen Cary in person.
No.
I couldn’t let my mind go there.
There was how all my problems in my life started.
Besides, he wanted to help me. I couldn’t let my complicated feelings get in the way of the original plan.
To get away.
To get safe.
To, eventually, be able to start my life over again. This time, on my own terms.
I didn’t even know what that would look like. I’d never really had any say in how my life turned out.
There were a few things I knew. Like I would need a job. What kind, I had no idea. I had no work history. I had no skills. But I would find something somewhere.
Then I would need to figure out how to get my own place.
That idea was both scary and thrilling. A whole place, all my own. To decorate how I wanted. To exist within in any way that made me happy.
I knew I was getting away with myself, but in my head, I was picturing paint swatches and what sorts of furniture I would want.
Not Kian’s style. Which I guess I could call “football fanatic.” Everything was overstuffed recliners in dark brown shades, giant TVs, sound systems, and not a single piece of art on the walls.
And it went without saying that Raúl’s style was out too. At least he’d actually had some. I would give him that. His house had been stunningly beautiful, but in a cold, stark way. It was massive, so it seemed almost under furnished. But all the accents were black and gold. He’d even had a giant gold leopard statue in the living room. There was art on the walls, but black, gray, and gold abstracts that didn’t really interest me.
The one thing both places had in common was the complete and utter lack of anything even remotely feminine. You would never know a woman lived there if you stepped inside either of their houses.
I wanted my future place to reflect me for once in my life.
Outside of work and a home, I had no real vision for the rest of my life. Biological children weren’t an option. And I wasn’t sure I could ever trust my taste in men again.
But some friends would be nice. A sort of chosen family. People to spend holidays and birthdays with.
Yeah, that sounded nice.
I was just finishing mixing the mugs of coffee when I heard male voices in the living room.
I knew I shouldn’t have, but it seemed like eavesdropping was how I was wired now. You could call it a survival tactic. It was always better to know what the men around me were saying when they didn’t know I was listening.