Wreck Me - Page 206

I lean in to place a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I love you, Abigail, with all of me.”

“I love you too, bulldozer.”

She smiles, and I nudge her neck. “What part of me? My dick? My charming personality? My heart?”

“Oh, charming personality, that’s new.”

I bite back a laugh, and she props on her side, draping a leg over my waist. Eyes locked on each other, my finger caresses her soft cheek.

“What else is on your mind, Abigail?”

“This feels too damn good to be true. I’m afraid I will wake up, and it would have all been a dream.”

“Fear can be good. It’s life’s compass, sweetheart. But I assure you, this is not a dream.”

She tilts her head. “Go to sleep. I have a drawing to finish.”

No, she won’t. Not tonight.

I caress her back, and she sighs, falling asleep.

I’m still energized, feeling so damn happy and content I want to shout it loud enough that it will echo in the universe.

Pulling my jeans on, I go outside, inhaling the fresh air. Calmness descends over me like I’ve never experienced before.

Kaden’s BMW pulls into the parking lot. He steps out, hair disheveled, wearing a wrinkled shirt.

“How is she?” we both ask, chuckling at the same time.

With knowing the truth about Abigail and him came my salvation. I have no reason to loathe this guy.

“Doing better,” he says. “Thank you for being there for Abi.”

“I would have been there from the beginning.”

“Still hate me?”

“The fact that you’re still alive speaks of my good intentions.”

“Have to take a shower and get a fresh change of clothes.” He cracks a smile and goes inside.

I pour myself a glass of water and walk up the stairs when I halt at a figure tiptoeing into a room.

Muffled voices draw my attention, and I approach Mia’s room and hear her say, “You’re a damn coward.”

A door creaks open. I snap my head to find Bailey’s wide eyes.

“What are you doing?” she mouths. I point at the door, making it obvious that I am eavesdropping.

The handle turns, and Bailey disappears behind her door like a ninja.

Blake doesn’t even see me as he descends the stairs. I feel sorry for him. His hooded eyes and sunken head are a clear sign that he’s hurting.

I follow him to the living room.

We sit on the couch, and I say, “So?”

“You’re horrible at this.”