Page 38 of It Was Always You

Yes, they did all those things and more.

Yes, it haunts me, and probably will for a long time.

But those monsters are dead. There is no way they can get to me ever again.

“It’s going to be okay, Abbie. Angus is dead, and he won’t be coming for me again. The baby is doing good.” I don’t know if I’m trying to reassure her or myself, but by the pinched look on her face, she isn’t buying it.

“And what about you? You know your well-being is just as important as the babies to everyone, don’t you?”

“I’m getting there. I’m taking it one day at a time and today I just want to spend some time with you. Do you think you could break me out of here to pay Mum a visit?” The need for some normalcy has been gnawing at me almost as much as the need to feel close to Mum for a while. Both Owen and Dad have been taking the whole bed rest thing to heart and are determined to do everything they can to have my stress levels at zero. As sweet as that is, I’m not an idiot. Surely, the mafia world doesn’t come to a halt over one boss’s daughter being taken captive and then found, and there’s bound to be hella fallout from everything that happened.

Abbie is quick to confirm that theory. Turns out her dad was approached by mine about some deal that needs to be strengthened with an arranged marriage. Before I can grab my phone to rip Dad a new one, Abbie takes a hold of my hand and says, “I was raised knowing this was a possibility. It’ll be fine, they’re setting up a meeting so I can get to know him a bit before the contracts are signed. Plus, he can’t be that bad of a guy. You know damn well Dad wouldn’t just roll over and marry me to someone who would cause me harm. Neither would yours for that matter. Now, let’s get you out of here before your warden returns, and I’ll fill you in on what’s happening with Corey and Sam along the way.”

* * *

“You’re telling me while all the wives and kids ran upstairs, Cole took you down to the basement to babysit Corey and Sam and you don’t think that man has a crush on you?” I call bullshit.

“It doesn’t matter what I think anymore. I’m set to be married, and he’s only eighteen. He’ll get over it. But Corey and Sam looked like they’d been beaten to a pulp. Rumour has it Sam’s still being held somewhere.”

“What’d they do with Corey?” I ask her as she flips her indicator to pull into the graveyard.

“Apparently, they let him go on the promise not to breathe a word unless he wants to join lover boy, and he about shit his pants in his hurry to agree. Do you want me to wait here or come with you?” Switching off the engine, she twists to look at me with compassion lining her features.

With a soft smile, I shake my head. “There are things I need to tell her on my own. I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Coming here never gets any easier. On one hand, it’s the one place I still feel close to her, but on the other, it always feels eerie walking past the dead. Brushing my hand along her headstone in a silent greeting, I kiss my fingers before pressing them against the words “Loving Mum” on her headstone and getting to work cleaning it up a bit.

“Hey Mum, long time no speak, I know. I’m sorry.” Some people might find it strange to sit on the gravel facing a grave and talking aloud but I’ve always found it comforting. Tipping my head to the sky and looking at the clouds above, where I know without a doubt she belongs if it exists, and word vomit everything to her. All the pain, confusion, suffering and heartbreak. I tell her all about Owen and finding my way back to Dad. I must spend hours talking myself hoarse and letting the tears fall as they may. By the time I’m all talked out, the sun is setting. With a promise to be back soon and a final kiss to her headstone, I make my way back to the car.

Colour me surprised when instead of Abbie waiting for me, I find Dad leaning against his car, ankles crossed and arms open. Running into them, I soak up the love pouring out of him and hold him tight.

“All you had to do was ask and I would have driven you here myself, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve no need to be. I know the pain of missing her all too well. Some days I wake up convinced she’s still out there and then it’s like losing her all over again.” He guides me over to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for me. With our individual grief lingering in the air between us in a strangely comforting way, we make our way back to the penthouse in comfortable silence. Next time, I’ll get him to come here with me. Who knows, it might heal our wounds.

* * *

“Were you in on the fact Abbie is being set up with some mafioso?” I ask Owen. He had been frantically pacing the length of the living room when I came home and the way his whole body sagged in relief had me apologising for worrying him.

We’re currently curled up on the sofa after I convinced him this counted as bed rest, our empty plates to the side as he gives me a foot massage.

“Baby…” his trailed-off non-answer says it all, so with a quirk of my eyebrow, I dig my foot into his thigh, silently urging him to give me more than that. “It’s complicated but she’ll be looked after, I promise. Between her dad, yours, me, and hell herself, the fucker doesn’t stand a chance to do anything other than fall at her feet and treat her with the utmost respect.”

Somewhat settled by that, I let it drop for now and change the subject. “I’m sure you’ve questions about my time away and as much as I want to bury my head into the sand, there’s some stuff I should probably share with you before I can fully move on and focus on the here and now.”

Owen resumes his foot massage while giving me his full attention as bit by bit, I detail what happened in that cell. From the beatings, to the groping, to the doctor who was on my side, and finally what was clearly going to be some sort of auction if the room full of chairs, gavel and petrified girls was anything to go by.

I tell him about that day in the cell with T and Dan. Anger darkens his features bit by bit until it’s clear it’s taking all his self-restraint to stay still and hear the rest of the story.

“I should have made them suffer before I killed them,” he mutters before standing up and pacing, a clear tell of his that he’s pissed beyond belief. Part of the reason I didn’t tell him earlier is I knew he would beat himself up about it despite there being nothing he could have done differently to stop it.

But at the same time, I need these voices to stop tormenting me.

I need to heal and move on before our baby is here.

I need to know Owen isn’t going to up and leave when he knows just how weak they made me.

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