I'd have to beat myself up later for letting Abell get so close to me, when I'd meant to keep us as far apart as I could.
In a panic, I spun in place, searching for some escape. Gram was in the hall, and this room had no where to go.
We were trapped.
No. There's one place. My eyes snapped to the staircase. Not waiting for Abell, I threw myself up the steps towards the door above. The closet he mentioned!
“Wait!” Chasing after me, Abell's voice cracked. “Don't go in there!”
Ignoring him, I wrenched the handle, diving into the room as adrenaline made my palms slick. Fight or flight.
I'd chosen flight.
The scent of chemicals hit me first. It was dark, my eyes adjusting from the light that filtered in through the huge windows. It could have been a small attic, except every inch of it was filled with one thing.
Painted canvases.
“Nix,” Abell hushed, coming up behind me.
Moving forward, I gazed at the myriad of paintings. They were all stunning, brightly colored like flowers in spring. One by one, I walked past them, my hand in the air—wanting to touch, but knowing better. “What is all this?” I whispered.
Shutting the door gently, Abell stayed where he was, silent.
Peeking back at him, I went back to scanning the art. Someone with skill had done all of these. They were well preserved, only a little dusty. No one had been in here for some time.
Leaning in close, I realized they all had signatures. Tiny, curving white letters in the bottom right corner—they read 'Birch.'
“Did you paint all these?” I asked, standing up straight as a rod.
The light above cast hard shadows along his nose and brow-line. The movement of his head, as he stared at the paintings, was subtle. “No.”
“Then who?”
Coming forward, he reached for one of the paintings where it sat on an easel. At the last second, he pulled away. “My mother.”
Shock spread through me like cement. His mother? And I knew, deep down, even before I asked, that something sad existed in the air between us. “What happened to her?”
His lips made a shape, but it wasn't his normal smile. “She died. Years ago.”
I hugged myself harder. “When you were sixteen. Is that why you ran away?”
Abell twisted, watching me closely. “You have a good memory for details.” Again, he looked at the canvas in front of him. “You want to know what happened?”
“Yes.” I said it fast; there was no hesitation.
His outline was sharp, as solid as a mountain on the horizon. Yet still, I had a terrible feeling that if I touched him, he'd crumble away. “My mother was a... good person.” He paused. “More than that. There isn't a word for her. She was perfect, and kind, and her soul was gentle. Accepting.” Bending his neck, he looked at the window, whispering, “That still wasn't enough for him.”
Ice burned inside of me. “Your father.”
Nodding, Abell opened his palm, finally brushing the side of the easel. “I don't think he ever really loved her. It didn't matter how she felt, or what she did, he just didn't care. When she got sick, and the doctors said she didn't have long... she started painting.
“I joined her. We'd sit up here for hours, just talking, laughing, watching the colors dry. She'd always wanted to be a painter, but she'd given up that dream to take care of me. But I was older now, and she was—” He stopped himself, then grit his teeth. “Dying.”
My feet were rooted to the floor. In my pocket, my phone buzzed—Gram was calling me—but I didn't care. I was attached to nothing in that moment but Abell. If I thought he'd peeled back his walls before, now I knew what that really meant.
He looked past me, over my ear. “The day she went into the hospital, I knew she was done. Everyone knew. But while she lie there, waiting for my father to come, he never did. I called him, over and over, but it made no difference.”
Making a fist, he shut his eyes—and laughed. The sound was torturous. “The woman who never stopped smiling, died with tears in her eyes, because the man she loved until the very end refused to see her! Isn't that amazing? Isn't life fucking amazing?”
Clutching my hands together, I saw the visceral pain contorting his face. Once, as a child, I'd encountered a rabid dog roaming the streets. It's eyes had been rolling, unhinged. Spittle coated it's soaked snout.
Someone had called the police, hoping to prevent anyone from getting hurt. As I watched from the safety of a bank, the dog went after the cop who approached. He shot it before it could dig in its fangs.
In that moment though, I'd seen the pure desire to kill in the eyes of a living creature.
Now, I saw that in Abell.
He was dangerous, he was broken. Being close to someone like this was as reckless as wanting to build a house on the edge of a volcano.
The smartest thing would be to turn, walk out that door, and forget everything.
The contract... my company... the marriage...
Everything.
Crossing the room, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him against me.
Abell jolted, resisting me before going slack. In the darkness, disbelief fueled his stare. “Stop,” he whispered. “Don't try and act like you care. No one fucking cares. This world is full of selfish, shitty people. No one is worth loving. Not anymore.”
“Say what you want,” I mumbled against his chest. “I remember a night when a certain man, in all his glory, tore down a grassy hill to save someone he didn't know. There was no reason to step in. He just did it... because he cared.”
Gripping my chin, he angled me upwards. The glow in his eyes made me grateful he was holding me up. “You think that I saved you just because I cared?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I hoped you'd be so thankful, you'd spread your legs for me.”
He's trying to hurt me. “That wasn't it. You said another girl was waiting for you, I remember. Saving me, saving Trish, it messed your night up. You knew it would, and you still acted. Don't lie to me.”
Abell's expression was rampant with chiseled grooves. He challenged me in that silence, dared me to bail under the intensity in his glare.
But I wouldn't break. I had fire in me, and he knew it.
Cradling me to him, he crushed my face to his chest until my skull throbbed. It was pain, but I loved it. “Thank you,” he said softly.
Hearing his heart beat, I wanted... I wanted to stay there. We could hide away in this room full of memories, never facing the people who had hurt us. I'd never run from anything before, but he made it feel so easy.
I was shaking; we both felt it. “Sorry. It's cold in here,” I lied.
Abell's lips quirked. “You use that line as an excuse a lot. Let me finally warm you up.”
My attention was frozen on his mouth. “But... the agreement,” I said in a hush.
From his pocket, he lifted the mistletoe. “Holiday tradition trumps everything.”
I licked my lower lip, my lungs constricting. “Tradition. Right. That...”
His mouth glided across mine, linking us tight. Abell was warm, even cozy. It would have been magical to stand there, our tongues slipping together as the rest of the world—my responsibilities—faded away.
In my pocket, my phone buzzed, shattering the moment.
Abell leaned back, both of us gasping softly as we parted. The stars in his eyes held me steady, chained me there in his arms. He said, “I think your brother is calling. It's probably time to leave.”
Shoving my emotions down, enough to back away, I dusted my dress off. “Right. Yeah. We should go before he sends in a search party.”
Why did he stop kissing me?
And why did it make me feel so anxious?