“You scared me,” I whispered against his chest, and his grip on me tightened as his other hand went to my hair, stroking it softly.
“I know, Kettle.” I felt his lips press against the top of my head. “I’m so sorry.”
Chapter Fourteen
Screaming Fears
We drove to Abel’s house in silence. I was swimming with anger, sadness, and regrets of the past—stuck in limbo. Everyone sees life through his or her own experiences. Some grow and learn to live in the moment, like Abel. He knew how precious every second was and didn’t stop to think about tomorrow. I stayed fixed in the past, forever haunted by the things that had brought me down.
I knew if I could just open up and let him in, we could balance each other. But that was easier said than done. Knowing what needed to be done and doing it were separated by fear—fear of the past, the unknown. I was too angry, too stubborn to give him the chance.
I glanced around the living room. New sheets of plywood leaned against a wall, covering an old fireplace. New molding had been added around the ceiling.
“It takes time,” Abel said, “but I’m getting there.”
“I’d sell it and buy something new.”
“Yeah.” He glanced around as he rubbed his hand over his jaw. “You probably would. You’re good at running.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I snapped.
“I deserve that.” Abel cringed, and I hated myself for taking a jab at him. Old habits die hard.
“No, you didn’t.” I sighed. “It’s hard to let the walls down.”
“You’re in luck.” Abel walked through the living room to a smaller room that sat behind it. I followed, stopping in the doorway as he picked up a sledgehammer that had a handle at least three feet long. “I happen to be a semiprofessional wall remover, Kettle. It’s a very prestigious title, not to be taken lightly.” He smirked, the dimples in his cheeks settling in deeply.
“Really? You brought me here to work?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You gonna force me at gunpoint?” I quipped.
“You’ll feel better, I promise.” He shook his head, as he tried not to laugh at my anger.
I rolled my eyes and took a step toward him, holding out my hand for the hammer. I took it from his grip, and it immediately hit the floor.
“Jeez, it’s heavier than I expected.”
Abel winked as his tongue ran over his lips. “I don’t get many complaints.”
“Whatever.” I gripped the sledgehammer with both hands but could barely lift it from the floor.
“OK. Don’t hurt yourself, Kettle. Let’s start with something smaller.” He leaned the large hammer against the wall and handed me a smaller version.
“This is better.” I smiled as Abel picked up the larger sledgehammer and held it in two hands.
“We’re gonna take down this little wall here to open it up into what will be the formal dining room. With each swing you say something that scares you or has hurt you. Got it? I’ll go first.”
I nodded, my teeth digging into my lower lip as Abel stepped toward the wall. “It wasn’t fair that my entire life was taken from me.” He swung hard, the sledgehammer digging into the drywall and causing it to crumble around the head of the hammer. He stepped back, panting. “Your turn.”
I stepped forward, the hammer in my hands as I looked at the huge hole Abel had left. “I hate…that…” I sighed and held the hammer at my side. I swung it up to my shoulder and adjusted my footing. “I hate that you won’t just go away.” I swung, the hammer stopping abruptly as it lodged into the wall next to Abel’s crater. I tugged on it twice before it came loose and swung down to my side.
“Fair enough.” He stepped forward, and I pressed myself against the side wall. He rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, stretching his neck. “This one is for my grandpa thinking I was too spoiled and needed to learn to live like him.” He swung and hit just a few inches from his first mark. “Would’ve been nice not to have to deal drugs to survive just because he hated my dad.” He pulled up his damp, white shirt and wiped it over his brow. I tried not to stare at his abs as he walked by me and grabbed a gallon of water from the mantel and guzzled a large swig.
I positioned myself in front of the wall. “This is for my mom. It wasn’t my fault she was raped. I still deserved to be loved.” I swung hard, throwing all my anger into my swing. The hammer wedged into Abel’s growing crater. He walked up beside me with the water in his hand. I took it and drank a sip.
“That was better.” He motioned for me to move back, and I stepped back to the side wall as I waited for him to swing. He focused on the wall as his eyebrows pulled together.
“This is for scaring you last night, Kettle.” He swung, and the sound of the hammer hitting the wall echoed in my heartbeat. He observed the hole in the wall as he stepped back. He propped the hammer next to me as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on top of an old paint bucket.
“This is for everyone who bullied me in school.” I stepped forward and took a swing, surprised at how much my muscles burned and how the pressure from my chest was beginning to ease. I glanced over my shoulder at Abel, whose body glistened with a fresh layer of sweat, his jeans hanging low on his hips.
“This…” He glanced down at the hammer and back at me as he took his position in front of the wall. “This is for not being able to save them.”
My heart sank as he swung, the hammer breaking through to the next room. I hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding back.
Our eyes locked, and I nodded as a tear stung my eye. “This is also for not being able to save them.” I broke eye contact and took my shot, but my arms were growing weaker, and I barely made a dent. My eyes met Abel’s again, and he looked confused but quickly masked his reaction.
