Page 5 of One Last Kiss
Sam did too apparently. “Are you hyperventilating?” he asked, turning and meeting her at the middle of the staircase. “Let’s get you down on the floor before you pass out.”
She felt his hands on her shoulders. Under the most recent circumstances, she’d be inclined to throw him down the steps for touching her. But she barely had the strength to stand right now.
“Right. I forgot you’re claustrophobic. Don’t worry, Abs. I’ll fix this.” Sam guided her to a chair on the floor, and then returned to kicking the door. When that didn’t work, he checked on her once more and went looking for something to beat the door with.
“It’s not going to open,” Abby said when she’d finally gotten control of herself. She’d been trapped in an upside-down truck when she was sixteen. Her dad had been drinking again. After her mom left, he was always drinking. He’d flipped the truck on a quiet backroad. It was late. Dark.
“Abby,” her father had said. His voice slurred, both from the alcohol and the blow to his bleeding forehead. “The door is stuck. Can you open yours?”
She reached for the handle beside her and pulled. It didn’t release. “N-no. It won’t open.”
“We need to switch places before the cops get here.”
Everything was blurry as her father unbuckled her. She succumbed to gravity in the enclosed space and fell with an excruciating blow to her own head.
“Move, Abby! I can’t be the one driving. You just got your license. You’re a new driver, and you went off the road. That’s our story.” Despite his injuries, he yanked her into the driver’s seat. Then they both tried the doors again.
Blood made dark streaks down her father’s face. Her own face was streaked with hot liquid too. Blood or tears? She wasn’t sure. The space between them seemed to be closing in on her. Why wasn’t anyone coming to their rescue?
“Abby?” Sam stood in front of her now. “Abby, are you okay? You’re pale.”
She blinked her husband, soon to be ex, into focus. “I need to get out of here. Now!”
“Takea deep breath and hold it…1-2-3. Let it go. That’s right.” Sam had his hand on Abby’s back, watching her as she followed his instructions.
She sucked in a deep breath, held it, and then let it go. Repeated.
He waited until the color in her face started to return before cracking a joke. “I can’t remember the last time you actually listened to me,” he said on a small laugh, hoping to relax her even more.
She gave a sidelong glance at him as the corner of her mouth twitched into a slight smile. It was enough.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah.” She blew out another breath, and then flicked her gaze to his hand still on her back.
He lifted it quickly. Right. No touching. Her usual rules also included no talking, but this was an extenuating circumstance.He’d been meaning to discuss things with her, but he hadn’t envisioned doing so in a dark basement when she was already upset. They were locked in though, so at least she’d have to stay and listen.
He glanced around and found a metal fold-out chair. He grabbed it and set it up a few feet away from her. Far enough where she couldn’t kick him without a little effort.
“I gave the staff the weekend off,” Abby said, her voicetight.
Sam swallowed. “Don’t worry. There’s no way we’re going to spend the entire weekend down here.” No way, no how. He’d try the door again. There was also a window, albeit a small one. He’d find a way to reach it and see if he could wedge it open. He’d break the damn thing if he had to.
Abby brought a hand to the side of her head. No doubt she was starting to get a headache like she always did when she got upset. He still knew her all too well. Still missed her all too much. “Abby?”
Her gaze snapped up. “I don’t want to talk about the papers.”
“Don’t you think we need to?”
“Why? You and I haven’t lived together as man and wife in almost two years, Sam. I think we both know it’s over. Time to move on.”
There were still a million things left unsaid between them though. “I can’t sign those papers without at least knowing why you hate me? I deserve that much, don’t you think?”
Her gaze cooled. “If you even need to ask, that’s reason enough,” she bit out.“Maybe if you’d agreed to marriage counseling when I suggested it, you could’ve figured out why I was so unhappy in our marriage. I didn’t just decide to walk out one night, Sam. There were a hundred nights we could’ve sat down and talked.”
Sam wet his lips, his throat suddenly dry. Dr. Dumont had told him to tell Abby exactly how he felt, but he’d never been good at that kind of thing. There may never be another chance though. “Abby,” he began, “I…I…” He scratched the back of his neck, then shifted in his chair as she watched him with those large, green eyes. The ones that used to look at him with so much love. “Abby,” he repeated.
She held up her hand. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. We gave it our best shot.” She shrugged. “Or at least I did.”
