Page 41 of Tormented
TWELVE
Abbey
Goddamn, that man is beautiful. If he weren’t such an arrogant asshole, I might be crushing hard on the guy. But looks only get you so far, and for me, that’d be about one week in before I’d had enough of his self-righteous attitude and was ready to throw him to the dogs.
I let myself be so overcome by his blatant sexuality as he whispered in my ear, filled my senses with everything about him, that I took down my guard and spilled. Something about the moment felt right, it felt warranted that I at least let him know why I’m the way I am. I don’t choose to be a bitch for nothing, to shut everyone out and hold back my secrets just for kicks. There are valid reasons why I keep my history exactly that, reasons that benefit more than just myself.
“What’s got you lookin’ like you sucked on a lemon?” Fingers asks as I storm back into the garage and get situated in my safe spot.
“That jackass upstairs has,” I grumble.
“Sawyer?”
“Who else comes to mind when I say jackass?”
He chuckles. “I could think of a few, but yeah, he comes first.” He sets the spanner in his hand down and walks the few feet to where I’m perched on his worktable. “What did he do?”
“Nothing really. It’s more what he said.”
“He pickin’ on you again, girl? Because if he is, I’ll go and have a word myself.”
I smile lopsidedly at Fingers. He’s crooked in the spine, and years of manual labor have taken their toll on his cracked and weathered skin. He’d be no match for Sawyer, but the fact that his heart is in the right place and he’d think of even giving it a try . . . I love the old man for it.
“I’m gonna miss you,” I say on a sigh.
He grins. “Where am I goin’?”
The man’s a terrible liar. He’s sick. I know it. I can see it in his rapid decline in health. He tries to pretend his sight is okay—even with glasses—but I can tell he’s losing vision in his right eye. All that talk of training me up to replace him only confirmed what I’ve suspected for a while now.
“How long?” I ask.
He reaches out, placing a wrinkled hand on my leg. “That’s not for you to worry about, sweetheart.”
Fuck him. He can’t shut me out when it matters most. My chin dimples as I fight the tears. I love this old idiot so badly. He was my father when I had none, reading to me at night by the workshop light. He took me to my first carnival, and even though the guy is terrified of heights, rode with me on the roller coaster when I was too young to go unattended.
Every damn time I lost it as a kid and started scratching and biting at the people who posed a threat, he was the one who would calmly walk in and take my hand. I trust him with everything, would give him everything, life itself if it were possible.
“You can’t keep me out of this,” I say with an unsteady voice. “I’m all you’ve got.”
He shakes his head with a smile. “Rubbish. I’ve got all these men here.” He waves his free hand dismissively at the clubhouse.
“But they don’t love you like I do.”
He swallows, and for a moment I almost think I’ll see him shed a tear. But he stiffens that upper lip and nods tightly. “I’ve had enough of talkin’ about it, Abbey. How about you get back to what we started with? What did Sawyer say?”
I stare him straight in the eye for a moment, knowing there’s no beating the old guy when he’s made up his mind, and then draw a deep breath. “He said I should let go and cry it out.”
“Cry what out?” His brow pinches.
“Everything. He thinks I keep too many secrets; that I try to be too brave. That I’m weaker than I want to think.”
Fingers ducks his head to one shoulder. “He might be right, you know.” He pulls his hand away and fidgets with a socket set. “You’ve only told me a little about where you came from, darlin’, but I get the sense there’s a lot more you haven’t got to yet.”
“I told him about Evan.”
Fingers’ brow pinches. “What’d he do?”
“Looked as though he wanted to choke the life out of someone.”