chapter thirty-seven

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It's been two weeks.

Two weeks since O'Malley's. Two weeks since Abby broke down in my arms. Two weeks since I told her I wasn't giving up on us. Two weeks since things started to go back to normal—or at least, a new normal. Our new normal.

We're still broken up, which fucking sucks, but it is what it is. I can't change it. I won't pressure her to do something that could potentially hurt her. So, we're here, in a sort of limbo where we find ways to do things that we used to do under the pretense of it being casual, or for school, or as just friends—like FaceTiming.

We've FaceTimed every night for the past two weeks. If anyone asks, which they don't because they know exactly what we're doing, we could say that we're studying, that I'm simply helping her learn the new chapter before the pop quiz. But every night, she pulls out her chem notes and absently reads through a few lines before her eyes flick up to the screen, and she grins as if to say, okay, I think we're safe now.

Then we slide into our old normal—or as close to our old normal as we can without crossing any lines. She tells me about work, and school, and how she's getting nervous about NYU, and the bangs she's contemplating getting, and the weird noise her car's been making, and I just sit there, grinning like a fucking idiot, because she's here. She's right here in front of me, talking about nothing and everything at the same time, and I know it's not nearly what I want, but it's all I'm able to have right now, and that's okay, too.

I tell her about my days, too. About the family picture my mom printed and hung on the gallery wall, about how hard Coach is running us now that we're days away from the semi-final game, about the organic chem TA that I swear has it out for me, about the house fire Micah almost set the other night trying to make popcorn on the stove, and how the Raptors, Knicks, Suns, Spurs, and Celtics have all contacted Coach about setting up meetings to talk about the draft.

Her excited squeal was loud enough for Micah to come running out of his room, wide-eyed and searching. When he spotted my phone propped up next to me as I ate a bowl of cereal at the kitchen island, he sighed and walked back into his room. He tried to seem annoyed by the interruption, but I caught the twitch of his cheek before he turned.

He's wearing the same shadowed smile now as he pushes a beer across the hightop toward me. I take it, sipping the cheap beer while keeping my eye on the door.

I would have never agreed to purposely ride out a snowstorm in a sports bar surrounded by a bunch of drunk idiots, but since James told me that Abby decided to go, I wasn't exactly going to pass up an opportunity to be locked in with her for a few hours.

O'Malley's usually closes whenever a big storm passes since the roads get closed down, but since it's St. Patrick's Day, they decided to stay open and host a snowed-in party.

I wasn't surprised when Luke and Micah decided to go because getting snowed in at a bar is something those assholes live for, but I was a little shocked when James said he was tagging along. I guess Emery convinced Nia to go, who convinced Jenny, who convinced James, and all I needed to hear to get my ass here, was that Abby was also coming.

The bar's packed, and since their special for the holiday is dollar beers, everyone's already drunk.

"Is she on her way? The roads are closing any minute," Jenny asks, looking over her shoulder toward the door. "She said she was coming when I talked to her a few hours ago."

Nia reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. She presses call on Abby's contact before propping it between her cheek and her shoulder as she reaches for the basket of chips in the middle of the table.

"Hey, babe. Are you almost here?"

I trace the lip of my beer bottle, attempting to look like I'm not eavesdropping, but when she gasps, my gaze darts over to see her eyes widen. My lungs freeze in my chest when I catch the unmistakable echo of a sob through the phone.

"Abby, what's wrong?"

I can't hear shit, not with the music fucking blasting and the loud palaver ringing around us, but when another choked sob echoes through the line, Nia cups her hand around the phone, trying to block it out as she attempts to soothe her. She tries to calm her down enough to speak, but it doesn't seem to be working.

The stool scratches loudly against the floor as I stand, pulling everyone's attention as I reach for the keys in my pocket.

"I've got it," I say to Nia, already stepping away from the table.

"The roads are closed, T," James calls after me.

Fuck. He's right. It's past five.

