Page 16 of Hidden Vows (Love in Ashford Falls #3)

twelve

ABBEY

“I’m drunk,” I slur as I collapse onto the empty bar stool.

“So what?” Ava shouts as she falls onto the seat next to me, leaning back against Gage, who can’t stop smiling at her antics.

I smooth a hand over my chest, trying to brush away the tight pinch.

It’s stupid how envious I get at the little moments of affection between the two of them.

After everything Ava went through with her parents and Brian, and after the threat of Gage almost losing his job because of it…

if two people deserve their current happiness, it’s them.

And honestly, I’m so incredibly happy for them. It just hurts knowing I don’t have that—and realizing that maybe I never did.

“The question is, how drunk are you?” Gage asks, standing from his seat and practically holding Ava up in hers.

“Hmm…” I take inventory of how my body feels, trying to figure out just how drunk I am.

My head feels a little loopy, and I don’t think I walked in a straight line to the bar, but I’m pretty sure I’m seeing clearly.

“Too drunk to drive anywhere, but not drunk enough to forget where I am or what happened this afternoon.” I can’t help the smile that takes over my face .

I still can’t believe my dad agreed to invest in the bookstore—for a fraction of the profit I originally proposed.

It’s not that I thought the business proposal wasn’t a good one—it’s an amazing business plan—it’s just not where he normally spends his money.

Maybe I should be questioning why he’s taking the chance on me, but I can’t bring myself to think of anything other than my excitement.

This is my dream, and the idea that I’m only a few steps away from achieving it makes me so happy I can’t focus on anything else—except maybe the man walking up behind the bar.

“How are we doing down here?” There’s a small smile on his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Part of me wants to know what he’s thinking and why he’s not truly happy. Maybe it’s the alcohol part of me, or maybe it’s a bigger part—one I’m not sure I’m ready to acknowledge.

“I think we’re going to get out of here.” Gage looks down at Ava, smoothing the hair that’s fallen out of her ponytail from her face. “Trying to figure out if Abbey’s coming home with us or if she’s okay to stay on her own.”

“I’m definitely okay to stay on my own.” I lift a finger as if trying to make a point but quickly forget and drop my hand back to the bar.

“You sure? We’ve got the space if you want to stay with us.” The furrow of Gage’s brow deepens as he studies me, and my smile grows as I look at him.

“You are a good man, Gage Flynn, but I promise I’m okay on my own. I’m not that drunk, I swear.” I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“Abbey.” He chuckles. “You weren’t a scout.”

I shrug, not worried in the slightest.

Jude shuffles his feet, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before he finally speaks. “I’ll make sure she gets up to her apartment.”

“I don’t need help walking up a set of stairs. I’m fine.” I stand from my seat—admittedly, it may be a little too abrupt.

Without meaning to, I stumble.

Gage and Jude both reach for me, but it’s Gage who catches me before I fall.

“Alrighty. Either I’m walking you up to your apartment before Ava and I leave, or you’re letting Jude help you.”

My eyes narrow. I know I’m not sober, but I wouldn’t call myself drunk.

I’m perfectly capable of getting myself home on my own—it’s a set of stairs and I’m there.

But then I see Jude out of the corner of my eye, and I have to wonder if my resistance has more to do with the idea of relying on Jude than the idea of Gage thinking I’m too drunk to take care of myself.

Before I can open my mouth to protest, Ava jumps in, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“I think I might be sick.” She stands from her seat far more gracefully than I did but still leans heavily against Gage.

The twinkle in her eye when she looks at me makes me think she might not be as drunk as she leads the rest of us to believe.

Gage’s eyes bounce between mine and Ava’s, looking as if he can’t quite decide what his course of action should be.

Sometimes I hate my people-pleasing tendencies.

“Go on. Get Ava home.” I fall back onto my seat, elbow on the bar and my chin resting in the palm of my hand. I’m definitely pouting.

“Love you, Abbey! I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ava surges forward, pressing a sloppy kiss to my cheek before standing straight and gliding out the door, Gage right behind her.

“There’s no way she’s that drunk,” Jude mumbles as he watches the two of them leave.

“Nope, she’s attempting to play matchmaker.” I spring up in my seat, my eyes widening when I realize the words I just said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. She is drunk and not thinking clearly.”

Jude’s eyes soften as he looks at me and I shift in my seat, avoiding his gaze.

“How about a glass of water while I finish closing up?” He turns for a clean glass and fills it with water before placing it before me. My eyes catch on the tattoos dotted across his knuckles, but he pulls his hand back before I can identify any of the letters or symbols.

It’s not until I’m lifting the glass to my lips that I realize he didn’t put any ice in it—exactly how I prefer it.

He doesn’t stand around waiting for me to say anything but moves out from behind the bar, passing the door and flipping the lock before he starts wiping down the now-empty tables.

I can’t help but track his movements around the bar.

There’s a grace to him I’ve never seen before, a confidence in how he holds himself.

When we were younger, he used to walk around with his shoulders hunched forward as if trying to make himself invisible.

Now, he stands straight as if proud of who he is.

I always thought Jude was good-looking, but seeing this new, more confident version of him is far more attractive than I’d like to admit. Why couldn’t he have gotten worse with age?

It’s hard not to notice how much muscle he’s gained since he was a teenager. I can’t know for sure, but I imagine they were made from hard work and not some egotistical power trip. Jude and I may not know each other the way we used to, but he’s never been one to let ego drive his motivations.

“I know you were celebrating that your dad is giving you some money, but what do you need the money for?” Jude’s voice breaks through my thoughts, forcing me to focus on something other than his firm ass as he bends to pick up a dropped napkin.

