It would be the most despicable thing I’d ever done, but I’d do it for Abby.
She sighed in her sleep and cuddled closer into my embrace. I glanced at the clock again—two more hours. Two more hours to relish the feel of her in my arms.
At six o’clock, I slowly extracted myself out from under her and settled her back on the bed. I stood beside her and watched as she burrowed deeper into the covers.
I brushed my lips against her forehead and choked down the words I desperately wanted to say.
Forget it. You don’t have the right to tell her.
But I shouted it in my head.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I walked down to the kitchen and put on the coffee. Not because I wanted any, but because the normal, everyday act calmed me. I took Apollo out the front door and into the yard. My yard crew had been by the day before and had cleared away the melting banks of snow, so Abby should be able to make it home.
The paper had even been delivered. I took it inside and sat at the dining room table, then stared at the front page for half an hour before realizing I hadn’t read a word. I closed my eyes and focused on what I needed to do, what I would say.
Not much later, I heard the sound of her feet overhead. I listened as she walked down the hallway, and then, seconds later, descended the stairs. She would go to the library first. Most mornings the past week, that was where I’d started my day—anxious to be in her room and near anything that was hers.
She was closer now. I heard her in the kitchen. Her footsteps stopped. She would be in the dining room next. I opened the newspaper to a random page and pretended to read.
She was seconds away from me.
“Hello,” she said from the doorway.
I closed my eyes. Show time.
I turned down one side of the newspaper. “There you are.”
The sight of her stunned me. She was even more beautiful in the morning light—hair slightly disheveled, lips full and swollen. I wanted to drop the paper, take her in my arms, and kiss her into oblivion.
“I was just thinking that you should be able to make it home today,” I said.
Her forehead wrinkled. “What?”
I set the paper down. “The roads are clear. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting to your apartment.”
The wrinkle deepened. I could see her trying to work out what I was saying. “But why would I go home?” she asked. “I’ll just be back tomorrow night.”
I focused on the spot in between her eyes. “About that. I’ll be at the office most of the weekend, digging out from this storm. It would probably be best if you didn’t come over this weekend.”
It was a lie. I had phone calls to make, but nothing that would keep me busy all weekend.
“You have to come home at some point,” she said.
“Not for any length of time—” I stopped. Say it. Make her leave. “Abigail.”
She sucked in a breath as if I’d punched her. “Why did you call me that?” she whispered.
“I always call you Abigail.” The words just came out. I was dead inside.
“Last night you called me Abby.”
Last night . . .
Oh, God . . .
I braced myself.
“It was the scene.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“We switched.” I’d thought the lies would be easier as I told them, but they were not. Each one struck my heart and killed part of me as it came from my mouth. “You wanted me to call you Abby.”
“We didn’t switch.”
Blackness. Blackness and death consumed me. “We did. It was what you wanted when you came into the library with the candy.”
“That was my original intention,” she said, and I knew she was nowhere near giving up. “But then you kissed me. You called me Abby. You slept in my bed. All night.”
End it. Now.
I slipped my hands from the table and clenched my fists as tightly as I could.
Do it.
I took a deep breath. “And I have never invited you to sleep in mine.”
My words hit their mark. Pain rippled across her face. “Fuck it. Don’t do this.”
“Watch your language.”
“Don’t f**king tell me to watch my language when you’re sitting there trying to pretend last night didn’t mean anything.” She balled her fists. “Just because the dynamic changed doesn’t make what happened bad. So we admitted a few things. So what? We move on. It’ll make us better together.”
“Have I ever lied to you, Abigail?” I was lying now. Just calling her Abigail was a lie. But I was winning. The damage had been done. Soon now. Very soon.
She wiped her nose. “No.”
“Then what makes you think I’m lying now?”
“Because you’re scared. You love me, and it’s scaring you. But you know what? It’s okay. I’m a little scared too.”
“I’m not scared.” Another lie. “I’m a coldhearted bastard. I thought you knew that.”
Her eyes closed and her shoulders sagged. It was over. She’d given up easier than I thought she would, but in the end, it was probably better that way.
I saw her determination. Her hands went to her neck, and I braced myself again.
The collar fell to the table with a metallic clink. “Turpentine.”
The words I read weeks ago echoed in my head.
Turpentine.
Turpentine in a fire.
I saw them all consumed.
Chapter Thirty-two
I had planned it. I’d anticipated it. Still, there was something so final about her removing the collar and the way it looked so broken as it lay on the table.
I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Couldn’t bring myself to look at Abby with a bare neck.
She’s not yours anymore.
I closed my eyes against the pain. I couldn’t think about it just yet. I still had a part to play.
“Very well, Abigail,” I said, finally looking at her. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yes,” she said. “If you’re going to pretend last night was nothing but a damn scene, this is what I want.”
