A Long Time Coming (17 page)

Okay, she was tired, and that
was the understatement of the year. It wasn’t just the sexual escapades that
had her worn completely to the core, it was the guilt and emotions that
accompanied her happiness that made sleep so desperately necessary. Oh, not to
mention the fact that she was pregnant.

Harley drove her to the
airport that afternoon, after she and David said their goodbyes in the small
space of the bedroom where they’d spent the better part of the night and day.
It was easier that way. There was no need to get all mushy and dramatic in
front of Harley and Mason, especially since they’d decided to keep their little
turn of relationship events to themselves…at least for now. They had to figure
it all out before they took their status to the level they were both already
secretly committed to ascend.

Her best friend had to have
known that something was up, because the smile she’d worn the entire morning
was plastered on her cheeks throughout the drive to the San José airport. But
she didn’t ask, surprisingly, which made her worry that Harley’s head was still
all messed up from Mason’s marriage demands.

Getting answers out of her had
been impossible, and that was sad, mostly because they used to share everything
with each other. But the time and distance apart from one another were evident,
and as much as she loved her best friend, she knew they were growing apart. But
it was okay. She had David…and their baby. Life was on the fast track to
awesomeness, and no matter what, she’d find that perfect, black and white
checkered flag at the finish line.

Surprise registered on her
face, and she curled her lips in annoyance as she pulled into her driveway,
finding what appeared to be two moving vans parked right outside her garage
door. Men in white suits hauled furniture and various items down from the front
door, while her mom stood watch on the stoop.

“Ah, fuck me…” she groaned,
pulling up to the curb. She shook her head, pocketing her keys as she left the
car. Who in the hell was moving out?

“Abigail…” her mom cried,
racing down the steps. Throwing her short arms around her neck, she sobbed into
Abigail’s shoulders, her tank top a wet mess of snot and tears from the
annoying blubbering when she pulled away.

“What the hell, Mom? What’s
going on?”

Wiping at her blotchy red
face, her mother stared up at her with a look that pissed her off and scared
the crap out of her. “Your dad, honey…he’s…he’s leaving us. He’s sleeping
with…someone from work.” She spat the words out, like they were poison in her
mouth.

Hell no…this was not her
father’s doing entirely. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Mom,” she dropped her arms
to her side, backing away from her mother. “I know all about Bob the builder
and his extra
work load
in the basement,” face paling, her mom pressed a
hand to her throat. An unreadable expression passed through her eyes.

“I…I have no idea what you’re
talking about. I would
never
cheat on daddy. You know that!”

Shaking her head, Abigail ran
back to her car, grabbing her bag from the back seat, completely ignoring her
mother’s pleas from behind. The lady has some girlie nuts that was for damn
sure.

“Save it, Mom. I really don’t
want to hear it right now,” she shoved past her, ramming into her shoulder as
she darted angrily towards the house. Jesus, she knew it was getting bad, but
for her mother to lie about it was completely ridiculous.

“Don’t you walk away from me,
young lady!” Her voice rose; gone were the fake tears and the sappy, sadness of
her voice. “I am your mother, you are the daughter, and you
will
respect
me.”

Arguing with her was a wasted
effort. Turning to face her in the dining room, she jabbed a finger in her
mother’s face, letting her have it—tears of anger and hatred, years of
frustration over never having a mom who cared like she should came raging out.
“You are
never
going to be entrusted with that title again, you hear me?
I. Hate. You. You are no longer my mother.”

God, she was not a hater. If
anything, she loved more than she should have. But her mother was a sorry
excuse of a woman, and it was about time she knew it.

Yelling words were lost behind
her as she tottered up the stairs towards her room. She’d have to move out of
there—soon. Dropping her bag on the bed, she took to pacing the floor, needing
to figure this out. She and David were fragile, their relationship was so new,
and asking him to move in with her somewhere was out of the question. Flipping
on the computer, she decided she’d check out the ads online, determine whether
there was some sort of apartment for rent. She sat back in her chair, waiting
for the slow–as–shit laptop to boot up.

Damn. This was not how she
envisioned herself coming home from Santa Cruz, especially after what had
happened. Leaning back in her chair, she took a few deep breaths, trying to
calm her nerves. She knew she’d have to call her dad—it was obvious he was
pretty damn upset if he wasn’t even around to supervise the move of his stuff.
But that phone call was not high on her to–do list today. She knew he’d be a
mess. Her dad was the only thing that kept their family from falling apart.
Granted, she was almost nineteen, but it still wasn’t a good feeling to know
that your parents were on the fast track to divorce. She knew one thing though:
Those were four footprints she’d never follow along. Marriage and love lasted,
no matter how sexy the secretary was, or how hot the home repair dude appeared.

After twenty minutes of
scrolling, and finding absolutely nothing that fit into her price range,
Abigail picked up the phone, needing to talk to someone, needing to talk to
David. She missed him already, and hearing his voice would cure all her
ailments. He was like the perfect balance in her rocky world.

Picking up on the first ring,
the sound of his words filled her with every emotion she could grasp hold of
that was good. “Abs? You there? Hello?”

Saying hello herself was
almost impossible as the tears and sobs choked her. But she managed, with a
smile on her face as she did. “Hey, I’m home.”

A breathy sigh of obvious
relief echoed over the phone, and she smiled, almost envisioning him dragging
his hand through his hair. “God, I miss you so much already.”

Giddiness almost replaced her
sadness. He…was missing her… Those words had never sounded sweeter. “I miss you
too…” Toying with the end of her hair, she blew out a breath, needing to tell
him—needing his opinion on what to do even more. “My dad’s moving out. My mom’s
cheating on him. Supposedly he’s sleeping with someone in his office, but I
don’t believe it because my dad would never do that. He loves my mom and me too
much.” Blabbering was her biggest habit whenever she got overwhelmed, and that
was exactly the emotion plaguing her body. What would David say in response
though?

