Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(53)

“Good. Because I think this is where I jump ship.” Stress fell from her body in heavy clumps. “I love numbers, but I don’t love adding and subtracting in my sleep.”

“Fair enough,” her father said, watching her closely as she backed toward the door. “Abby?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.” She rested her hand on the doorknob. “Um. You think maybe when you’re feeling better . . . maybe both of you could come over to my place for dinner?”

Her stepmother looked startled—but cautiously pleased—and her father proud. “We’d love that.”

Abby walked out of the building onto Park Avenue, sucked in a gulp of sunny, city air . . . and executed an awkward, but energetic pirouette.





Chapter 17



RUSSELL LEANED AGAINST the downtown subway entrance, across the street from the Longshoreman. The bright and breezy late Friday afternoon had allowed the bar to leave the doors and windows wide open, giving Russell a view inside. His friends were there at their usual table, minus Abby. It bothered him that she wasn’t there. A lot. Was she sick? He’d been checking in on her via Ben, who got his information from Honey. At first, his so-called friend had refused to pass on a single detail, telling him to man up and go see Abby himself. Ben had finally taken pity on him after a drunk, desperate demand to know how Abby had worn her hair that day.

Yeah, he wouldn’t be living that down anytime soon. Nor did he give a damn.

He’d been told Abby’s workload would be easing soon, or so she’d told her roommates. His relief in hearing that was massive. The idea of Abby stuck inside, glued to a laptop with eight tons of pressure riding on her made him f*cking crazy.

The blunt tips of his fingernails bit into his palm. He’d told himself he’d stop by after work wrapped for the day, just to get a glimpse of her. The letdown of not seeing her was the equivalent of being buried under an avalanche. Christ, how long had it been? Five days? It felt like five decades.

“Screw this,” Russell growled, jaywalking across the avenue toward the Longshoreman. If he went back to Queens now, the dissatisfaction would be unbearable. Hell, he’d probably go back to the house, where he’d been working without cease, pick up the closest power tool, and destroy all his progress. It would only be a temporary distraction, though, and he’d be back to thinking about Abby. Replaying every word she’d ever spoken, every secret she’d ever confided, every smile she’d ever gifted him with.

When Russell walked into the Longshoreman, he wondered if he’d ever paid attention to the interior before. Nothing registered as familiar. Or maybe he’d just gotten so used to zeroing in on Abby when he walked inside, everything else usually fell away. Jesus, even his thoughts were goddamn pitiful. Stop thinking. That was the only option. Stop thinking and ask his friends about Abby. Just like ripping off a Band-Aid. He’d think later, when he could drink at the same time and mute the images that haunted him.

Four sets of eyebrows lifted when he sat down at the table. A reaction he’d expected since he’d left Southampton like it was on fire. Figuring he’d give them a minute to get used to his being there, Russell folded his arms and waited.

Roxy spoke up first, as if there’d been any doubt. “May we help you?”

“Where is she?”

Honey’s chair scraped back, her intention to go for Russell’s throat sparking in her eyes. Ben hooked an arm around her waist just in time, yanking her down onto his lap. “Easy, babe.” He looked at Russell. “This better be good.”

“Good?” He dropped his head into both hands. “I’ve got nothing good left. I just need to know how Abby is, please.”

“What gives you the right to know?” Honey asked, still shooting daggers at him from across the table. “Whatever you did must have been pretty awful, Russell. She won’t even talk to us about it.”

He felt hollow. So goddamn hollow. “She didn’t tell you why she was upset?” A huge part of him wished she had. When a man hurt her, she should tell someone. Oh God, that man had been him.

You bruise up a lot of girls, Hart?

Roxy traded a glance with her roommate. “She wasn’t upset until she read your note and found out you’d split. Actually, she was singing the National Anthem in the shower. And I love the girl to death, but if she tried to carry a tune in a bucket, the bucket would sprout ears. Just so it could cover them.”

Honey clucked her tongue at Roxy. “We thought you finally came clean about how you feel—”

“Wait. Abby wasn’t upset before that?” Russell gave his head a hard shake. “The lawyer said she was . . . said she . . .”

Louis spoke up for the first time. “Mitchell? He left the night before.”

“No, he didn’t.” A pit was yawning wide in Russell’s stomach. “He was there on the road when I came up from the beach. He offered me money to leave . . . said it was best for Abby.” An ache splintered his concentration. “He said the money was from Abby.”

“Er. What now?” Roxy stared at him. “Have you not been wearing your hardhat in hazardous areas?”

“That sounds nothing like Abby, man,” Ben said. “Are you sure?”