Resisting my Roommate (Sycamore Falls #3)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

ABBEY

“It’s okay,” I tell myself, hoping the more I repeat the words, the more I’ll believe them. “It’ll all be okay. You just need to get through tonight, and then you can figure a way out of this mess. Maybe you’ll get lucky and Dad will actually give a shit.”

A bitter laugh escapes my throat at the ridiculousness of the suggestion, considering my father hasn’t lifted a finger to help me since I turned eighteen. Before that, he made himself out to be the equivalent of Mother Teresa whenever he did anything remotely helpful.

I can’t worry about that now, though. I have to remain positive. Otherwise, I’ll break. And I refuse to break.

Even if it’s taking every ounce of strength I possess not to curl up into a ball over my current predicament.

Not only did Carson report my car stolen, he did the same for all my debit and credit cards, leaving me penniless. Since my cell phone died hours ago and I left my charger in the car, I’m officially stranded in the middle of nowhere without a place to stay and no means of getting out of here.

At least tonight.

I just have to make it a few more hours. Then everything will be okay. It has to be.

One day, I’ll look back on all of this and laugh.

Today is not that day.

A sharp snap of a branch echoes through the stillness, causing me to jolt and turn toward the sound. My breath catches in my throat when I see a figure approaching.

And not just any figure.

Him .

Again.

As if it weren’t bad enough to come face-to-face with the man who tried to convince me love is bullshit when I walked into the taproom earlier. Now he’s here, witnessing me at the lowest I’ve been in a while. I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is just the cherry on the top of an already horrible day.

“Abbey?” Jude raises a single brow as he moves closer. “What are you doing here?”

“Just enjoying the view.”

Discreetly wiping away any evidence of tears, I stand and straighten the wedding dress I’d give anything to rip off my body, but it’s all I have. Maybe there’s a nearby thrift store where I can sell it tomorrow. Make some money and get some other clothes.

“Living in San Francisco, you don’t really get to see the stars this clearly.”

He nods in contemplation, not saying anything for several long moments as he studies me with a curious expression that makes me uneasy.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again. Have a good night.” Gathering up the layers of my dress, I move past him, unsure where I’m going. All I know is he’s the last person I want seeing me like this, on the brink of falling apart.

“Where are you staying?”

“Up the road a bit,” I reply as I continue retreating.

I refuse to admit that, before he showed up, my plan was to sleep on that park bench.

“I know your card was declined at the diner,” he calls out after me.

I come to an abrupt stop and whirl around, a mixture of surprise and frustration brewing inside me. “How did?—”

“Small town,” he explains as he closes the distance. “News travels fast, whether you want it to or not.” He shrugs out of his hoodie and extends it toward me. “Here. Put this on.”

I hesitate, eyeing the sweatshirt with suspicion, thinking of the possible ramifications of accepting his help.

“Don’t be stubborn. You’re obviously cold. I can see the goosebumps on your skin. Just take the damn sweatshirt.”

My eyes ping pong between him and the sweatshirt. I want to insist I’ll be fine. That I don’t need anyone’s help, especially his. But he’s right. I’m fucking freezing. I’m desperate to feel some sort of comfort, even if it comes in the form of a sweatshirt from a man who probably wouldn’t know compassion if it smacked him in the face.

“Thank you.” I take the sweatshirt and slide my arms through it. The second I do, warmth envelopes me. Not just from the plush material, but also from the body heat still lingering on it.

A gentle breeze wraps around us, carrying with it his masculine scent, a combination of zesty citrus and earthy sage, melding together to create an intoxicating fragrance that seems to suit him perfectly. Mysterious yet alluring at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a momentary pause, his voice softer than I thought him capable of.

“Excuse me?”

“About the other night. And earlier today. I’m sorry if I did or said anything to make today even more difficult.”

I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“I’m fine,” I insist, doing my best to remain composed, especially around him.

“Are you?” His deep brown eyes search mine for any hint I’m lying.

And I hate him even more for it.

“Of course.” I avoid his gaze, tugging his sweatshirt closer to my body.

“Then where are you staying tonight?”

“I told you. Up the road a bit.”

“Without a credit card?”

I part my lips, struggling to come up with some sort of excuse, but before I can, he cuts me off.

“You were planning to sleep out here tonight, weren’t you?”

I shrug. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve been camping before. Hell, I spent two years living in a hut when I was in the Peace Corps. This isn’t much different.”

“It’s a lot different,” he grinds out. “For starters, something could happen to you. This may be a small town, but we get a lot of tourists passing through. Someone sees a woman sleeping on a park bench? It’s not smart, Abbey, regardless of whether you spent two years living in a goddamn hut.”

His chest heaves with frustration, and he draws in a breath in an attempt to calm himself. When he looks at me again, his eyes are soft and full of concern.

“Is there no one you can call?”

“That would require a phone.”

His jaw tightens. “Did this prick also turn off your phone?”

“I don’t know,” I say, my voice wavering slightly.

I hadn’t even considered that. God, I hope not. But I have a feeling when I finally find a charger and turn it on, I’ll learn he did precisely that.

“It died and my charger is in the car.”

He lets out a sigh and runs his fingers through his tousled hair, clearly frustrated by my mere presence. Then he spins suddenly, heading back through the park. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

“You can stay with me tonight.”

My eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. “What? Why? No. I don’t need your charity. Or your pity.”

“For fuck’s sake, Abbey.” He stops walking and spins around, erasing the space between us in three long strides. “You have nowhere to go right now. I’m offering you a roof over your head and a bed. Can you swallow your pride for a minute and let me help you? I get that I was an asshole, and I’m sorry. But don’t put your life at risk because you want to prove a point. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to stay out here with you, and I’d rather sleep in a bed tonight, if it’s all the same to you.”

His expression softens, the hard edges that have been present every other time I’ve seen him nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s a tenderness I didn’t think possible, at least not from him.

“And just so we’re clear. I don’t pity you,” he continues in a gentle voice, his dark eyes awash with sincerity. Something I haven’t felt much of lately. “In fact, I think you’re probably one of the strongest women I’ve met in a while. Stubborn as hell, but strong all the same. It takes guts to do what you did, what you’re doing. Even after all the shit that asshole’s trying to pull. So let me do this for you.”

I don’t say anything right away, too stunned by his admission and sudden change of demeanor. As much as I want to stand my ground and insist I’m fine, I’m so damn exhausted. Not just physically exhausted from lack of sleep recently, but emotionally exhausted from putting on a fa?ade all day, pretending I’m not one second away from having a complete breakdown.

“Okay,” I whisper finally.

“Okay,” he repeats. “It’s on the other side of the park.”

He starts walking, and I follow, falling into step beside him. A comfortable silence stretches between us, broken only by the sound of our footsteps on the pavement and the rustling of my dress.

“Thanks,” I say after a few moments. “I really wasn’t looking forward to sleeping on a park bench tonight.”

“Neither was I. But I would have stayed out here to make sure nothing happened to you.”

I steal a glance his way and study his profile. He’s definitely attractive, especially under the moonlight. His dark hair falls in waves over his forehead, his brown eyes not giving much away. A day or two of scruff dots his strong jawline and the fabric of his t-shirt clings to his toned physique.

Regardless, I still don’t know what to make of him and the wide swings of his demeanor. He’s an enigma — mercurial, surprising, confusing. It’s almost as if he has to remind himself to act a certain way in order to protect himself.

Maybe I’ve been wrong about him.

Maybe we’re more alike than I originally thought.