?CHAPTER 7
Abby
Muffled voices bringme to my senses just before the intense pounding of my head takes over my train of thought. A moan escapes my lips as I squeeze my eyes tighter and press my fingers firmly to my temples. This is probably a well-deservedfuck youto me for getting absolutely wasted last night.
The mumbling voices ring like an alarm clock. Who is Sam talking to? It sounds like a girl. I must be dreaming. He wouldn’t bring another girl home, would he? Wait, he’s supposed to be gone already. My eyes shoot open, revealing a spinning ceiling fan as memories of last night flood my brain. My heart pounds like a bass drum in my chest, threatening to crawl up my throat. A dull orange stream of light peaks through the blackout curtains onto the dark blue comforter I’m lying on. The light gray blanket covering me is soft on my skin.
Shit.Whose bed am I in?
Instinctively, I lift the blanket and let out a sigh of relief. My clothes are still on. The smell of chlorine wafts through the air as I quietly pull back the edge of the blanket.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, planting them on the soft white carpet. My shoes sit neatly placed in front of the dark-stained nightstand that houses an old gold lamp with a glass green shade, a box of tissues, and to my delight, a bottle of pain meds and a glass of water. A sticky note falls off the bottle of pain medication, landing by my feet. I squint at the floor, seeing the note written in rather messy handwriting that readsTake 2 and finish the water.
You don’t have to tell me twice. The water goes down my dry scratchy throat like a desert drought, seeping into the cracks, my veins soaking up the hydration quicker than I can finish the glass.
I heave a sigh after the last of the water trickles down my throat. The mumbling voices in the next room continue through my silence. I feel my stomach churn at the sudden large amount of water, but my body still yearns for more.
As I stand up, the bed creaks underneath me, silencing the mystery voices outside the door. I instinctively pause, waiting to see if the talking will start back up again. When it doesn’t, I pull the gray blanket up my back and wrap it around my bare shoulders. I force my feet to move past the plain white walls and the baseball gear in the corner. I almost trip over a cleat before stabilizing myself on the door handle. I pause, listening for voices again before slowly turning the knob and peering through the small crack between the door and the frame. When I don’t see anyone, I pull the door open, squinting in the bright light of the short hallway. My head screams at me. There are two doors to my right and one to the left. A small kitchen island juts out at the end of the left wall.
Taking the quietest steps I can manage, I peer around the corner into the small kitchen. Two figures, a guy and a girl, lean their backs against the other counter, both holding a mug of presumably coffee based on the strong fresh brewed smell in the air. Usually, coffee is the first thing I put in my body in the morning. Today, I think I might hurl at just the smell.
I force a small smile before opening my mouth. “Uh, hi,” I say, quiet enough that they may not have heard me.
“Hey, good morning,” the guy says, pushing off the counter. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asks, already pulling another mug out of the cupboard. His white T-shirt strains with the movement.
“Um, no. I think I should stick with water for now.” I move farther into the room, stopping when I reach the island. The white vinyl-covered counters reflect the golden morning sun. The shiny surface is free of clutter. The white cabinets make the room feel open and welcoming. Probably a good thing when I have no idea where I am or who these people are.
Then it hits me. As he hands me a glass of water, those beautiful brown eyes meet mine, and my memory fills some of the void in my head. “Dallas, right?” I ask tentatively. “The guy who spilled my drink on me.”
The girl scrunches her face up a little but looks at him with a smirk. “You did what?” Her bright pink pixie cut bobs with her laughter. She has the same brown eyes as Dallas.
“Uh, yeah. I did apologize!” he quickly defends. “But yes. I’m Dallas. This is my sister Rose.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Abby.” I nod to Rose with a small smile before taking a long sip, savoring the cool liquid on my tongue.
“You, too. Well, I have to head out. I’m meeting a friend for brunch. See you later, Dal.” She grabs the string sticking out of her mug and tosses the tea bag into the trash before setting her empty mug in the sink. She grabs her purse off the hook and heads out the door.
I can’t let this silence last long. I need to figure out what happened last night, but Dallas beats me to the questioning. “So, how do you—” he starts, but I cut him off with my own question, the one that’s been eating at me since I woke up.
“Nothing ... happened last night, right? Like, between us?” I ask, pointing a finger frantically back and forth.
He quickly shakes his head. “Nothing happened. Promise.” He pauses but looks like he wants to say more. “I wasn’t even sure I should take your shoes off, but I wanted you to be a little comfortable. I can’t imagine sleeping in damp clothes was fun.”
I look down, remembering I was soaking wet when I put them back on, and the dampness of my hair now sits in a mess on my shoulders. That’s when I remember that I jumped in the pool ... naked. Or, almost naked. The rest of the memories come flooding back. Sam cheating. Jordan’s pushiness. Sam finding me on his shoulders. And ... And him hitting me. In front of everyone. The tears escape my eyes before I can even attempt to control them. Dallas puts down his mug, coming over to my side. He places a hand on mine, gently forcing me to stop the subconscious fidgeting.
“What happened last night?” I take a sharp breath. “Like, after Sam ... I don’t remember anything after that.”
Dallas doesn’t answer right away, probably contemplating how to word this nicely. “He hit you once before I got between you two.” He moves his hand to my face, attempting to wipe a tear, but I flinch, turning my head away quickly. His hand hovers before he drops it. “Sorry. I ...” he trails off. “I’m not going to hurt you. He has no right to put his hands on you. I won’t let him touch you again. Ever.”
“I don’t need saving,” I say defensively, but who am I kidding? I can’t defend myself. I’ve never laid a finger on Sam in our entire relationship.
“I’m not asking for your permission,” he says sternly, yet a caring tone lies under the seriousness of his words.
A small whimper escapes my lips as the tears flow faster. My legs start to give out underneath me as I slowly crumble to the floor, face buried in my hands. I feel his presence join me on the cold tile floor. It sends a chill through my thighs and up my spine. He fixes the blanket back over my shoulders and a gentle hand rests on my shoulder blade, large enough to touch them both. His other hand runs through my messy hair attempting to calm my nerves. His rough calloused fingers trail my hairline like a tender kiss. As my breathing slows and the tears come to an end, I pull away, embarrassment coursing through my veins at the idea that I just collapsed in front of this man, this stranger.
