A Long Time Coming (18 page)

“A train wreck? Yeah, I
already knew that.”

“No, god dammit.” His hand
slapped down on the console between them. He beat against the hard leather as
he spoke. “Stop that. Stop the attitude. Stop with the insults. You have no
idea what you’re saying anymore.” David scoffed, shutting his mouth, sealing it
into a tight line, capturing the retort on his tongue before it fell out. It
was better to just take it all in when the man got like this, and arguing with
a guy who was twice his size wasn’t wise.

“David, she’s sick…and you
need to fix things between the two of you—fix your bad attitude. Not to forget
the fact that you need to fix your fucking life, before it’s too late!”

If there was ever a time he
felt as though his breath was stolen in its entirety from his lungs, then it
was this once. Because apparently his father didn’t just think of him as a
waste of space, he also thought of him as worthless. The truth hurt. But to
hear it from someone who helped give you life, hurt even more.

Sighing, he pressed his face
into his palms, trying to gain some composure, not wanting the man to see how
badly his words affected him. Little did his father know that his life was on
the verge of being
fixed
. In fact, it was currently being held together
by a metaphorical Abigail Band–Aid. He just didn’t need his dad
or
his
mom to know yet; not until he knew for sure himself what was going on.

But damn, he
was
trying, really, and truly trying.

“Okay, so what do you mean,
she’s
sick?”
He swallowed the lump that ate away at the sides of his throat
before the rest of the words slipped through his dry lips. “Does she have a
cold or something? I mean she gets so fucking worked up about shit, and she
always gets sick because of that…”

Growling, his dad spat his
words out on an angry whisper, “Christ David, that’s what I’m talking about. I
can’t take you home to her if you’re going to continue to act that way.”

“Well excuse, fucking, me.
Just drop me off now along the side of the road. I’ll find somewhere else to
go. Maybe I’ll just take my ass back to California and live with my sister. She
at least gives a shit about me.”

The tires peeled against the
wet road, and he reached for the handle as his dad slammed against the brakes
along the side of the highway. He shoved the gear into park before shutting
down the ignition. “You are an ungrateful, selfish bastard. You know that?”

“Ha, thanks, Dad.
Love you
too
.”

“Dammit, David, this is not
how I wanted this to go tonight. We need to talk.”

Shaking his head, David threw
his hands up into the air, “Go on then. I’m waiting. I know I disgust you. I
know I’m not the son you wanted to have. But you get what you get, and if you
don’t want me, then I don’t have to be at home anymore.”

“Is that what you think?”
Exasperation filled his father’s words. His eyes were blurred with both anger and
tears as he flipped the interior dash light on. “Because let me tell you
something, David. I could care fucking less how many legs you have, Son. I will
always love you, and I will always be proud of you and what you’ve become. But
what I’m not proud of is how far you’ve let yourself go. You are tough, and
it’s time you showed it again.”

Yeah, this was a barrel of
fun. He was ready to pop out the party favors and cut the cake in celebration
of their little share moment. “Fine, Dad, I’ll do whatever, can you just get on
with it. It’s obvious you’ve got something else up your ass.”

“No, not up my ass… I have
what you would call, a fucking broken heart.” David eyed his father’s throat as
it bobbed up in a swallow. Unease filled his chest as the slow fall of tears
slipped down the broad cheeks of this suddenly broken man. He held his breath
at the sight. His dad didn’t cry. Ever. “I promised her I’d stay quiet. I
promised your mom that we would tell you
and
your sister…
together.
But
dammit David, there is no way I’m going to let you go home and screw with your
mom’s already fragile state because
you
feel too damn sorry for
yourself.”

“I don’t feel sorry for
myself,” …
at least not all the time.
“But god Dad, she’s so emotional
and needy anymore, and she’s always hovering over me. She’s gotten better in
the past week it seems, but it’s like she’s never going to get past the fact
that her son is a cripple. Nor is she ever going to get it through her thick
skull that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself now.”

Stiffness took hold of his
father’s frame. And in a matter of two days, the guy looked, if at all
possible, like he’d aged twenty years. “Did you wonder why that was, David? Did
you wonder why she’s been
hovering
so much?”

Throwing his hands into the air,
he gave a quick jerk of his head as he responded. “Hell, Dad, I don’t know shit
about what’s going on in her head anymore.”

“No, you wouldn’t, because
your own
troubles
and
issues
and all that shit, are
far
worse than death, aren’t they? Far worse than the prospect that someone
else
might have a bigger issue than you do.” Damn sarcasm. His dad was the fucking
king of it.

