Make Me, Page 2

  “You were put on this earth to make me crazy, Abby. You know that?”

  “I’m not sorry about it,” she whispered. “Does that make me a bad person?”

  “No. It makes you a woman.”

  She muffled her laugh with the use of Russell’s shoulder. “Men make women crazy, too. It’s not a one-sided affair.”

  He frowned down at her. “What would you know about it?”

  That question coming from anyone else might have embarrassed Abby, but for all Russell’s bluster, he never judged her. Not for her lack of a love life, anyway. Shoes were another matter altogether. “I know things.”

  “Things, huh? Maybe Louis and Ben should spend more time at their own apartments.” His arms flexed as he hefted her higher, with minimal effort. “Do you actually like watching the fireworks, or is this just a patriotic custom we’re upholding?”

  “No, I love fireworks.” She tilted her head back and looked at the sky. “Everyone forgets over the course of the year how incredible fireworks are. You know? They forget until they’re standing beneath them again. You don’t like them?”

  He stared ahead as he answered. “I like that you like them.”

  Abby smiled, knowing Russell would have to be extra gruff for the remainder of the night to make up for that slip. And needing to torture him a little over it. “That’s how I feel when you make me watch the Yankees.” She laid a hand against his cheek. “It’s worth it just to see your adorable man eyes light up.”

  His sigh was sharp, but she caught the corner of his mouth kicking up. “All this time, I thought you were enjoying it.”

  “The blooper reel is my favorite.” Drowsiness settled more firmly over her, and she stifled a yawn against his shoulder. “Also, I love when kids in the audience catch foul balls.”

  “Crowd. It’s called a crowd.”

  She hummed in her throat, eyelids beginning to weigh down. “I knew that. Just seeing if you were paying attention,” she murmured.

  Russell chewed his bottom lip a moment, worry marring his features. “You’re so tired lately, Abby. Everything okay?”

  “Totally fine,” she lied. “Just going to rest my eyes a minute.”

  Positive he would wake her up when they reached the Hudson, she wound her arms around his neck and dozed off. It was the first time she’d slept in three days.

  Chapter 2

  RUSSELL TOOK OFF his hard hat and set it down on the sun-heated truck bed. Knowing his brother would be joining him for their noon lunch break soon, he opened the cooler and snagged a second can of Coke, holding it to his forehead. It was Monday morning, two days since he’d carried Abby crosstown to the fireworks, and he was grateful for the work to distract him even if it was ninety degrees outside.

  Hart Brothers Construction consisted of him, Alec, and a half dozen part-time guys. Based in Queens, the company had been started almost as a joke the summer Russell graduated from high school. Having learned quite a few remodeling and repairing methods from their father—who’d worked construction until he retired in his midfifties—they’d shown up to repair a buddy’s deck when the guy’s broken leg rendered him unable to complete the task himself. Hoping to soothe their friend’s pride with a dose of humor, they’d had T-shirts made up. Hart Brothers Construction. We’ll get you nailed. The very next week, they’d had a request to complete another job, this time from a neighbor. The requests had continued to roll in at such an increasing volume, they’d been forced to get their shit together by applying for a business license.

  Nine years later, Russell was twenty- seven, and they’d just won the most lucrative bid of their professional lives. Until now, the majority of their work had come from the outer boroughs, but the current Manhattan job – renovating an empty, five-story office building in Tribeca—could effectively put them on the map. If he could convince his brother to expand. Alec wasn’t exactly a fan of change. Or excessive labor.

  A fire truck roared past with its siren blaring, heading downtown. Not an unusual occurrence in the city but enough to derail his thoughts and send them crashing back into Abby. She’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder more than a dozen times in the last few months. He’d questioned her about it the first few times, but all he ever got was an excuse about being swamped at work. Not wanting the privilege of holding her to be rescinded, he’d dropped it. Saturday night had seen a new level, though. The feeling of her body curled against his chest, her breath puffing against his neck as fireworks went off above? That memory wouldn’t leave him alone.

