Page 14 of Under Pink Skies

There were many promises unspoken in Ludgate’s words. Malcolm needed to be taken back to the station because he was a danger to the store. To Watford. Tome.

My mother’s words from a lifetime ago rang through my head.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

A sound that felt embarrassingly like a sob climbed up my throat.

“I’ll walk you home,” Ludgate’s partner said. I finally looked down at his nametape.Officer Waller.

“I’m okay,” I said, though the words sounded robotic even to my own ears. How many times had I said that over the years and truly meant it?

“At the very least, let me call someone for you,” Waller said. “You don’t look well.”

“Abbie!”

Imogen’s voice rang out loudly in the overcrowded streets. My head snapped up to see her shoving through the crowd, cursing at someone who had their phone out, no doubt recording the hot gossip of Malcolm Collins losing his fucking mind in the middle of the street. I couldn’t hear what Imogen said to the man, but I could tell from the fury in her eyes that she was pissed.

On my behalf. Onourbehalf. Imogen had always been my protector; it had been her and me against the world for so long. After her divorce, I stepped up to be that person for her. I walked with her through those long months of healing from the mental and physical abuse her husband had inflicted on her.

Now, I was barely conscious, drifting in a terrifying cloud of grief, rage, and unending pain. Imogen had tried her hardest to pull me out of it, and in some ways, she had. But from the way her eyes locked with mine, I could tell she knew the truth. All the downplaying I’d done in recent months couldn’t stop this from happening.

I wanted to call him. I always did, especially on the bad nights.

I wanted to talk to someone who knew me better than I knew myself. Hell, I didn’t even want to talk. I wanted to be held, to feel him rub my back, to wake up to sheets that smelled like him and find a note that said,ran out for eggs, be back soon, love you.

I needed to be with someone who knew me better than I knew myself. And my heart splintered anew when I remembered I didn’t have someone like that. Not anymore.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

Imogen didn’t wait for a response to her question before she slung her arm around my shoulder, tilting me away from the small crowd. The crowd hesitated, torn between leaving or continuing their gossip at the Roadhouse, perhaps waiting a few more minutes to see if something even crazier occurred.

I looked over my free shoulder to see my father shove his face into John’s chest, sobbing against the older man. John wrapped his arms around my father, gesturing to Officer Waller to disperse the crowd while he helped my stumbling father down the street to their forgotten police vehicle.

“It’s for the best,” Imogen whispered, squeezing my shoulders tightly. “He’ll sleep this off and you will, too. I’ll stay with you tonight.”

Imogen walked me down Main Street, past the Roadhouse and its shining neon lights, past the old bank and post office, all the way toward the two story Watford Lofts building that had become my sanctuary. Imogen fished my apartment key from my purse and gently guided me toward the bedroom.

She pulled a sweatshirt and jogging pants from my drawer, leaving me to change while she brewed us both a cup of hot tea.

“Thank you,” I croaked. “I-I don’t deserve you.”

Imogen gave me a soft, sad smile. “Alcoholic fathers are a special breed. They take and take and take. Only they never get better, no matter how much they siphon from the surrounding people, and you somehow wind up being his caregiver. You are not your father, Abs. His actions don’t define your life, nor who you are.”

“I miss him, Im,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut against the hot well of tears that threatened to spill over. Based on the small sigh that slipped from her lips, she knew I wasn’t talking about my father.

Imogen sat beside me on the bed, taking my now empty teacup from my hands.

“You probably always will, Abbie, especially on the bad nights. But Connor decided to leave Watford. To leave you.”

Pain wrapped like a vice around my chest, threatening to squeeze the air from my lungs. I avoided saying his name aloud, because even after four years, it felt like a fresh wound opened whenever I did.

He left you.

Imogen’s words sobered me, dragged me back from the dark place I’d been right after Connor had left Watford, when I’d searched hell and highwater trying to find him. He hadn’t left a trace—he was just gone.

“First loves are never easy to let go of,” Imogen said quietly, and I swallowed tightly. “But you will find peace eventually. Promise.”

I knew she spoke the truth. Imogen, of all people, would know that time heals all wounds. I’d repeated those words to her over and over upon her return from Camp Pendleton three years ago.

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