She knew. She knew I was pretending. Maybe that would make it easier for her to handle later.
I nodded. “I know many dominants in the New York area. I would be more than happy to give you some names.”
The previous night, I had run through various names in my head. I knew she would need a dom sooner or later, but I hadn’t been able to decide on anyone good enough for her. I hoped she didn’t call my bluff—I had no names ready to give.
“Or I could give them yours,” I added.
I intended my offer to be a kind one, but the look she gave me—so hurt, so sad. She didn’t understand. Did she not know how much it pained me to offer her the names of my friends? To imagine, even for a moment, her being with someone else?
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she spat out.
I sat there, silent, not moving.
“I’ll go get my things.” She turned and left.
When I heard her footsteps on the stairs, I dropped my head into my hands. Oh, God. She was doing it. She was leaving me. Would I see her before she left or would my last sight of her be the pained look on her face as my words cut her open?
Apollo got up from his place by my feet and cocked his head at me.
“Go,” I whispered. “Go to her.” He remained by my side.
Minutes later, she walked down the stairs. Apollo heard and scrambled out to meet her.
“Oh, Apollo,” she said from the foyer. “You be a good boy.”
I dropped my head and pulled at my hair. It was worse than my worst nightmare.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said to my dog. “I can’t stay here anymore, so I won’t see you again. But you be good and . . . promise me you’ll take care of Nathaniel, okay?”
A sob ripped from my chest. Her last thoughts were of me. The front door opened and closed.
I pulled together all the strength I could and rose to my feet. I had one last task as Abby’s dom—to see her safely home.
Hours later, having driven behind her all the way to the city without her knowing, I walked back into my empty house.
It was done. She was gone.
I walked into the foyer, my footsteps echoing in the stillness. Even when Abby left on Sundays, the house never felt so desolate.
It was because she’d never be back. The house would always feel empty now.
I couldn’t bear the emptiness; I needed to make it go away.
Apollo looked behind me, as if expecting Abby to enter, but I only gave him a glance as I walked straight to the library.
Various bottles sat on the bar. I went straight for them, didn’t even bother to look around at the rest of the library. I couldn’t handle looking just yet. The brandy was forty percent alcohol; it shouldn’t take too long to do the trick.
The glasses went down easier the more I drank. To be honest, I lost count after three. If I drank enough, got drunk enough, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so badly. Maybe it wouldn’t feel like my heart had been pulled from my chest.
Of course, it didn’t help. It only made the pain worse.
Apollo sat beside me and whined.
“S’kay, Apollo,” I mumbled as I poured another glass. “It’s better this way. Trust me.”
The room spun slightly, so I stumbled over to the leather couch and collapsed. More. I needed more. The brandy didn’t even burn as it went down.
I heard the glass fall to the floor and then . . . nothing.
The sunlight coming through the window blinded me and I squinted. Something moved at the curtains. Turned toward me.
“Abby?” I choked out.
Unparalleled joy coursed through my body.
I sat up. “Abby!” My voice sounded stronger.
She smiled at me.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I knew you wouldn’t. And you came back. Oh, Abby. I love you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
I stood up to take her in my arms. Finally. Finally, I would tell her everything.
She walked to me, still smiling.
I watched her, mesmerized. The sunlight shimmered around her. Her dress was beautiful and it floated around her as she walked. She moved so gracefully, it was as if she walked on air.
When she stood before me, I lifted a hand to her cheek. Her skin. So perfect. I stroked it. “You forgive me?”
She nodded.
I fell to the ground before her. “I’m sorry, Abby. So sorry.” I stroked her feet and kissed them. “Thank you. Thank you for coming back.”
The possibilities of what we could be, how we could be, ran through my mind. However we were together, however we worked it out, would be fine. The important thing was, we were together. In the end, that was all that mattered.
I gave one last sob and wiped my eyes. I peeked up at her, and there she stood—looking down on me and smiling.
I slowly rose to my feet. “Abby.”
Our lips came together softly. She tasted even sweeter than I remembered. I moaned and pulled her closer. She melted into my embrace, wrapped herself around me.
Was it odd that she wasn’t talking? Shouldn’t she be talking? We could talk later, though, right? We had plenty of time to talk.
I kissed her deeper, taking her head in my hands and tangling my fingers in her hair. Why didn’t she smell like anything?
Her fingers danced along my back, teasing me. I pulled back.
I took my place on the couch and patted the empty spot beside me. “Here. Sit down. Let me tell you everything.”
She shook her head.
“Please, Abby.”
She took a step back. “It’s too late.”
“You said you forgave me. You came back.”
“Too late, Nathaniel.”
Another step back.
“But I want to tell you,” I pleaded. “I need to tell you. Wait. Don’t leave me.”