  Several times, he’d replayed her waking up and sleepily asking him to take her home. Okay, a slightly higher number than several. Probably more in the neighborhood of infinity times infinity. His head wouldn’t stop creating screwed-up scenarios, either. Instead of laying her on the couch and leaving the apartment as he’d done, Russell envisioned staying wrapped around her all night, gauging her reaction the following morning when she realized their bodies were in position to fuck.

  Abby was not the kind of girl you “fucked,” either. You didn’t shove aside her underwear and enter hard, rocking with enough force to break the couch springs. You undressed her slowly and took your time. Kissing her in between thrusts . . . listening to her breathe. Okay, musing about how Abby should be taken wasn’t helping his cause, either. In fact, the more he thought about it, the worse the images became. Holding Abby down. Sucking marks onto her skin. Her neck. Things he was ashamed of, impulses he’d never experienced before, but that always snuck up on him when Abby was involved.

  He’d never wanted to impress on a girl that she was his. His alone. The only one who’d ever roused that instinct was Abby. These urges to dominate her seemed to stem from those possessive feelings. As if mere words wouldn’t suffice. There needed to be actions. Firm, decisive actions to satisfy him. But he would continue to deny the need to take action because Abby wasn’t his. Something he had an extremely hard time remembering.

  His brother, Alec, hopped up on the truck bed beside him, rattling the tailgate and his concentration all at once. “Don’t think so hard, dickhead, you’ll get a nosebleed.”

  Russell took the first icy-cold sip of Coke, nearly crying as it trickled through his overheated insides. “Someone around here has to think.”

  “Excuse me?” Alec paused in the act of unwrapping his sandwich. “It’s a wonder my brain fits into this hard hat. And I can read you like a book, man. You’re jealous.”

  “Jealous of what?” Russell asked, genuinely perplexed.

  Alec slapped the side of the truck bed, letting out a loud whoop. “No one told you, little bro?”

  “Jesus. Why do you still call me that? I’m a foot taller than you.”

  “You’re four years younger,” Alec half shouted.

  “And when I was born, a name was bestowed on me by our parents. Use it.”

  “God, you are touchy today.” His brother bit into his ham sandwich, grimaced, and tossed it into the truck bed. “My wife is hot, but she shouldn’t be allowed to handle food. We should have built her another closet instead of a kitchen.”

  Russell waited. “So? What’s this big news no one has told me?”

  Alec adjusted his hard hat. “I’m not telling you now, you big fucking buzz kill.”

  Another two fire trucks blazed past, tearing right through the red light. An accident downtown? A fire? The bite of sandwich he’d taken suddenly felt like dust in his mouth. Honey was uptown, attending her afternoon classes at Columbia. Ben was on the East Side, teaching at NYU. Roxy had just wrapped filming her first television pilot, so she and Louis had played hooky that day, very likely putting them in Louis’s bed on the Lower East Side. The only member of their group working in the Financial District today was Abby.

  Worrying was ridiculous. There were thousands of buildings downtown. He had no reason to think those fire trucks were headed in her direction. None. At one time, he’d been just like Alec. Not a care in the world. Then he’d found something to
care about, and he’d become the first to fear the worst. Those damn possessive instincts—so focused on Abby—wouldn’t be muffled. They were trying to remind him it was his job to worry about her. If he didn’t, someone else might, and that was flat-out unacceptable. Who knows how much time he had left before she picked someone else to be the one who worried? Until then, shouldn’t he make damn sure she never regretted letting him fill in for a little while?

  “Tell me the news, Alec.” Distract me from my idiocy. “You want me to beg?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt.” Alec grinned as he removed his hard hat, plowing a hand through his bleached-blond hair. “Ah, screw it. I got the call man!”

  “What call?”

  “American Ninja Warrior.” He punched Russell in the shoulder. “They want me to compete next season. On television, man.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Despite his exasperation over Alec’s two-year-long crusade to get on the program, pride and disbelief clobbered him over the head out of nowhere. They high-fived with their filthy, callused hands. Which turned into a backslapping hug. Which immediately turned into uncomfortable coughing and backing away. “When are you going?”

