A Long Time Coming (19 page)

“Abigail, if there is one
thing I am sure of in my life right now—in this moment—then it’s that one
single phrase, okay? I love you. And I’ll shout it from the rooftops, write it
in my book, I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe me. I’ve screwed up
in the past—I’ve always screwed up with you, with us. But this time, Abs, I
promise you…I will
always
love you, till I the day that I die, till the
world ends, and even beyond that.”

Yeah…she believed him. Totally
fucking believed him.

Grinning, she tucked her head
under his chin and kissed his chest. What could she say? How could she respond
to words that she knew she could in no way top? Easy…she responded, all out,
Abigail Zane style.

“Good, because, David Paul?”
she kissed his neck, shutting her eyes as she inhaled the scent of his
aftershave, “I would have totally kicked your ass if you didn’t.”

He tightened his hold on her,
kissing her head, laughing. She sighed, loving the sound. Wondering when the
last time she’d really heard it was. “No worries, I’m not afraid of a girl.”

“You should be.”

Chuckling harder he nuzzled
his nose into her hair, “Abigail, Abigail… I’ve loved you since the day I met
you. And over the years, it’s only grown more. You are my reason for being.
Don’t ever doubt me. Because when I say something, declare something, I mean
it.” She shuddered, loving his words, loving him, “And I’m declaring something
right now. Are you ready to hear it?”

“Depends…do I need a lawyer
present? Because I can totally call my mom’s—”

Forcing her over onto her
back, he pressed her arms over her head, lowering his lips against hers, not
kissing her though—just grazing. Her eyes widened a gasp of sheer pleasure fell
from her mouth. And then he spoke, and all words were lost as he whispered his
declaration into her ear.

“You were the first girl I
ever loved, and someday I intend to make you the last.”

Oh. Sweet. Jesus. There really
were no words…

Minutes later, he had her
against his chest again, his breathing slowed on her neck as the quietness took
over between them. He was escaping into a dream, finally letting the stress
take a back seat to the one thing he needed most. Carefully, she rolled over,
facing him, kissing his cheek. He was exhausted, but now, of course,
she
was
completely wired. She shouldn’t have been. She was pregnant. But too, she’d
just learned the scariest truth, and it drained her of emotions, and plagued
her with insomnia instead.

Her favorite mother was dying.
Her boyfriend, if that’s what they actually were now, was hurting something
fierce. And a thousand miles away, her oblivious best friend was in a world
where life continued on. Shit…this was going to absolutely kill Harley.

Minutes passed, and she still
couldn’t get comfortable. Her lower abdomen ached with the need to pee, but
getting up and leaving his arms was going to suck. She loved his body so close
to hers, and the prospect of sleeping all night tucked next to him, was beyond
tempting. But if she lay there any longer, her constant shifting and wiggling would
inevitably wake him up.

Slowly, she slipped from the
bed, finding the floor seconds later. She wrapped a robe tightly around her
body, before she covered her cold feet with a pair of fuzzy socks. Letting the
door click shut behind her, she headed down the hall until she reached the
steps. She was hungry. Every night at this time, her little Anderson Alien
would demand to be fed, and she smiled at the thought, reaching into the fridge
for the milk.

The clock above the stove said
one, but her body was in no way ready to believe the late hour. Pulling the box
of cereal from the cupboard, Abigail heard the unmistakable sound of her mom
talking to someone—most likely it was Bob–the–fuck–buddy–builder. Curiosity
took over her need to eat, and she stood from her chair and inched her way
towards the wall separating the kitchen and the family room.

“She blames it on me, you
know. When are you going to tell her the truth? I’ve covered for you long
enough.”

Heavy sighs echoed opposite
her mom and she tensed at the sound, “I…I just can’t. She’s not ready. She
needs more time.”

“But I’m tired of being the
martyr here, Jonathon…” Jonathon? As in her father, Jonathon? What was he doing
here? What were they talking about?

“I’m not ready yet either.”

“Well, you should be, you
selfish asshole. Besides, she’s going to figure it out eventually anyway. Don’t
you think it’d be better coming from you, rather than hearing it from another
source?”

What was going on? She gripped
the edge of the wall, tightening it within her hold as she chewed on her lip.
Maybe she should just go in there, demand to know what they were talking about.
But too, she knew sneaking would always be more conventional, in turn it would
get her more answers in the long run.

“What am I supposed to say,
anyway?
Hey Abigail, by the way, I’m not your dad? I’m your dad’s gay
brother? I’m your uncle?
Yeah, I’m not heartless, and I love her like she
is my own daughter!”

“But it’s time we both got on
with our lives, Jonathon. I’m in love with someone else, and I know you are
too. Am I correct?”

What. The. Fuck? Her stomach
churned. She was so going to puke. But she was also seriously going to cry.
Ugly cry. Was she in some sort of alternative universe here, one that insisted
on torturing people at every waking moment of their lives? She crept backwards,
her heart stalling out into her throat as she sank against kitchen wall. She
slid to the floor, curling her knees up under her chin. Shaking her head, she
took it all in again, rotting away in her own little corner of self–denial. She
cried silently as their voices echoed louder. They were fighting this time, but
she couldn’t make sense of their words. In fact, she couldn’t hear anything
beyond the pounding of her head and the repetitive words she’d just heard seconds
before.

I’m not your dad. I’m your
dad’s gay brother.

Covering her mouth, she leapt
to her feet, knocking over a shelf at the same time. Dishes scattered over her
feet, shattering against the tile. The wire rack fell against the wall, echoing
throughout the kitchen. She didn’t care if they heard her. She couldn’t care…
Her stomach was in control now and she’d hurl on the floor if she wasn’t
careful.