I don't look back as I push through the door and step into the storm; it's a blur of white snow caught in currents of ice-cold wind. My cheeks burn as the frozen air whips around me, already seeping into my clothes as I take another step into the parking lot.

The sound of Abby's sob echoes through my mind again, and I tug the top of my hoodie up, pulling the strings taut to tighten it around me, trying to keep as much heat in as I can. With one final look back at the bar, I start running.



My lungs burn from the frozen air as I take the steps by two, but I don't stop running until my fist connects with her apartment door. My pulse is careening in my chest, sending a wave of adrenaline through my blood. I have no idea how far that was, but it has to be a new record for me, whatever the distance. I guess getting sent out to the track for showing up to practice hungover so many times actually paid off.

I wait a few more seconds before knocking again. When the door finally opens to a dark apartment, it takes my eyes a second to adjust to the lighting before Abby's tear-stained face comes into focus. Her arms are wrapped around herself, and she blinks up at me with puffy, swollen eyes.

"Abs." My voice catches in my throat.

I take a step toward her and gauge her reaction, but when she doesn't step away, I pull her into my arms. Part of me is expecting her to step away, to put space between us, and tell me that she doesn't want to cross that line, but when she wraps her arms around me, her entire body slumps into me as a sob slips through her lips.

She doesn't seem to mind that my clothes are soaked from the snow, and I hold her tightly as I lead us further into the apartment, kicking the door shut softly. It takes me a few seconds of fumbling in the dark to find the light switch, and when it turns on, Abby buries her face in my chest, muffling a sob that shakes her shoulders.

I tighten my hold on her, well aware that there's nothing I can do to stop the sobs slipping from her lips now. They're frantic and intense, rocking her entire body as she tries to rake in air. I've seen her cry—I've seen her really, really cry—but I've never seen her like this before. Not this bad.

I have no idea how long we've been standing here, but I don't loosen my grip on her until she turns her face away from my hoodie, nuzzling her cheek into my chest as her sobs finally ease and her breathing slows.

I don't release her, and when she relaxes into me, I know that it's helping. Somehow, standing here with me is helping. I rest my cheek against the top of her head, appreciating the feel of her in my arms again. When she finally speaks, her voice is throaty and worn, and I know instantly that she's been crying for a very long time.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it to the bar. I wanted to, I just—I couldn't."

She tilts her head up, meeting my gaze.

"What's going on, Abs?"

She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth but closes it again as if she doesn't know what to say, as if she doesn't know how to say it.

"Can I show you something?"

My brows raise, but I nod. With a deep, shaky breath, she leads me through the dark hall to her room. I hesitate by the door when she picks up her phone from the floor. The screen is cracked to shit, and I don't remember it looking like that when I saw her the other day in class, but she unlocks it as she sits on her bed.

She glances up at me standing in the doorway and pats the spot next to her. I drop down beside her, watching her face as she clicks the voice recordings she has saved. She bites down on her lip, fighting back another sob, and when she presses play on the recording saved from this date five years ago, my heart clenches painfully in my chest because I think I know what's happening.

The voice that echoes through the phone is older, smooth, and I know who it is immediately.

"Hey, Sweet Pea, I just got your message. I'm on my way now. I know you said you have a stomachache, but what do you think about a quick ice cream stop? I'm thinking a triple-fudge sundae might be just the thing. You know ice cream always fixes everything. Plus, it's St. Paddy's Day, we have to celebrate, right? I'll see you soon, honey. Love you."

My heart sinks into my stomach as her body starts to shake again, and when I wrap my arms around her, she melts into me as if she can't physically hold herself up any longer.

"He was coming to get me from a sleepover because I had a stomachache. I had cramps, freaking period cramps. I called him to come to get me instead of taking medicine and just sucking it up."

Her fingers latch onto the front of my hoodie like I'm going to disappear if she doesn't hold me here.

"I was being ridiculous. They were just cramps. I was fine. I didn't have to call him. I just—I just wanted to come home. I didn't know—I would have never called him if I knew." Her voice breaks, and I swear to God, my heart shatters. "I fell asleep and missed his call. When I saw his voicemail, it was two hours later. He never made it to get me. They found his car rolled over in a ditch. A hit and run. A drunk driver."

