Abigail listens without looking away once. Not pitying. Not interrupting. She’s just…there.
It does something to me I’m not prepared for.
“My mom…” My voice cracks, and I grit my teeth. “She tried. God, did she try. She protected us until she couldn’t. Joe took the worst of it, always trying to shield me. She’s only a few yearsolder than me, but to her those few years felt like a lifetime of responsibility.”
Her breath hitches, barely, and I know she’s imagining it. She’s connecting her pain with mine. People who’ve been broken recognize the shape of it in others.
“One night, he came home out of his goddamn mind.” I swallow, and my hands tremble. I shake my head and will the tear not to slip from my eye. “He killed her.”
Abigail doesn’t gasp. She doesn’t speak. She just slowly, carefully, touches my shaking hand. It’s light. Gentle. Like she’s afraid I’ll pull away. Eventually, she whispers, “I’m so,sosorry, Jasper.”
I nod once, because if I speak right this second, I’ll lose it.
“Joe survived, obviously,” I manage after a minute. “Barely, though. Dad was arrested. Life sentence. Sent Joe and me letters all the time, though. I didn’t open a single one. Burned them, actually.”
Her eyes widen—understanding the anger that still simmers inside of me.
“But this year… some things happened with Joe and her guys…” I exhale roughly. “Anyway, he’s gone. Dead. Joe and her men made sure of it.”
Abigail’s brows knit, but she doesn’t look shocked. Hell, maybe nothing could shock her after what she’s lived through.
“I thought I’d feel relieved,” I admit. “Or happy. Or—I don’t know…free?”I shake my head. “Mostly I just feel… tired. And angry. Angry at the world for turning him into that. Angry that my mom died trying to save herself and her kids from him. Angry that Joe had to protect me when she was just a child herself. Angry that I’m still thinking about him at all.”
I finally look at her.
Really look.
Her eyes shine with something fierce and something soft at the same time. And God help me, it pulls me under.
“I want to get to a point where he’s not the first thing I remember when I think about my life. I want to think about my mom. About Joe. About the Taylors and Beau, and how if it weren’t for them and everything they gave me, I’d probably be just likehim.”
Her thumb brushes the inside of my hand. A barely there touch but enough to light every nerve I have.
“Jasper…” Her voice is almost a breath. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I didn’t do it so you’d tell me your story,” I say before she can go there. “You don’t owe anybody that. That’s yours and yours alone for as long as you want it. Especially with what happened with the Bratva.”
She stills, surprise flickering through her expression.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I know a little more than you think.”
Her breath stutters, and she looks away. “It’s not something I can talk about. Not yet.”
“And you don’t have to,” I tell her. “Not until you want to. Not until it won’t break something inside of you to say it.”
Her eyes lift to mine, and heat licks down my spine.
Because that look?
That look is trust.
And desire.
And fear.
Abigail stands first, smoothing her hands along her thighs. “Thank you for… tonight. For everything.”
I stand too. A step closer than I should. Too close, actually. Because she has to tilt her chin up to keep looking at me. Her breath brushes against my chest.