“Oh.” I spin away, toying with the rim of my glass so I’ll stop looking at him. “Marybelle’s retiring and decided to sell the store. She knows I’ve always dreamed of owning a café and thought I could buy the store from her.”

“And you don’t have the money.” It’s not a question.

Jude knows how my father feels about working for what you have.

Sometimes, I think that might be why he judges Walt and Jude so harshly.

While Walt’s parents worked like hell to get this bar off the ground, Walt inherited it.

Of course, you only need to step into this bar once on a Friday or Saturday night to know how hard Walt still works to keep this place running.

“No, I don’t.” I peek at him over my shoulder, but he’s focused on the task in front of him. “I wrote up a business plan and presented it to him earlier this week. The day you stopped by, actually.”

Jude sidles up behind the bar, slowly making his way closer to me as he wipes it down. “Did you ask him for a loan?”

“I thought about it, but since he runs an investment firm, I stuck with what he does.” I lift my glass and drain the last bit of water as Jude stops in front of me.

“He’s agreed to a probationary period as a silent partner with a small portion of the profits.

The plan is to reevaluate within three months of our grand opening. ”

He studies me for a second before his eyes fall to the rag in his hands. “You’re happy with the arrangement?” he asks quietly as if he’s afraid to voice the question.

“Yeah.” I smile. “I’m really happy about it.”

Jude’s head bobs up and down absentmindedly.

“Good,” he murmurs so softly I wonder if he even meant for the word to pass his lips.

“I’m glad you’re getting what you want.” His eyes meet mine, and I see the sincerity staring back at me, but something else is mixed in—something I can’t label before he’s turning away from me.

It’s not fair, the words that come out of my mouth next, but it’s honest. “It’s probably time I start going after the things I want instead of holding myself back for fear of being hurt.”

He freezes, his entire body going taut for a second before he slowly turns back to me. He doesn’t say anything, simply continues staring, his eyes moving over every inch of me as if memorizing the moment.

“I’m sorry, that?—”

“No. Don’t apologize,” he interrupts. “I don’t want you to hold anything back from me, no matter how much it might hurt to hear.

” He shuffles his feet, moving both toward me and away from me all at once.

“Abbey.” His spine straightens as he seems to make a decision and moves around the bar, coming to take the seat beside me.

“I know you’ve been drinking, and it’s not the right time, but I want to talk about what happened. I?—”

“No.”

I can’t talk about it—not yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk about that night with him, but I know I can’t do it right now. Not when I’m just starting to put myself back out there. Not when I’m just starting to chase my dreams again.

“Abbey…” It’s the sound of my name on a broken whisper that has me turning.

“I don’t know what the future holds, but I don’t want to live in the past. Not anymore.”

“What does that mean?” He visibly swallows, his eyes bouncing between mine.

“You’re right. I don’t want to live like the past never happened, but I don’t want to talk about it. So, when it comes to the two of us…” My words trail off. I don’t know how to say the next part, not when I see the hurt etched across his face already.

“Abs.” If it were anyone else, I’d call the sound that comes out of his mouth a choked sob. But it’s not anyone else, and Jude has never been a person to be run by his emotions.

“I don’t know what that means for us, but I don’t think we can ever be more than acquaintances.” I mess with the frayed edges of my shorts, trying my hardest not to break eye contact with the man across from me.

I’m not sure if I mean the words coming out of my mouth, but I don’t think my heart can afford to be more than acquaintances with Jude.

Looking at him now, seeing the man he’s become, I want to know more about how he got here.

And part of me hates that I’m still desperate to know more—after everything he did—but he was my everything for the longest time, and even with the pain of all that happened, he’s still important to me.

I’m just not sure if I’m strong enough to handle another heartbreak at the hands of Jude, no matter how unintentional it might be.

It’s Jude who breaks eye contact, his head turning away from me.

A few moments pass, the two of us standing motionless, and I can’t help but let my eyes track over his tattooed arms. I’ve seen flashes of them for weeks now, but I haven’t been able to study them long enough to figure out what they are.

There’s both a randomness and cohesiveness to them.

It’s almost like he got tattoos as the mood struck, but went back at some point to blend them all, creating such intricate pictures.

He’s still too far away for me to identify all of them, but one peeks out from the bottom of his sleeve that has me gasping.

My eyes shoot to his when he turns back to look at me. Whatever emotion he was fighting is gone, and a mask of clear indifference is in its place.

“I understand where you’re coming from, and I’m going to respect it. At least for now.” He stalks forward, coming within inches of me. “But I think you should know I plan on fighting with everything I am to get you to forgive me.”

“Jude—”

“No, Abbey.” He steps closer, still not touching me.

“I made the biggest mistake of my life that night, and I won’t make it again.

” His eyes move over my face, and it feels like he might as well be touching me with the way the shiver runs up my spine.

“I know you’re not ready to hear everything I want to say, but I’m not going anywhere—not this time. ”

“Jude,” I release on a breath. I want to say more, but I can’t even form the words in my brain, let alone out loud.

“Do you want me to walk you up to your apartment, or are you okay on your own?” He’s close enough that his breath ghosts over my cheek as he says the words, and I can’t stop my eyes from falling shut.

It’s like a gentle caress—one I haven’t felt in almost two decades.

“Abbey?” he whispers when I don’t respond.

My eyes spring open, and I step back, trying to put space between us—physically and emotionally. “I-I’m fine. I can make it on my own.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

I stand there for a few more seconds, watching him stuff his hands in his pockets, his eyes never leaving mine, before turning and marching away.

What the hell was that?