“Go to hell, Dad. You don’t
know me anymore, and you don’t know jack shit about my life either.”

“Hah, you’re right, David. I
don’
t
know you. And I
don’t
know about your
life
anymore either. But I
do know, that your mother…” his voice shook, as did his hands, “dammit…your
mother…she’s dying.”

Disbelief boiled in his chest,
like a pot of water that was there to scorch his heart. No—the bastard was
lying. His mother was healthy. What the fuck was his angle here? Was he trying
to guilt him into something? Why was he saying this, it made no sense? He shook
his head; fast, angry, unwilling to hear him out, unwilling to believe him.

Raw emotion echoed in his
father’s words as he continued on, killing David in the process. “It was
undetectable. There were no lumps or spots. Nothing…” Pain lodged under his
breastbone. David pushed against it, begging for it to go away. Pleading for
this all to be a dream…or a really bad nightmare. He’d suffer a million
nightmares, and the loss of
all
of his limbs, just to make the reality
of what his father was telling him to be nothing more than a simple illusion of
words.

His mother wasn’t sick. She
didn’t having fucking cancer. She was fine—a healthy, thirty–nine years young,
stay–at–home mom.

“She’s been so tired lately,
and I finally urged her to go to the doctor a few months ago, to make sure she
was okay. She kept refusing, saying she was just worn down from everything that
had been happening with you and Harley. But one morning, she literally couldn’t
get out of bed, her entire body hurt, and she was beyond the point where it was
just exhaustion anymore. That’s when she agreed that it was time. So she went
in, had a physical and the doctor…he ran blood work, scheduled an MRI…” Every
sentence his father spoke was cut off by a sob. It was the most terrifying
conversation he’d ever had. With anyone…

“And Friday, after we dropped
you off at the airport, we went in for the results of all her tests…” Tears of
misery drenched his father’s face, and David took in the sight of the man he
had always admired, watching as he let the pain go with tears.

His father never cried. His
father was a Harley Davidson fanatic who wore a heavy beard, the occasional
bandanna over his head, and looked like a dude straight off the cover of one of
those mechanic magazines. But still, there in the darkness of the car, he was a
man who no longer looked himself. Instead, there sat a man who was beyond
scared; a man who was on the verge of losing everything in his life—his
children first and now possibly, even his wife.

Shutting his eyes, David
finally let the words of absolute, uncertain truth, wash over him…

Where the fuck was the fairness
in this? What did their family ever do to deserve the shit hand they were
constantly dealt? He could have murdered God with his bare hands if the guy
stood there in front of him in that moment. But instead, he kept breathing. It
was all he really could do.

“It’s…it’s everywhere, David.
In her breasts, her stomach … It’s spreading so rapidly that surgery won’t
help. Chemo might buy her a few months, but it won’t fix it completely. It
would be a miracle if anything could.”

His mother was too young, too
vibrant, too high–spirited and positive to let that bitch of a disease take
over her body. There had to be another way! Miracles happened all the time.
Look at
him
! He was a walking and talking miracle in the making. He’d
been on the verge of death, suffered a lifelong brain–debilitating injury, and
had only one leg. Yes, miracles were possible, dammit!

But then it all came together
in the silence of the car, like a burning light bulb in his skull. The
facts…the reality…it all hit him head on, barricading his positive thoughts to
the back of his brain.

His mom’s over emotional
attitude the last few weeks of PT…

Her constant onslaught of
tears…

The horrible sadness seemingly
consuming her whenever she thought he wasn’t looking…

The fact that she let him go
off to California without a huge bitchy protest on her behalf…

Dear, fucking god…his
mother…she really was dying. His mother, the person he got most irritated with,
but loved with every piece of his living self, was dying. He slammed his fist
into the dash. No, dammit, she wasn’t dead yet and he’d never bury her alive.
He’d fight for her until the end. He’d do whatever it took to keep her alive,
just like she did for him.

“Okay, fine…she’s got cancer.
But she’s
not
dying. She can get chemo and radiation and all that shit.
She’ll make it…she’s not fucking dying, Dad!”

“Doctors are saying six
months…at the most. We need to be prepared. We need to get Harley and Mason to
come back this month. We need to be a family unit to get through this David,
and I can’t have you—”

“What the fuck, Dad?” He was
giving up? Just like that? He shook his head, pulling at the handle. “Unlock
the door.”

“What? No,” he shook his head,
confusion balanced out the tears in his father’s eyes, “it’s pouring outside
now.”

Gritting his teeth through a
snarling jaw, David pounded against the window. “I said, open it!”