“That all you got, slugger?” Abel winked as he switched positions with me. “This is for…Becca.” He swung, knocking a basketball‐size hole in the wall. Panting with exhaustion, he dropped the sledgehammer at his side.
“You brought up Becca to James. Who was she?” I asked, as I tucked my damp hair behind my ear.
“That’s not how this game works, Kettle.” He scratched the back of his head as he released a frustrated sigh. “Becca was my girlfriend. She’s the reason I gave up selling. What I had that night I met you…and what was in the car—that was the last of it. I was telling you the truth.”
“She didn’t approve?”
“It’s not exactly an honorable profession. I’d finally gotten my inheritance, and there was no reason anymore. Becca was on my case about stopping.” He nodded, and his hand ran over his jaw. “She trusted me.” He picked up the hammer and swung at the wall, connecting with a grunt. “She shouldn’t have.”
I stared at him as his eyes dropped to the floor. “You’re not a bad guy, Abel.”
“Not a good guy either, Lie.”
“You…want to talk about it?” I grabbed the jug of water and held it out for him. He nodded a thanks and took a drink.
“Not much to say. Boy meets girl. Boy lies and loses the only person who gave a damn about him.” He smiled sadly. “One night we went to bed, and while I slept, she went through my phone. The next morning I woke up alone in bed.” He tapped the head of the sledgehammer against the floor like he was debating whether to finish his story. “I found James and Becca practically fucking in the spare bedroom. She was fucked up out of her mind. She did it to get back at me.” He shrugged, and I saw him fight back the sadness.
“Why would you blame yourself for that?” I took a step toward him, and his gaze met mine, stopping me.
“I promised her I’d go straight, and I lied. The fucked‐up part was that I didn’t need to do it anymore. I became addicted to being needed, ya know? I grew up in the in‐crowd, and after being on the outside for many years, I didn’t want to step away from it again. I lost it—I beat the hell out of James. Becca never talked to me again.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. It was a shitty night.” He smirked, but I knew he was hurting. “You should choose your friends more wisely, Kettle.”
I rolled my eyes as I stepped next to him and nudged him with my hip. “Who said we were friends?” I joked, as I looked over my shoulder to make sure he was out of the way.
“Funny girl.”
I lifted my hammer to take aim at the wall. I was grateful Abel had opened up to me, but I wasn’t sure I could do the same. “I think I’m too tired to do this again,” I said.
“You want to take a shower? Get out of the wet clothes?”
“If that’s some lame attempt to get me naked, it’s not going to work.”
“Suit yourself. I’m going to make something to eat. Bathroom is upstairs, and you’re welcome to anything in my dresser.” He propped his hammer against the wall and walked out of the room. I felt like a jerk for not sharing anything more with him, but I couldn’t form the words.
I made my way upstairs and into his bedroom. I grabbed some clothes from his dresser, a large gray T‐shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs. Under the clothes was a tattered picture, and I pulled it out to look at a young Abel with his parents. His mother was smiling, with her arm over his shoulder. His father stood on the other side of her, his arm around her waist. I heard a noise from downstairs and slid the picture back where I’d found it and tiptoed from the room and into the bathroom.
I stripped off my damp clothes and put them in a pile by the door. I made the shower as hot as possible and stepped under the water. I hated how easy it was for Abel to let me in, and I was unable to do the same. I knew it pained him to talk about his past, but he was willing to do it just to make me feel better. I washed away the memories of my past and quickly dressed.
As I slipped down the steps, I caught sight of Abel, his shirtless back to me in the kitchen.
“What ya making?” I asked, as he spun around and shot me a lopsided grin.
“Well, it’s no spaghetti, but raviolis are always a favorite.” He held up a can, and I shook my head as I walked into the kitchen and sat at the island.
“You have horrible eating habits,” I joked, as he slid a bowl in front of me.
“Yeah, well…that’s a fact. I’m gonna take a quick shower. Hope you saved me some hot water.” His hand fell on my shoulder as he walked around me, and I grimaced, knowing there was none left. A few minutes later, Abel came downstairs with my damp clothes. Then I heard a dryer begin to run before he disappeared up the steps again.
I pushed my food around the bowl, my stomach twisted in knots as I thought about finally telling someone about my past. Becoming someone new didn’t make anything go away. It didn’t change anything. I couldn’t escape what had happened, and keeping it to myself made my life a miserable and lonely existence.
Abel came back down the steps a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a pair of hunter‐green boxers, drops of water dotting his tanned skin. “Why aren’t you eating?” he asked, as he pulled open the fridge and bent over, pushing around the contents inside. He stood, a soda in hand as he cracked open the can and took a drink.
“Do you think things happen for a reason?” I asked, glancing up at him and back to my bowl.
“No. Not at all.” The muscles in his jaw jumped under his skin.
“You don’t think this is all part of some big plan?”
Abel laughed sardonically as he shook his head and took another drink. “What plan, Kettle? What plan is there that involves destroying a family? What plan would ever involve hurting you?”