  “Get this. The show isn’t live, like we thought.” Alec cracked his neck. “I’ll admit I was a little disappointed to find that out, but I got over it when I remembered I can win one hundred grand. One hundred grand. I’ll build Darcy another useless kitchen if I win that. Just for the hell of it.”

  “Sounds wise,” Russell murmured.

  “They film in a week,” Alec continued. “I know it’s short notice, and we’ve got this big job.” His brother pounded a fist over his heart. “But I have to follow my lifelong dream, man.”

  Russell did some quick math. “That show has only been on five years.”

  “See?” Alec shook his head. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “Because I can subtract?” His brother hopped off the truck bed, and Russell followed suit, ignoring the buzzing in his skull when another pair of fire trucks flew past, sirens almost loud enough to break glass. “Look, I’m really happy for you. You know I am. It’s just . . . we’ve got that meeting at the bank next week. It’s kind of our last chance to get the loan we need to expand.”

  “If I win American Ninja Warrior, we won’t even have to work.”

  Russell narrowed his gaze. “You do know that one hundred grand has five zeroes and not six. Right?” A beat of silence passed where all he got from his brother was a blank stare. “Right?”

  Alec scratched the back of his neck and laughed. “If you know so much about money, you’ll be fine handling the loan meeting on your own.”

  Russell started to point out that he’d handled the previous five unsuccessful bank meetings on his own but decided against it. Alec didn’t feel the same urgency he did to expand, and Russell had already come to terms with that. The continual rejections were hard to shoulder alone. The same way renovating their childhood home in Queens without help was hard. But the hard work would be worth it if he succeeded. And lately, he’d become less and less satisfied with being stagnant. He needed to move.

  No idea what to expect, Russell had gone into the first bank meeting blind, with little more than their accounting ledger and a rough financial plan. He’d thought the company’s rapid growth would speak for itself, but he’d been dead wrong. Chalking up the first go-round to a learning experience, he’d scheduled another meeting and been far more prepared the second time, not expecting that first rejection to hurt him. But it had, following him from meeting to meeting, closing doors in his face. He suspected his rough edges weren’t helping either, but he couldn’t do anything about those. All options had been exhausted, save one, and he’d been doing research whenever he had free time, intending to make it count.

  His brother started in again about an obstacle course, but when more sirens approached, Russell couldn’t focus on the conversation any longer. As Alec looked on curiously, Russell dug his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Abby’s number. He got no answer, so he dialed again. When Abby answered on the second ring, he deflated against the truck.

  “Hi, Russell.”

  “Abby.” Why was he shouting? “Everything all right?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Kind of?” He was shouting again.

  Her hum reached him down the line, warming his ear. “There’s a gas leak at the building across the street, and they’re evacuating us. Maybe the whole block.” A commotion in the background, the din of voices. Abby’s high heels clicking. He knew that sound too well. “They’re telling us to go home.”

  “Okay.” A door slammed loudly in the background, and he swallowed hard. “Don’t take the train. If something happens with the leak, you shouldn’t be underground. Walk west and hail a cab.”

  “On it.”

  By unspoken agreement, they stayed on the line. Russell walked away from the job site, toward the street, looking downtown. From his vantage point, he could see the massive group of flashing red lights. Several people were stopped on the sidewalk beside him, watching the far-off scene as well. For some reason, that made him twice as nervous. “You still there?” he said into the phone.

  “I’m—”

  He saw and heard the explosion simultaneously. Like fireworks they’d watched less than forty-eight hours ago, white light shot out and tracked down in sweeping arches, moving in slow motion. No. No . . . Abby. Fear hit Russell with the force of a cannonball, propelling him backwards several steps. His work boots crunched on gravel from the worksite, a ringing resonating in his ears. He yelled into the phone, but nothing. There was nothing on the other end. I didn’t do enough. I let her down. Can’t take another loss. Not when it’s her. Not her.

  Something banded around his arm, and he spun to find Alec right in his face, mouth moving, but no sound. Jesus, was she hurt? Worse? He tried to breathe, but the air had been sucked out of the atmosphere.