She sighed in her sleep and cuddled closer into my embrace. I glanced at the clock again—two more hours. Two more hours to relish the feel of her in my arms.
At six o’clock, I slowly extracted myself out from under her and settled her back on the bed. I stood beside her and watched as she burrowed deeper into the covers.
I brushed my lips against her forehead and choked down the words I desperately wanted to say.
Forget it. You don’t have the right to tell her.
But I shouted it in my head.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I walked down to the kitchen and put on the coffee. Not because I wanted any, but because the normal, everyday act calmed me. I took Apollo out the front door and into the yard. My yard crew had been by the day before and had cleared away the melting banks of snow, so Abby should be able to make it home.
The paper had even been delivered. I took it inside and sat at the dining room table, then stared at the front page for half an hour before realizing I hadn’t read a word. I closed my eyes and focused on what I needed to do, what I would say.
Not much later, I heard the sound of her feet overhead. I listened as she walked down the hallway, and then, seconds later, descended the stairs. She would go to the library first. Most mornings the past week, that was where I’d started my day—anxious to be in her room and near anything that was hers.
She was closer now. I heard her in the kitchen. Her footsteps stopped. She would be in the dining room next. I opened the newspaper to a random page and pretended to read.
She was seconds away from me.
“Hello,” she said from the doorway.
I closed my eyes. Show time.
I turned down one side of the newspaper. “There you are.”
The sight of her stunned me. She was even more beautiful in the morning light—hair slightly disheveled, lips full and swollen. I wanted to drop the paper, take her in my arms, and kiss her into oblivion.
“I was just thinking that you should be able to make it home today,” I said.
Her forehead wrinkled. “What?”
I set the paper down. “The roads are clear. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting to your apartment.”
The wrinkle deepened. I could see her trying to work out what I was saying. “But why would I go home?” she asked. “I’ll just be back tomorrow night.”
I focused on the spot in between her eyes. “About that. I’ll be at the office most of the weekend, digging out from this storm. It would probably be best if you didn’t come over this weekend.”
It was a lie. I had phone calls to make, but nothing that would keep me busy all weekend.
“You have to come home at some point,” she said.
“Not for any length of time—” I stopped. Say it. Make her leave. “Abigail.”
She sucked in a breath as if I’d punched her. “Why did you call me that?” she whispered.
“I always call you Abigail.” The words just came out. I was dead inside.
“Last night you called me Abby.”
Last night . . .
Oh, God . . .
I braced myself.
“It was the scene.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“We switched.” I’d thought the lies would be easier as I told them, but they were not. Each one struck my heart and killed part of me as it came from my mouth. “You wanted me to call you Abby.”
“We didn’t switch.”
Blackness. Blackness and death consumed me. “We did. It was what you wanted when you came into the library with the candy.”
“That was my original intention,” she said, and I knew she was nowhere near giving up. “But then you kissed me. You called me Abby. You slept in my bed. All night.”
End it. Now.
I slipped my hands from the table and clenched my fists as tightly as I could.
Do it.
I took a deep breath. “And I have never invited you to sleep in mine.”
My words hit their mark. Pain rippled across her face. “Fuck it. Don’t do this.”
“Watch your language.”
“Don’t f**king tell me to watch my language when you’re sitting there trying to pretend last night didn’t mean anything.” She balled her fists. “Just because the dynamic changed doesn’t make what happened bad. So we admitted a few things. So what? We move on. It’ll make us better together.”
“Have I ever lied to you, Abigail?” I was lying now. Just calling her Abigail was a lie. But I was winning. The damage had been done. Soon now. Very soon.
She wiped her nose. “No.”
“Then what makes you think I’m lying now?”
“Because you’re scared. You love me, and it’s scaring you. But you know what? It’s okay. I’m a little scared too.”
“I’m not scared.” Another lie. “I’m a coldhearted bastard. I thought you knew that.”
Her eyes closed and her shoulders sagged. It was over. She’d given up easier than I thought she would, but in the end, it was probably better that way.
I saw her determination. Her hands went to her neck, and I braced myself again.
The collar fell to the table with a metallic clink. “Turpentine.”
The words I read weeks ago echoed in my head.
Turpentine.
Turpentine in a fire.
I saw them all consumed.
Chapter Thirty-two
I had planned it. I’d anticipated it. Still, there was something so final about her removing the collar and the way it looked so broken as it lay on the table.
I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Couldn’t bring myself to look at Abby with a bare neck.
She’s not yours anymore.
I closed my eyes against the pain. I couldn’t think about it just yet. I still had a part to play.
“Very well, Abigail,” I said, finally looking at her. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yes,” she said. “If you’re going to pretend last night was nothing but a damn scene, this is what I want.”