“I had no idea, Abigail. I
knew things weren’t the greatest at home, but…shit…I’m sorry. I fly in late
tonight. I’ll have my dad drop me off. I’ll be there for you. In any way you
want me to.”

He would, she knew that. David
Anderson was the best guy ever—stand up, loving, a giver, never a taker. His
love was always there, even when you didn’t deserve it. And to know that she
had him in her corner was all that she needed to get through this.

“No, it’s okay. It’ll be late,
and I have to get up and work in the morning before school, so I’m going to go
to sleep early.” She gnawed on her lip, shutting her eyes at the silence on the
other end of the line. What a piss–poor excuse! She wanted him there—in her
bed—holding her, telling her that things would be okay. But again, she had to
stand on her own two feet. She was never going to let anyone fight her emotional
battles for her. She had to do that all by herself.

“Oh…” His eventual reply was
despondent, downright wretched as a matter of fact. Fear dominated the thoughts
in her head, and she flexed and un–flexed her hand. The last thing she wanted
was for him to think that she was pushing him away.

Determined to set this right,
she sat up straight in her chair and pressed her free hand to her throat as she
spoke. “But tomorrow night, don’t forget…”

“Forget about our first
official date? Hell, Abigail, I’ve had this date planned for fourteen years,
you really don’t think I’d forget the one thing I’ve lived for, do you?”

Grinning, she stood up only to
settle on top of her comforter. Not bothering to pull it back, she curled into
a fetal position and lay on her side, tucking the phone between her head and
the pillow.

Jesus, was she sixteen again?
Never had she gotten so giddy over simply talking to a boy on the phone. “Well
then, are you going to tell me what to wear?” Shutting her eyes, she grinned at
her sneaky, dirty thoughts. Hopefully whatever she wore wouldn’t be on for
long.

“Hmm… Just…be comfy. And make
sure you bring a jacket too. Other than that, I’ve got this all taken care of,
so no worries.”

“Okay Mr. Super Planner, I
will do that then.”

God, she was a freaking kid
here, wanting nothing more than to suddenly stuff her face into the pillow and
squeal. It was amazing how he could get her out of a depressing funk with a few
simple words.

“Abigail, I just want to say
thank you…”

She blinked. Now
that
was
random. “For what exactly?”

“For giving me a chance again,
for never stopping in your pursuit of making me happy… For being the one person
I could always count on, besides Harley. And for helping me live again.” He
sucked in a breath, his final words coming out more quietly than the previous,
“For giving me something to want to live for.”

Wow…what could she possibly
say to that? She swallowed, wanting to cry and squeal at his words. “Hey…that’s
all you. You made the final choice, and I just went along happily for the
ride.”

“Damn, you have no idea do
you?”

Narrowing her eyes, she spoke,
her anger mounting at his obvious self–doubt. “Yes, I do. You are strong…it
just took you a little while to realize what you wanted. And that’s okay. We
all move at our own paces in life. Take it from me. I like ninety…you’re like,
forty–five. Together, we met in the middle at seventy, and that speed is
perfectly fine by me.” She shrugged; it was the truth.

“Abs, dammit…
You
are
the only reason I chose to move on.
You
are my whole life, my whole
world. And no matter what you think, no matter how you feel, just go with
it—let me have you as my light, let me show you the tunnel I’ve been down for
so long—just so we can find the happiness we both deserve…together.”

There went his poetic words
again. If there was ever a man who knew how to rock her soul, her entire being
with a single speech, it was David—her baby’s father—her reason, just as much
as his. They’d get through their issues; find that light he spoke of together,
as one pair that simply belonged together.

* * *

     “You don’t look good,
David.” Nice…his dad was in rare, ass–holish form tonight apparently. He was
tired, yeah, but he was happy, damn happy as a matter of fact. And that meant
something, at least to him it did.

He didn’t want any part of
small talk tonight, but his dad was his ride home, so he needed to be on civil
ground with the guy who seemed annoyed at the simple prospect of picking up his
one–legged son from the airport at eleven at night.

“Yeah, I didn’t get much
sleep.”

A groan of disapproval slipped
from his father’s mouth as he reached for David’s bag and slung it over his
shoulder. He almost stopped him, almost reached out to grab the fucking thing
himself. Tell the asshole that he could get it
and
find a ride home,
too. But again, he needed to just keep his mouth shut because arguing with his
big mountain man of a grumpy father was never a good idea. The guy got
ugly–mean when he wanted to, with a temper that came out with more vengeance
than any one man should carry around. Guess in a way he was more like his
father than he thought.

Silently, they made their way
through the airport and towards the car. With an hour drive home ahead of them,
David slipped in his earbuds, needing to escape with the music on his iPod. But
twenty minutes into the drive, they were ripped from his ears. The sound of his
father’s harrumphs filled the car instead.

“Christ Dad, what’s your
problem tonight?”

Through gritted teeth, his
father growled back. “My problem, Son, is you.”

Well shit. Toot his
mother–fucking horn. The man was finally going to get it all out there, wasn’t
he? He smirked through his anger.
This ought to be
interesting
.
“Yep, I know it is.” He sat back in his seat, ready to take it and ready to
just let it slide off his shoulders until it stuck inside his heart and built
up to a point of eruption. He’d deal with it then, but for now, he’d live in
denial.

“No, I don’t think you
do
know, David Paul.” He cleared his throat, his tone falling from pissed, to
angry, to downright detached in a matter of seconds. “It’s your mother. She’s—”