  Having grown up with his brother, Russell should have seen the right hook coming, but his head was filled with visions he couldn’t deal with, flashbacks of his early home life—that one day he wanted to erase, along with all the shitty ones leading up to it—merging with new, even worse images, crowding out logic. A second after Alec’s fist connected with his face, the world snapped back into place. Sound and color rushed back in.

  “There you are.” Alec shook him. “What the fuck, man?”

  “I need the truck,” Russell managed.

  WHEN ABBY WAS twelve, her father had remarried after a whirlwind courtship with his business partner. Abby’s mother had given up custody in the divorce when Abby was too young to remember, moving back to California with her sizeable divorce settlement. Looking back, she recognized that her father and stepmother had distracted her from thoughts of her mother, sending Abby to music and language lessons. Dance class, painting courses, minivacations. One summer, her parents—father and stepmother—sent her to “gifted” summer camp. One of her tutors had recognized her aptitude for numbers and suggested the trip, and since her stepmother had been in the middle of her let’s-rediscover-my-Italian-roots phase, she’d been all too eager for a two-week sabbatical from parenting not only Abby but her own similarly aged son. She and Abby’s father had gone to Florence, and Abby had been shipped off to Camp Einstein, while her stepbrother had stayed home with the housekeeper.

  Camp had started off well enough. She’d made friends with her bunkmate, Patty, who didn’t seem to mind Abby’s quiet awkwardness or that she always got picked last for kickball. The food wasn’t the calorie-conscious fare served at the Sullivan house. Plus, she got to wear T-shirts and khaki shorts every day instead of the pressed slacks and blouses of which her usual wardrobe consisted. Three days into camp, however, Patty had found the cool girls who used the F-word a minimum of three times per sentence and boys had been discovered on the other side of camp.

  Abby could still remember sitting in the mess hall, harboring the distinct feeling that she had n
o idea what was going on around her. Secrets were being told in hushed tones, spots were being saved—was she in someone’s saved spot?—and girl who’d been her friend mere hours before no longer even glanced in her direction.

  Camp Einstein had set the course for the next twelve years. Private school had been a concentrated version of summer camp, alliances being formed and disbanded so quickly she couldn’t keep up. Any type of misstep or flaw could earn you a get lost card from your group of friends. She might have been able to overcome her fear of making friends and losing them, but her home life had only amplified the one fact she’d lived by her entire adolescence. Screw up and you’d find yourself eating alone. Often even living alone. Before meeting Roxy and Honey, that feeling she’d had sitting in the mess hall had never seemed to go away. That feeling was what had driven her toward the reliability of numbers and tempted her to hunker down and never come up for air. That, and the responsibility she had toward her family.

  But right at that moment, with paramedics rushing past her on the sidewalk and chaos blooming around her, the insecurities she’d been trying so hard to suppress came circling back, leaving her unsure how to proceed. Should she try to communicate to someone that her ankle hurt or should she just go home? Was she required to give a statement? She couldn’t see any of her coworkers amid the confusion. Thank God her father hadn’t been in the office. Then again, her father hadn’t been to the office in a month.

  Oh, no. What if she had to answer questions about his absence? Finally encountering the sense of urgency she needed to take action, Abby tested her ankle and winced. Probably not sprained, though, or it would feel far worse. Using the stone building at her back for leverage, she rose slowly, but her foot slipped in the sooty sidewalk, sending her back down onto her bottom.

  “Manache.”

  A string of further Italian curses—courtesy of her parents’ insistence on a decade of lessons—were dying to burst free of her mouth. It always made her feel better, without the negative side effect of offending anyone who didn’t speak the language. Outbursts had never been tolerated in their household. When Abby gave in and allowed her temper to show, her parents’ displeasure usually resulted in their absence. Absences that could stretch for weeks, giving time for her defiance to fade and regret to appear. Even referring to her father’s new wife as stepmother hadn’t been allowed. She’d been required to accept her stepmother’s new status as mother with no questions asked, disapproval being heaped on her when she failed to address her correctly.