She knew. She knew I was pretending. Maybe that would make it easier for her to handle later.
I nodded. “I know many dominants in the New York area. I would be more than happy to give you some names.”
The previous night, I had run through various names in my head. I knew she would need a dom sooner or later, but I hadn’t been able to decide on anyone good enough for her. I hoped she didn’t call my bluff—I had no names ready to give.
“Or I could give them yours,” I added.
I intended my offer to be a kind one, but the look she gave me—so hurt, so sad. She didn’t understand. Did she not know how much it pained me to offer her the names of my friends? To imagine, even for a moment, her being with someone else?
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she spat out.
I sat there, silent, not moving.
“I’ll go get my things.” She turned and left.
When I heard her footsteps on the stairs, I dropped my head into my hands. Oh, God. She was doing it. She was leaving me. Would I see her before she left or would my last sight of her be the pained look on her face as my words cut her open?
Apollo got up from his place by my feet and cocked his head at me.
“Go,” I whispered. “Go to her.” He remained by my side.
Minutes later, she walked down the stairs. Apollo heard and scrambled out to meet her.
“Oh, Apollo,” she said from the foyer. “You be a good boy.”
I dropped my head and pulled at my hair. It was worse than my worst nightmare.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said to my dog. “I can’t stay here anymore, so I won’t see you again. But you be good and . . . promise me you’ll take care of Nathaniel, okay?”
A sob ripped from my chest. Her last thoughts were of me. The front door opened and closed.
I pulled together all the strength I could and rose to my feet. I had one last task as Abby’s dom—to see her safely home.
Hours later, having driven behind her all the way to the city without her knowing, I walked back into my empty house.
It was done. She was gone.
I walked into the foyer, my footsteps echoing in the stillness. Even when Abby left on Sundays, the house never felt so desolate.
It was because she’d never be back. The house would always feel empty now.
I couldn’t bear the emptiness; I needed to make it go away.
Apollo looked behind me, as if expecting Abby to enter, but I only gave him a glance as I walked straight to the library.
Various bottles sat on the bar. I went straight for them, didn’t even bother to look around at the rest of the library. I couldn’t handle looking just yet. The brandy was forty percent alcohol; it shouldn’t take too long to do the trick.
The glasses went down easier the more I drank. To be honest, I lost count after three. If I drank enough, got drunk enough, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so badly. Maybe it wouldn’t feel like my heart had been pulled from my chest.
Of course, it didn’t help. It only made the pain worse.
Apollo sat beside me and whined.
“S’kay, Apollo,” I mumbled as I poured another glass. “It’s better this way. Trust me.”
The room spun slightly, so I stumbled over to the leather couch and collapsed. More. I needed more. The brandy didn’t even burn as it went down.
I heard the glass fall to the floor and then . . . nothing.
The sunlight coming through the window blinded me and I squinted. Something moved at the curtains. Turned toward me.
“Abby?” I choked out.
Unparalleled joy coursed through my body.
I sat up. “Abby!” My voice sounded stronger.
She smiled at me.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I knew you wouldn’t. And you came back. Oh, Abby. I love you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
I stood up to take her in my arms. Finally. Finally, I would tell her everything.
She walked to me, still smiling.
I watched her, mesmerized. The sunlight shimmered around her. Her dress was beautiful and it floated around her as she walked. She moved so gracefully, it was as if she walked on air.
When she stood before me, I lifted a hand to her cheek. Her skin. So perfect. I stroked it. “You forgive me?”
She nodded.
I fell to the ground before her. “I’m sorry, Abby. So sorry.” I stroked her feet and kissed them. “Thank you. Thank you for coming back.”
The possibilities of what we could be, how we could be, ran through my mind. However we were together, however we worked it out, would be fine. The important thing was, we were together. In the end, that was all that mattered.
I gave one last sob and wiped my eyes. I peeked up at her, and there she stood—looking down on me and smiling.
I slowly rose to my feet. “Abby.”
Our lips came together softly. She tasted even sweeter than I remembered. I moaned and pulled her closer. She melted into my embrace, wrapped herself around me.
Was it odd that she wasn’t talking? Shouldn’t she be talking? We could talk later, though, right? We had plenty of time to talk.
I kissed her deeper, taking her head in my hands and tangling my fingers in her hair. Why didn’t she smell like anything?
Her fingers danced along my back, teasing me. I pulled back.
I took my place on the couch and patted the empty spot beside me. “Here. Sit down. Let me tell you everything.”
She shook her head.
“Please, Abby.”
She took a step back. “It’s too late.”
“You said you forgave me. You came back.”
“Too late, Nathaniel.”
Another step back.
“But I want to tell you,” I pleaded. “I need to tell you. Wait. Don’t leave me.”
