Wreck Me - Page 209

You don’t deserve her.

You’re a waste of a man, just like your daddy.

Fuck, those dark thoughts cram into my head, tearing apart my good mood. I’m tipping. I bolt out, but Abigail is right behind me.

My chest heaves. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight against the inevitable.

She caresses my back, and every muscle in my body loosens.

“What is it, baby? Talk to me. I’m here. Let the demons out.”

“Why would you want someone like me? They’re always there, like a damn cancer eating at my happiness. I should have been here and stayed by your side. You don’t need someone as fucked as I am. You deserve the best… it’s not me.”

I turn to look at her, but instead of rejection, I see only love and understanding, which makes me weak in my knees.

Lifting onto her toes, she wraps her arms around my neck. “Of course, I need you. You’re my home. You’re the best for me and worthy of me. Remember that and hold on to our love. When your brain goes into that dark place, don’t hide from me. I accept that, and I love you, all of you. Together.”

“Together.”

When I wake up, Dane is already at the track. I pull his pillow to my nose and inhale his heady, woodsy scent. I miss him, and I can’t wait for him to return.

My phone rings. I pick it up from my nightstand and see Grandmother calling. Taking a deep breath, I slide my thumb over the screen to accept the call.

“Abigail, I’m expecting you in half an hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

As I change, a hundred thoughts run through my head. But my disarrayed thoughts vanish when Dane calls me.

“Hi, princess.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing laps?”

“I took a break. Missed you so much, I had to hear your voice.”

A smile tugs at my lips, my insides melting. Us being together is not a dream. It’s the best kind of reality.

“What are you doing?”

“Grandmother summoned me.”

A heavy silence follows.

“I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Baby, no. I have this.”

“Sure?”

“Yes. I Love you. See you later.”

I hang up and drive toward the estate. Thomas welcomes me inside and takes me to Grandmother’s sitting room. She’s standing at the window, holding herself up on her cane and looking at the rose garden stretching before her.

I approach her, and after I curtsy and kiss her hand, she caresses the side of my face. Strong emotions surge through me.

“Thank you for coming so quickly. Please, take a seat,” she says, pointing at the sitting area. Two elegant, rose-embroidered chairs and a cream round table resting by the window.

Is she sick? And strangely, at the thought, a queasy feeling knots my insides.