Page 33 of Always Wanting (Consumed)

“Thank you for coming.”

Her eyes look guarded, but I ignore it. She’ll come around.

Her gaze drops to my chin when she murmurs, “You’re welcome.”

Grabbing her hand, I pull her behind me and into the kitchen.

“Something smells good. What are we having?” she asks after taking a seat at the bar.

I move over to the oven, just as it starts beeping, and use an oven mitt to pull out the dish.

“Meatloaf. My mom’s recipe.”

Her brows raise in surprise. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the domestic type. I imagined you having a cook who prepared all your meals.”

Walking to the fridge, I pull out the salad I prepared earlier and set it beside the dishes holding the mashed potatoes and cooked carrots.

“Where did you get that assessment from?” I lean my hands against the bar opposite her, and wait for her answer.

She looks around the modern kitchen, with its stainless steel appliances, pan rack above the bar, granite countertops, top-of-the-line six burner stove, and huge side-by-side fridge, before looking back at me.

; “Look at this place. It’s huge, and screams ‘I have a lot of money and I don’t have time to care for it myself.’ Not to mention, you own your own company.”

Now it’s my turn to be surprised. We haven’t talked about what I do for a living. “Well, you’d be right. I don’t have time, but I don’t have a cook. I’d rather cook myself or order in.” I reach across the counter and tug an errant curl. “How do you know I own my own company?”

She bites her lip, before releasing it and admitting, “Nathan, the guy I was with that night at Blackie’s…” I nod. “He does security at Silver Technologies. He said you’ve been into the office a few times.”

“Ahh… so that’s where I know him from,” I remark. “I thought he looked familiar.”

She nods and gets up from her seat, making her way around the bar. “Do you need help with anything?”

“There’s some plates in that cabinet there.” I lift my chin, indicating the cabinet by the fridge. “And silverware in that drawer.” I point with the serving spoon I’m holding.

She grabs the necessary items and takes them to the table, while I put the meatloaf on a ceramic plate. Minutes later, we’re sitting at the table, our plates full of food.

“How was Lizzy today?” I ask after taking a bite of meatloaf.

“She was fine. She’s such a precious little girl. I think she’s starting to open up a bit more with the other kids. Her and Ashley, a girl a year older than her, seem to be getting close. They’re always together.”

“Good. We’re all worried about her. Some days are good for her, and some not so good.”

Abby takes a sip of her wine, then wipes her mouth with her napkin before placing it back on the table.

“Can I…” she stops and clears her throat. “Can I ask what happened?”

I set my fork down on my plate and rest back against my seat, rubbing my hands down my face. I hate talking about what happened, but if I open up about something so important, maybe that’ll give Abby the courage to do the same.

“My brother, Ben, died from a head-on collision five years ago.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, her hand going to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Colt.”

The use of my name pleases me. I’ve noticed the few other times she’s used it; she was in a highly emotional state. This time was because she’s sad at what I’ve just told her. Her defenses are down.

I continue. “My sister-in-law didn’t take it so well. She had just gotten off the phone with him, after telling him she was pregnant. Our guess is he was trying to rush back home to her. The police said he never saw the car coming. The guy swerved in front of him at the last minute. He was thrown from the car, his neck breaking on impact when he hit the ground.”

Grief hits my chest hard at remembering my mother’s hysterical voice, telling me to get to the hospital, that Ben had been in an accident. None of us knew the damage done until we made it to the hospital.