Shaking his head, his father
reached over and grabbed his hand instead of doing as he asked. David yanked it
away with a growl. He didn’t need comforting. He needed answers. His mother
would
live. He’d make it happen. He’d give his soul to keep her alive if he had to.

“Dad. Please,” his hands
shook, his stomach rolled, he needed to get out of the car. He was suffocating,
he was dying internally. Didn’t his dad see it?

Finally taking his non–verbal
warning at hand, his father nodded, and clicked the lock. The wind whipped
against his body just as he jumped onto the gravel. Hard pellets assaulted his
face, but he still tilted his head back to study the dark, starless night.
Lightning scattered across the length of the sky, and he roared along with it,
letting his emotions free from his mouth. He yelled until his stomach burned.
He yelled until his throat ached. He wasn’t here emotionally anymore.

His mom…was dying.

He needed Abigail.

He blinked, leveling his head
again, letting the water drip down his cheeks. God, he needed Abigail so badly…

Slipping back into the car, he
faced his dad, the tears he’d shamefully shed mixed with the droplets of water
from the sky, but he didn’t care. His salvation was only a short drive away and
he had to get to her. “Dad, please…just drive me to Abigail’s tonight. I can’t
go to Mom yet. I can’t…face her. I just…fuck, Dad, please…” he sat back in his
seat, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, begging. “She’s dying…Mom is dying. I…I
just…I can’t, not yet. I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry for everything I said,” he
sobbed, falling forward until his head hit his knees. “Dad, I’m so sorry. I
promise I’ll change. I’ll be a better son. I’ll do whatever I have to do, for
both of you. I promise! But tonight, please…I just…I need Abigail.”

All past digressions flew out
the open door as his father leaned forward, nodded his burly head, and pulled
David into his arms. David let him, wretched sobs angrily fought against the
pressure in his throat, winning over as he tucked his head against his father’s
shoulder. And together—there on the side of the road—two broken men cried. Two
men, who hadn’t spoken more than five words to each other during a single
conversation for the past two and a half years, became joined in a
crusade…together.

And David, once more, lost his
will to live. But this time, it wasn’t his own self–pity that broke him. It was
the mom he would lose in a short span of one hundred and eighty days or less.

Who the hell was throwing shit
at her window?

Jumping up from her bed,
Abigail glanced down at the clock before heading towards the glass panel. It
was a few minutes passed midnight…

She grinned, pressing a hand
to her lips to keep her giddy squee quiet. It could only be one person. Her
heart jumped like a rapid, crazy frog in her throat. David… He couldn’t stay
away after all. And she was more than excited that he hadn’t followed through
with her demands.

The window was caught up on
the ledge, so she darted down the steps through the darkness of her house, only
to run towards the back door instead. Her cheeks ached as her smile spread
almost violently over her mouth. She was a hot mess of love for this boy.

She flipped on the backdoor
light, and darted out towards him, slamming her body against his in a hug that
was beyond just a simple
nice to see you
. This hug said
welcome home
.
This hug said
I love you
. This hug said
I won’t ever let you go
.

Breathless, she whispered in
his ear, grinning as her lips pressed lightly against his skin. “You didn’t
listen to me.” Tucking her face into his neck, kissing the pulse that beat
wickedly against her lips, Abigail could not get enough. Unresponsive, he
simply wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing her with scary conviction.

She froze, her smile fell.
Something was wrong. And that’s when she felt it, the unmistakable shaking sobs
bellowing from his mouth against the top of her head. Squeezing tighter, she
shut her eyes, tensing up, and praying that he was okay—praying that life
hadn’t stolen him out from under her once again. She knew he wasn’t as broken
as he once had been, but the healing process was so new that his
pieced–together heart would surely disintegrate completely this time if
something else bad had happened.

The night air was steamy and
humid from the earlier storm, and together the heat between their bodies made
for an even stickier reunion. But damn the sweat—she’d hold this boy hostage in
her grip until she melted into puddle of literal wax if she could somehow make
him feel better.

Minutes passed—his arms didn’t
fall away. Nor did he pull back. He just cried, big, giant tears that were
surely staining her black t–shirt. But she couldn’t find any words to whisper
to him anymore. Nor did she want to. David would talk…when he was ready.

“She’s dying, Abs.”