Fuck.

I don't know what to say.

What am I supposed to say?

"I'm so sorry, Abby." I tighten my hold on her, resting my cheek on the top of her head. Her body relaxes into mine as I rub slow circles on her back, trying to measure the unsteady rhythm of her breathing under my palms.

When she pulls away to look up at me, I wipe a tear from her sallow cheek. She leans into the touch, and I hold her there, watching the tension ease from between her brows as I brush my thumb across her cheek again. It's a dumbass move. I know I shouldn't be doing this. Holding her while she's upset is one thing, but this, this is something else. Like the dumbass I am, I make another slow, gentle pass over her cheek with my thumb, only this time, a shiver shakes her shoulders at the touch. She tilts her head back, bringing her lips closer to mine, and when her tear-filled eyes flick down to my mouth, my heart pounds painfully in my chest.

This is crossing a line. It has to be.

"Can we—I know we shouldn't, I just—can we just forget everything." It comes out in a croak, a desperate plea. "Just for a few hours, just while we're here."

My throat is damn near closed as her words echo through my mind.

Forget everything? What does that mean?

"Please." Her voice cracks, and it tears my heart open. "I need to forget, just for a few hours. I need to forget how messed up everything is. I just—I need you." Her eyes flick down to my lips again, and she sits up straighter, pulling herself close enough to me that I can feel her warm cookie-tinted breath on my lips.

We shouldn't. It's taken us this long to get back to normal—to our new normal—and I don't want to mess that up.

"Please, Tristan."

She leans closer, eyes trained on my mouth, and when her deep blue gaze flicks back up to mine, I can't think straight anymore.

Fuck it.

I pull her lips to mine, and I swear to God, my heart stops at the touch. It short circuits, and it's like every fantasy I've had for the past three weeks come to life, only better, because this Abby is real. Her kisses are urgent, desperate, and searing as she knots her fingers in my hair and pulls me closer to her, moaning softly against my mouth when I grab her hips and pull her onto my lap. I know she needs this more than anything right now, and a selfish part of me revels in the fact that she needs me when she's at her worst. That I'm the one she needs to lose herself in when everything else is crashing down around her—that I'm the one she looks for in the middle of the chaos.

I slide my tongue into her mouth, like a puzzle piece falling into place, and when she grinds herself against my hard-on, already pushing into my zipper, the throaty groan that echoes in the back of my throat makes her shiver in my lap. Every nerve in my body is on high alert as she grinds herself into me again, molding her soft, warm body to mine, like she can't stand for there to be any space between us. I want to feel her skin and hear her breathy moans and watch her eyes roll back as she comes undone underneath me over and over and over again. But when I bring my hand up to her cheek and brush my tongue against hers, I know I need to tread carefully here. I know she needs a distraction, but I don't want her to regret this. So with all the resolve left in my body, I break the kiss and pull back to see her eyes soften nervously as her brows draw together, as if she's scared that I'm going to bail, as if she's nervous that I don't want her.

I want her. Fuck, I want to be inside of her more than anything, but I need to make sure she's really okay with this.

"Abs." I search her flushed face, and when her swollen eyes meet mine, my chest tightens painfully, because I can see, I can actually see how fucking broken she is right now. "Are you sure you want to do this? We don't have to—We could watch a movie, or I could make you dinner, or we—"

"I don't want dinner." Her words are clipped and desperate, and when she cups my cheeks and brushes her thumb across the line of my jaw, I'm mesmerized by her. Just by being here, just by being so close, she has me dazed and wanting, and when she licks her lips, I suddenly can't remember why I shouldn't bury myself in her right now. "I want you. I want to feel something other than this—I just—I want you to make me feel good. I want you to make my body feel good. I want you to make—I want you to—I want you to fuck me, Tristan."

