Page 14 of Shark’s Pride

Chapter Three

Abbigail

As I accomplished a strong finish for the final two blocks of my Saturday twilight run, I listened to an old favorite playlist for motivation. Pop princesses warbled about strength and girl power, giving me a needed surge of encouragement.

Since I’d been at the kitchen all afternoon testing out new cookie recipes, there hadn’t been any time to head for a more glamorous route than the typical neighborhood loop. It was likely for the best. There was a certain comfort to familiar things—and right now, I’d take the little reassurances where I could get them.

It was the first week of August. The air was warm, the breezes were balmy, and everyone on the planet was likely spending time near the ocean as the waning sun turned the sky into an orange-and-purple light show. As I turned up my final block, I fought to take inspiration from the sky’s brilliance as well as the song playing in my ears. The artist was crooning about taking chances and facing life’s struggles. The song intensified, as did my gait. I envisioned words on a motivational banner—as if Sebastian Shark were waving it at the finish line.

Because all week long, he’d been the one heeding the song. Making mountains move. Pushing on and refusing to break.

Refusing to give up on me. On us.

With my lungs heaving and my legs burning, I stopped in front of my building. I bent over and planted my hands on my knees. I hissed between my teeth, fighting that truth. Useless battle. This was no half-asleep dream or vague fantasy to indulge while sitting in traffic. This was a leap Bas was ready and willing to take—and had shown, over and over again, since our first heart-halting reunion in his office. And every confusing day since. He definitely had tenacious down to the letter.

And worse: I couldn’t resolve what to do about any of it. Did I escape or swim with the shark? Did I heed the screams of my logic and keep my heart intact or surrender to the magical, passionate flood of Sebastian once more and risk becoming the next notch on his bedpost?

“Why thank you very much, universe,” I grumbled between deeper breaths. “That was exactly the dilemma I needed in my simple existence right now.”

“Uhhh…please tell me you’re on your Bluetooth.”

The source of the callout pushed off from where she’d been leaning against the far corner of my condo complex’s first building. For a second, my gaze bugged. Rio looked ready to slay in a sexy black dress, sky-high ankle boots, and sparkly accessories. Her inky hair was slicked back from one side of her face and then artfully curled against the other. She reminded me of Louise Brooks, the original “it” girl of Hollywood’s silent films, circa 1920.

“If I was, I’d be getting off the call to snap a selfie with the movie star waiting outside my building.” I made the assertion between my lingering huffs from the run.

“Oooo.” She teased a couple of glances over her shoulders. “Who? Where?”

“You, sexy little kitten. Who else?” I came by my golden Hollywood knowledge from my mom. I’d kept all her beloved scrapbooks, filled with pictures of the silent and classic movie actresses she’d idolized as a little girl. She’d seen all the old black-and-white films since there wasn’t much else to do during rainy days on a Rhode Island dairy farm.

Her face tightened. “Abs. I think we need to talk for a minute.”

I replied with a fast, tight nod. Better that than bursting into tears, even though seven full days had passed since our argument. And we did need to talk. I wanted to make things right with my sister-in-law. I did. But I wasn’t in a hurry to repeat the tear festival I’d been having since that night, either. It hurt my heart to be at odds with Rio. She was the only womanly sounding board I had in my life, and I’d been missing her dearly. With all the confusing, confounding, amazing, and exciting changes that had been taking place in my world since Sebastian had so possessively strode into its core, I’d really been needing someone to talk to. Someone to curl up on my bed with and giggle about the parts that were making my stomach do crazy things. Someone to clutch hands with and ask the blunt questions that terrified me to think about while sitting alone.

But that meant getting through this part. My apology would be difficult. I also knew it would ultimately circle back to Bas, and Rio had been many things over the past few weeks, but part of the Sebastian Shark fan club wasn’t one of them.

I gathered my courage, yanked on the big-girl panties, and squared my shoulders. “Rio…”

“No, Abbi.” She shot up a hand. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I owe you an apology. I was a bitch, and I was wrong for that.”

Her huff was nearly a growl. “Stop.”

“You have to let me say it.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed the way I did. That was on me. I’m sorry too.”

Her sienna eyes seemed even bigger as they shone with tears. I pushed off the wall and all but forced her into my embrace.

“Don’t cry. You’re going to smudge your makeup.”

“That’s what compact mirrors are for.”

“But this mess isn’t worth it,” I protested. “I had no right to behave the way I did last weekend. I was a first-rate brat.” I pulled back from our hug, shaking my head, still so disappointed with my own behavior.

The laugh I expected from that was a no-show. Instead, there was quiet affection in the form of her soft stroke along the side of my head. “Maybe you deserve that every once in a while,” she murmured. “Christ, Abbi. You’re still so young. So many times, we all forget that—but the person leading the pack on that pressure is often you.”

I gulped hard. “Maybe that’s on purpose.”