Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(62)

Gone. It was all gone now. All over money. Jesus, who cared about who paid for things, or if her relatives found him unsuitable? They would have worked it out together. Nothing had been bad enough that they couldn’t overcome it with good. But the good was gone. He’d obliterated it.

Russell turned and dropped onto the lawn, barely noticing when Alec followed suit, until a cold can of beer was pressed into his hand. “Russell, will you accept this Budweiser?”

“I know you watch The Bachelor when Darcy isn’t home.” Russell nabbed the can and popped its top, surprised to find his hands working. “I caught you setting the TiVo once.”

“Shut up and drink.”

“It’s a plan,” Russell muttered, tipping back the can. His throat rejected the liquid, but he forced it down. God knew he’d have to find a way to get rip-roaring drunk, no matter how badly his body wanted to exist in the hurt, roll around in it like a masochist. His pain didn’t deserve to be numbed so easily. Abby. He’d lost Abby, in every respect. Holy shit. Holy shit. No.

Alec watched as Russell shotgunned the beer. “Another?” ’

“I’m selling the house,” Russell managed. “I’m never going in there again. I thought I could erase the bad with . . . with Abby, but it’s f*cking poisonous. It got to me, and now I’m poisonous, too.”

“Hey, man—”

“Please. I don’t want to talk about it.” He was horrified to hear the crack in his voice, so he breathed through his nose for a minute. “There’s nothing to say. It’s too late. Just don’t fight me on selling.”

Alec sighed, turning the beer can in his hand. “It’s your call.”

The two brothers sat in silence, polishing off the twelve-pack as the familiar sounds of their childhood neighborhood decorated the air around them. It was unclear at what point Russell fell back on the grass and let unconsciousness replace his regret, at least until tomorrow.

Abby’s image was the final thing he saw.

ABBY SAT ON the stoop of her building Sunday afternoon, passing a covert plastic bottle of mimosa between herself, Roxy, and Honey. Honey had just cooked brunch upstairs, but Abby had only forced down two bites of French toast before dragging the fork around her plate aimlessly. After an unknown amount of time, she’d looked up to find her roommates staring at her from the kitchen. She hadn’t even put up a fight when they each took an arm and led her downstairs to get some fresh air for the first time in over a week.

The talk with her roommates was long overdue, and she knew it, so in the new, somewhat destructive spirit of not avoiding unpleasant conversations, she got the ball rolling. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys about Russell.” Ouch. His name left her mouth feeling like the end of a lawn rake. “I didn’t even know . . . what it was. What we were.” She took a swallow of mimosa. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. Now, it’s nothing.”

It agonized her to say the words. They didn’t feel like they could possibly be true. She’d spent the last ten days moderating a fight between her head and heart. One stubbornly clung to the belief she’d done the right thing, that if she’d given in to Russell, she would have lost the newfound respect she’d gained for herself. But the shuddering organ in her chest staunchly disagreed. It wanted back its counterpart.

“Abby . . .” Roxy blew out a long breath. “I’m not trying to call your bluff here . . . but I’m not sure you can call what’s between you and Russell nothing. He’s loved you since jump street. We’ve all known it.”

Abby stared out at Ninth Avenue, waiting for the ache in her stomach to pass, but it never did. I don’t want to be your friend, Abby. I want to be your husband. Words that should have made her cry happy tears, not bitter ones. “Russell made it nothing. All he had to do was be honest with me.” She turned her attention to Honey, then Roxy. “And while we’re on the subject of being honest, why didn’t you just tell me? You let me float around in the dark, just like him. Did you think it was funny?”

Honey looked horrified. “No. God, Abby. That’s not it at all.” She appeared to be searching for the right words. “We wanted you to have the experience of having Russell tell you. Every girl should have that. It wouldn’t have felt the same coming from us.”

Roxy snagged the plastic bottle. “If we’d known he’d make a jackass of himself and hurt you in the process, we would have told you months ago.”

They meant it. Abby knew her friends wouldn’t intentionally hurt her feelings, and honestly, she didn’t have the capacity to be mad at anyone else. “All’s forgiven. Just tell me next time someone is in love with me and decides friend-zoning me is a better idea than coming clean.”

Honey cracked a sad smile. “It’s a deal.” She plucked at her frayed jeans skirt. “So we all agree Russell acted like a jackass, but . . .”

“But is this really permanent?” Roxy asked, squinting into the sun. “I can’t imagine you two apart. You’re . . . Russell and Abby. Rabby.”

“That nickname never would have happened.”

“Says you.”

Abby massaged the back of her neck, wondering when her entire body would stop feeling trampled on. “It’s permanent,” she pushed out. “He doesn’t want to be my friend, and I can’t be with someone who’s threatened by what my family has. Or moves me around into different categories when he feels like it.” She crossed her arms over her middle. “He made me feel really horrible, okay? I know he didn’t mean to, but he did. And I’m not past it yet.”