Stomach tightening in knots,
she pulled him closer.
Um, what did he just say?
Who was dying? Nobody
was dying, everyone she knew was healthy. She continued her frozen stature,
other than the movement of her tongue and mouth as she spoke. “Who, David…who
are you talking about?” Never had she heard a man sob; never did she want to.
But here David was, doing just that…and doing it hard. But she wasn’t about to
tell him to stop, even if the sound sent her body into immediate back–off mode.
Because she knew that tears had the ability to clear the pain away. They were
like little bars of soap for the soul.

Minutes later, in the dark of
the night with only a single streetlight reflecting from behind, he finally did
stop, only to pull back to stare down at her. He cupped her cheeks, and pressed
their foreheads together.

“Let me come inside. Let me
stay, please. I just want the pain to go away, Abigail. Please…”

“Yes…anything you need…I’m
here.” Swallowing, she nodded along with her words. She’d do whatever she could
to make the obvious ache in his chest ease away.

So she reached for his hand
and led him towards the house, only to turn to him in the kitchen for another
momentary glance. She had to make sure he was still okay, had to make sure he
wasn’t falling apart on her. He nodded, as if he knew what she was questioning.
And she swallowed smiling sadly at him, only to lead them both towards the
steps and up to her room.

She didn’t bother with the
lights as they entered. There was no time. David was hurting, and she had to
take the pain away. She’d bury it deep within her own soul if need be. The door
clicked shut behind him and she reached around to lock it, her hands trembling
with anticipation as they brushed against his waist. She gulped, pulling back
to stare up at him.

“Are you sure?”

His gaze was locked hard on
her, unwavering, full of a need she could never tap down again. “I won’t run,
Abigail. I’m here, I’m yours now. I’ve always been yours…” God yes…he
was
hers…as
she
was his. And together, they’d soon be one.

Ignoring the lingering anxiety
brewing in her stomach, she used the moment’s adrenaline to peel her shirt from
her body. She wanted nothing more than to feel the heat of his skin on hers. It
would burn away her nervous energy, replacing that emotion with the love she
felt for him instead.

His eyes widened in surprise.
Yeah, she wanted him… There was no time for formalities or foreplay. And in
response to her brazen move, his gaze raked over the length of her body in one,
quick sweep. Shivers of desperation and heat radiated over her skin as she
stood almost bare to him, clad in nothing but a pair of white, cotton panties.
There was no need to hide from his gaze though—she wanted to be eaten up by
those dark, midnight eyes—wanted nothing more than to make him forget about his
sorrow, whatever that might be.

Tiptoeing to stand flush with
his body, she found her fingers taking control of the situation, reaching
towards the hem of his shirt, gripping the material as if it was the only thing
that kept her standing. It definitely needed to go; she needed his skin crushed
against hers. So she quietly commanded him to do just that with nothing more
than her gaze and a tug of her hand. He abided, nodding, and with a little help
from her fingertips along the way, the material was thrown through the air like
it weighed next to nothing. Her nails found solace in the curves of his perfect
chest, just as the sound of his crutch fell to the floor with a crash. She
ignored it…ignored everything except for David. It was impossible not to be
lost in this moment, entranced by his darkened face. This wouldn’t be close to
a cure–all, but it would be a cure–for–now, and that’s all she knew how to give
tonight.

Her lips swelled as she chewed
on him. She was more than ready to make this happen, more than ready to be
overcome by his body, his mind, and his beautiful soul. He was bound to his
grief tonight, but she wanted nothing more than to give that emotion a run for
its money.

In a flash, his pants were off
and on the floor, followed swiftly by his boxers. His blue boxers this time…
Grinning down at the mess of clothes on the floor, she knew right then and
there that there would be no going back again, this was going to happen, and he
was finally, seemingly starting to understand that.

In response to his sexy strip
tease, she countered it, slipping her own panties off. Toe extended she caught
them, kicking them away to only God knows where though. Ready, beyond willing,
and way more than able, she reached for him again. The lingering wetness of his
tears was barely visible on his cheeks, but she wiped them off anyways with her
thumbs, tipping her head to the side as she slowly pulled his lips down against
hers.

Sighing against his mouth, she
had to wonder if there was an intervention group for lip addiction, because
with David, she might just need it. They were always so warm, so perfect. And
tonight, they were more fierce than ever as they glided over hers. Aggressive,
passionate—they were the perfect ingredients to set her body on fire. His
tongue made its way between her lips, dueling with hers in a way that should
have scared her. But instead of fearing the abrupt anger in the movement, she
gave it back, just as madly, just as intense. His hands lowered from her
shoulders, dropping down to the curves of her backside in reward. She shook
even more, nibbling at his lip, demanding with her mouth that he take the next
step.

“I want you…so fucking bad it
hurts.”