Fuck me. She's never said that before, but when I meet her gaze, I know she means it. She wants me to fuck her so she can forget. She wants a distraction from all of the shit in her life. I can't do much for her right now. I can't bring back her dad; I can't change what her mom said to her at that dinner; I can't make this fucked up situation go away, but what I can do is make her feel good, so that's what I'm going to do.

Gripping her thighs, I hold her to me as I stand, laying her down on the bed before her shocked gasp can echo around the quiet room. By the time I reach back and tug my hoodie and shirt off, her cheeks are already pooling with that rosy hue I love so much.

It's surreal being here with her again, but I try not to think about how many times I've fantasized about this over the past two weeks as I lean back down and pull her hoodie over her head, leaving her in nothing but her plaid pajama pants. I hesitate, considering her. She's bright-eyed and flushed, and I can't help the way my chest tightens when I notice the pain that's been pooling in her eyes for the past three weeks slowly easing away. This is helping her—us, here, alone—and if this is all I can do to help her not feel so broken right now, I'm going to fucking do it right.

I pull her lips back to mine, trying not to think about how fucking bad I wish this was happening because she wanted me and just not as a distraction, but I shake those thoughts when she unbuttons my pants and tugs them down my legs with an impatient huff. I smile against her lips because I know this is her favorite part—undressing me.

Her lips pull back into a smile when my thumbs loop in her waistband, and when she lifts her hips for me, I pull her shorts down her legs, tossing them behind me before reconnecting our lips. Her hands explore my chest and stomach as I explore her mouth with my tongue, grinding my hips into her. When her hand slides down to the waistband of my boxers, I pull away from her eager lips to find her molten eyes staring up at me.

I need to forget, just for a few hours.

I need to forget.

Slipping down between her thighs, I push aside the tiny strip of blue cotton and drag my tongue across her, tasting her, reveling in the sweet warmth of her. She's wet, really fucking wet, and she's already coating my lips as my tongue parts her. I take my time licking my way up to her clit, slow and soft, with just enough pressure to make her head fall back as a tortured moan slips through her lips. She writhes under me, her hips lifting from the mattress, searching for my tongue, silently begging for more. Gripping her thighs, I pull her legs open wider, and when I look up at her, panting and molten-eyed, with the kind of flush I only get to see when I'm here, between her thighs, I'm desperate to be inside of her.

Bringing my tongue back to her clit, I slip a finger inside of her and stroke her g-spot, moving in a perfect echo of my tongue. I smirk against her when her entire body tenses and her back arches off the bed, and when I suck on the bud of nerves, she's coming on my tongue with the sexiest moans I've ever heard. They're breathy and desperate, echoing around the room as I slow my tongue to bring her down softly.

Her chest rises and falls quickly but starts to slow now as she relaxes into the mattress, limp and sated. I turn my head, brushing the tip of my nose across her inner thigh to place a single, soft kiss there. Pulling back a little, I grin at the glossy stamp left from my mouth, and when I glance up at her, she's propping herself up on her elbows, watching me with rosy cheeks and dark eyes.

Wiping my thumb across my wet mouth, I brush the remnants of her slowly up her stomach. Her back arches and hips twitch, but her eyes don't leave mine. My thumb paints a glossy path, around her belly button, between her full, flushed breasts, all the way up until I'm leaning over her, my mouth hovering just above hers. I can taste her cookie-tinted breath on my lips, and it almost tastes as good as she does on my tongue. Bringing my hand up to cup her cheek, her eyes widen, and a soft inhale of a moan echoes around us as I slide my thumb across her lips.

My eyes fix on her lips as I lean down, hovering just close enough to brush my lips against hers as I say, "You taste so fucking good."

Slipping my tongue into her mouth, I'm rewarded with a breathy whimper as she greedily sucks on my tongue, tasting herself while my hand slips between her thighs again. Her hips rock up, grinding against my palm while my thumb rubs circles on her clit. Her hands slip down my stomach, and when her fingers find my waistband, she tugs my boxers down my hips impatiently.

I want to make this last, to take my time with her, but I'm fucking desperate for her, and every moan,

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