Page 42 of Freak
If she were going to welcome romance into her life at this late hour, when the life she’d been living was full enough just as it was, she would not welcome it with a man who even subconsciously felt she wasn’t exactly what he wanted, just as she was.
She’d hadn’t thought that Mel had any kind of reservation about her. They’d shared a reservation about whether at their age, with their lives, they could build something that served them both well, and they’d worked through it together. But if he looked at her and saw a ‘cow,’ whether he wanted to or not ... well, Abigail wasn’t about to get involved with someone who saw anything in her but what he wanted.
Yet hope wasn’t lost. This had been a single instance, in an unusual situation. Abigail knew the anxiety she’d been feeling in the Hall, around so many Horde she didn’t know, likely had her more sensitive than usual, and she’d seen that Mel was anxious as well. His energy had been fractious, his aura unstable.
Maybe this one instance was an anomaly. Maybe it didn’t mean what she’d felt it to mean.
Or maybe it did. Maybe this unusual situation had exposed a fault line between them.
They needed to talk.
But she was too beset with feelings and he was too busy with the club for a real talk. So she’d leave him to his club and go home. They’d both be busy through the weekend. After the Harvest Festival, when things were back to normal, they could see if things could get back to normal for them as well.
Deciding that was the most reasonable approach, considering the options, Abigail put her key in the ignition, pressed down on the clutch, and got her old truck running.
As she grabbed the shifter to put it into reverse, the passenger door flew open. Mel climbed in before she could say a word.
“Hey, where you goin’?” He was slightly out of breath, and his voice had a low rasp.
One good look showed her that he’d been fighting: his salt-and-pepper hair was mussed, his left cheek was swollen and abraded, and bruising was already darkening his throat.
The last thing she’d seen before she’d left the Hall was that woman’s large, fierce-looking man set her aside and stand up to face Mel.
The thread of her previous thoughts fell away, and she reached over to set her hand on Mel’s shoulder. “You’re hurt.”
He caught her hand in his—his knuckles were ruddy and scraped—and kissed it. “Nah, I’m good. This is nothin’ at all. Totally worth it.”
It was a way they were different. To Abigail, very few things were worth violence, and petty words were not on her extremely short list. Mel was hardly the most pugnacious Horde, but he had a much lower bar for violence. Though she’d known this intellectually, of course, and hadn’t thought it overly significant, now it loomed large between them. She slipped her hand from his and gripped the steering wheel.
Gathering all her remaining calm, she said, “I’m gonna go home,” and she offered him a small smile, hoping to keep the moment as light as it could be.
Mel’s brow drew in tight. He closed the passenger door and shifted on the seat to face her. Reaching again for her hand, peeling it from the wheel, he said, “I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry about what that chick said, I’m sorry she hurt you, but it won’t happen again.”
He didn’t understand at all. By now Abigail wasn’t surprised, but her disappointment grew heavier.
She’d hoped to hold off on having a serious talk until the unusual circumstances of this weekend were behind them, but it looked like that wouldn’t happen. He was right here, staring at her, thinking he understood why she’d left, and he couldn’t have been more wrong.
So Abigail killed the engine and shifted on the seat to face him. “She didn’t hurt me. You did.”
His expression showed confusion first, then shock, then a deeper confusion. “What? How? Did I—oh, fuck! Did I hurt you when I pushed you behind me? Or did I knock into you when he first swung?”
The scene she’d missed began to render in her mind, and she shoved the image away. “No, Mel. That’s not the kind of hurt I mean.”
His brow furrowed still more, and he shook his head. “I’m not followin’.”
Yes, and that was the most disappointing thing. He didn’t even realize.
So she explained.
“I learned a long time ago that other people’s opinions about me matter only as far asIgive them power. Someone I care about, someone I trust, their opinion has some power, because I trust them to have me and my best interests at heart. A stranger, though? Someone I haven’t invited into my life? That opinion is vapor, fading away as soon as it forms. What she said would only matter if I gave her power—and if I believed what she said was true. I don’t give her that power, and I don’t believe what she said was true. I’m not a cow, and I don’t take that on as either an insult or an observation.
His brow still bunched, Mel nodded. “I—”
He stopped when Abigail put her hand up. She wanted him to hear everything before he responded. “I also believe that people who say unkind things about others are trying to fill an empty place in their own soul. They need to bring others down to feel better about the lacks in their lives, in their selves. I don’t take offense when someone directs a small unkindness toward me. I wonder what dark or broken thing in them makes them need to do it.”
He smiled. “You are a helluva woman, Abs.”
“Mmm,” Abigail hummed dryly as she prepared to deliver her hard truth. “Whatyoudid, though, hon—you, a person in my life, someone I trusted, someone I gave that power to? You hurt me.”