“Then have me, David. All of
me.” And then she was up in his strong arms, whipped around until her back was
slammed against the wall. Her heart raced to an unnatural speed as he supported
her against him and the plastered wall of her room. She gasped, wrapping her
legs around his waist, feeling every inch of his hard body surged up against
her. He didn’t stop to make sure she was okay and ready this time; again, the
desperation was too intense. He just entered her…fully…devouring her body in
one quick motion of his hips. Moaning, she accepted him, letting her body take
over, letting her mind’s palette clear.

She should have been worried
about the extra pressure on his leg. Hell, she probably should have forgone the
sex altogether just so she could discover what his cryptic words about dying,
actually meant. But it was like a force had taken over between their bodies,
like it was necessary to ease the suffering he’d exhibited. Sex medicine… Yeah,
she was learning that there was absolutely nothing better than that.

She threw her head back
against the wall, and moaned, arching her back as his hands gripped the undersides
of her thighs. His perfect lips trailed kisses along her jaw, finding her neck,
only to nibble down on the spot sitting just below her ear.

“God, D…that’s—”

“Incredible…”

Gasping, she shut her eyes,
seeing all the colors of the damn rainbow light up behind her lids. She wasn’t
sure who was holding who up more as he shoved his hips hard against hers. But
she did know that the tempo he assumed was bordering on wild and
animalistic—definitely not like the last two times. Her nails dug into the skin
of his shoulders. One of his domineering hands reached for her breast and
squeezed, sending flames throughout her skin. He scorched her with his touch,
like she was a burning candle that could only be lit by him. His hands, his
fingers, they were the matches and she was the tiny wick that held all the
power.

In and out he pushed, pulling
back only briefly to hold her gaze with his own. His face was dark, but yet it
wasn’t. More like the sun was becoming a part of him, just finding its home in
the early morning hours over his cheeks. It made no sense to see such darkness
and lightness combine, but it was so incredibly beautiful that she couldn’t
find the strength to look away. God, David broke her, but healed her at the
same time. The boy with the brown, sad eyes, sent her flying, and then simply
grounded her.

“Abigail…I love you…don’t
leave me…please…don’t ever, ever leave me baby.”

Her heart was full, tears
filled her eyes. And with one final drive of his hips, she felt herself come
undone. Her voice was lost on a cry, her responsive words tied up in her
throat. But he had to have known—fully, completely—that with those soft–spoken,
pleading words of his, he’d taken her to a place that no boy, no man, had ever
done before.

* * *

The warmth of his arms held
tight against her naked body as they lay silently on the bed. She couldn’t stop
shaking—her hands or her legs. But whether it was from their lovemaking, or his
revelation, she wasn’t exactly sure.

Mrs. A was dying. Her pseudo
mom, her best friend’s lifeline, her lover’s biggest supporter, had cancer.
Where was the fucking justice in that? This wasn’t fair! Why God? Why did he
have to take the one person that held this family together? Her included in
that…

“David?”

Warm breath covered her neck,
followed by a bit of wetness from his tears once again. They’d shared their
fair amount together after he’d told her the news. They weren’t scary though,
they were acceptable.

Voice scratchy he responded,
“Yeah?”

“I need to tell you
something…”
a lot of somethings, actually.

He kissed her chin, pulling
her back around to face him. His dark eyes were large, dulled slightly too from
the crying. “Anything Abigail…you can tell me anything.” His soft voice
cracked, as if he was fighting emotion even now. He brushed her hair from her
eyes, gifting her with a sad smile. His touch was gentle, loving—absolute.

“I’m…” She shook her head.
Dammit, what was she doing? This wasn’t the time to tell him. He wouldn’t
accept it. He had too much going on as it was. She’d be selfish to tell him now
and screw with his emotions even more. So instead, she settled for confession
number two. “You said something to me earlier…” she waited, biting her lip,
praying he’d remember.

“I say a lot of things,” he
smiled sadly, following her hair down to the tips that fell over her shoulder
with his hand.

Okay, here went nothing… She
swallowed, “You said you loved me,” she sucked in a breath, afraid to let it
go. Had he just been vulnerable, unsure, scared even of what was happening in
his life when he said it? Or, was he simply too caught up in their lovemaking
to even
remember
what he was saying? Ugh, she was a mess of insecurity,
and she hated the holy hell out of it.

He wrapped a lose arm around
her naked waist, and in turn, the blanket fell away from her chest. He didn’t
make a move to cover it up, and neither did she. But instead he brought her
body flush with his again. The warmth he instilled in her—the comfort—it was
all the reassurance she needed.