She darted towards the
bathroom by the front door, just barely making it to her knees. The dark room
spun in dangerous circles as she heaved her dinner into the toilet.

“Oh God…” her mom’s echoing
cries sounded from the door, and she fell to the ground next to her.

Water rushed from the sink and
seconds later a wet cloth was placed over her neck. “What’s wrong with her? Did
she catch something on the plane you think?”

“How the hell am I supposed to
know, Jonathon?”

Her mother cooed in her ear,
like she was a baby or something. All she wanted to do was push her away, but
at the same time she couldn’t find the energy to do anything but lay her head
against the cool lid. Was it the baby…or her nerves…or a combination of both
making her so sick?

“Let me take her to bed. I’ll
carry her.”

Stiffening, she edged away as
her dad—or whoever the fuck this guy was—reached for her. “No.” They couldn’t
know about David in her room. Granted she was a big girl, and could care less
what they thought anyways. What she didn’t want was to worry David any more.
She just needed a few minutes of recoup time. Then she’d find her way back to
his arms again.

“Honey, let your dad help
you.”

Not sure if it was the word
dad
that did her in or her mother in general, but either way, she was done,
with everything.

“I’m fucking pregnant. I’m not
dead.”

There. That’d teach ’em to
screw with her.

A groan and a gasp sounded
together in the space of the bathroom, and she lifted her blurred gaze to see
their full reactions. Grinning wickedly, she spoke, “So…what do you think about
that one,
Daddy
dearest? Hmm?” Her brows rose, her vicious glare re–focused
on her mother’s watery face. Fuck ’em both. They might as well know it all.

“Or are you too worried that
your
own
precarious issues will get overshadowed by your daughter’s
stupidity? Because I can guarantee you both that
my
kid will always know
the truth about his or her parents.” She shook her head, standing, only to push
past them both before heading towards the kitchen. She ignored the broken
glass, stepping around it to grab a glass of water. Their footsteps followed
her, but their words were missing.

“Huh, you know…I kind of
always knew something wasn’t right with you two. And I’m almost delighted to
know you were both too preoccupied with your need to stay happy, rather than
telling me the truth. I love being held in the dark you know.” She shrugged,
dropping her glass into the sink, turning to face them.

Leaning back into the
countertops, she almost smiled again as their pale expressions studied her with
their obvious guilt.

“Honey, you don’t understand…”

“I mean, if this is how you’re
supposed to be a mom then maybe I need to study up a bit more.” She tapped her
finger against her chin, appearing thoughtful. “I do know one thing though…”
Inching forward, she stood face to face with her faux father. The man she
always thought she looked like, the man who was blood related to her, yes, but
was also a liar—and apparently her uncle too. She didn’t lie though. She’d
never be like him in that sense. She’d be better. Damn better.

“I’m sort of glad my baby
won’t call you grandpa now because real
grandfathers
and real
fathers
give a shit about their kids. And you obviously don’t.”

Leaving them there in
annoyingly, broken stupors, she ran from the room, only to sprint up the steps.
Two at a time, she took them, gasping along the way until she made it to the
hallway. She slowed her footsteps, trying to rein in her nerves and heart as
she neared her room.

She knew what she had to do
now. She had to wake up David. She had to tell him the truth. And she had to do
it now. She couldn’t be a liar already like her mother and father. And he
needed to know, even though the timing was shitty. Yes. This was the right
thing to do. She knew it now, without a shadow of doubt. Secrets like this
could not be kept.

Then tomorrow, in the light of
the day when their emotions weren’t as high, and their angst was buried a bit
deeper into the surface of their bodies, they could figure life
out—together—the two of them.

Hands shaking, she held it
over the handle, twisting it…only to find it already open. She froze…she’d locked
the door when she left…and now…it was open? Heart thundering in her chest she
turned around. Christ. No. She saw the shadow on the floor, already knowing
exactly who it was. David. And clad in his jeans and nothing more he sat,
hovered near the bathroom door. His head was tucked between his elbows, his
forehead laid against his knees. The sitting version of the fetal position…

No…no, no, no.

Hands stuck to her side, she
crept forward, her steps tentative, heart in mega fast–forward, stomach
churning once again. “D–David?” She bit her lip, he didn’t move a muscle.
“David I…”

“Who is the father, Abigail?”
She shut her eyes, frozen for a minute at his question. He’d heard her. Dammit!

Playing stupid, she spoke,
“How did—”

“Ever since the accident, any
and all loud noises wake me up. I can’t sleep soundly anymore, I can’t sleep
much at all. I heard something break, so I went downstairs…heard you in the
bathroom, throwing up. Heard you in the kitchen…yelling.” His voice was so
even. So scary even…

Biting the inside of her cheek
until she drew blood, she found the motivation, the strength too, to finally
stand before him. He didn’t look up. He
had
to look up. “Look at me,
David.”

His head was down, shaking,
“I…I can’t. I’m sorry Abigail. I just…can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can.” She crouched
down in front of him, pressing a hand against his arm. He was shaking, as was
she.

“I love you…I don’t want to
lose you…but if you are pregnant with someone else’s baby, then I—”

“I’m eight weeks along, give
or take a few days I’d say.”

“What does that matter to me?
Do you think I really want to know this? Why would you tell me that?” He bit
back at her, sharing the emotions she had known he’d show first: Anger,
followed by hatred. She let him keep going, let him get it all out.

Soft feet padded up the
stairs, but she didn’t bother looking to see who it was. Let her fucking mom
find him there; let her see this.

“And besides,” he lifted his
head, anger poured from his voice, even harsher than before, “I didn’t fight
for you enough. I gave up on you, on us. I let you go, dammit. I let the one
thing I always wanted just slip through my hands.” This was good. He was getting
it out there, finally.