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Way to be an asshole, man.

“Abby, please,” he gentled his voice. “Just because we’re not suited to each other is no reason for you not to take me up on this. You never know when you might need help. Promise me.”

“Fine, I promise,” she said with great reluctance.

Funnily enough, the knot in his stomach didn’t dissipate the way he thought it would. He took one last look at her, then turned towards the door. “Make sure you lock this behind me,” he ordered. “I’ll wait on the other side until you do.”

She didn’t answer. Just slammed the door shut behind him. He sighed. But he stayed there until he heard the quiet click. Then he walked down the steps, towards his truck. A sense of wrongness filled him. It pulled at him, urging him to turn around and tell her that he had made a mistake.

But his mistake wasn’t kissing her. It was pushing her away.

Instead, he forced himself into his truck, started up the engine and left. It was for the best. There was no way he could give her what she needed.

Abby hugged herself as she leaned back against the door. Her eyes closed as she heard his truck start up. She’d kissed Kent Jensen. Even though things had gone to shit afterwards, even though he’d been clear to tell her what a mistake he’d made, she’d always have that.

All these years of crushing on him, she’d never once thought he would end up in her house, that he would kiss her. He was gorgeous. Sometimes sweet. Bossy. Protective. He called to every longing inside her. All she’d ever wanted was someone to watch over her. She knew that she was supposed to be independent, strong, she was supposed to be able to take care of herself. To not rely on a man.

But she guessed she was just built differently from most people. Growing up, she’d loved reading books where the girl had an older brother. Someone to watch out for her. To give her advice. To warn off other boys from wanting to date her.

That wasn’t to say her feelings towards Kent were brotherly. Far from it.

But watching him with his sister, hearing him talk about the way the women on Sanctuary were protected by all the men, it spoke to that part of her that had always longed for a safe place, a family, home.

Nana had tried her best. She’d loved Abby and her brother. But it wasn’t that warm, fuzzy love. She hadn’t been the type to hand out hugs or praise. She’d kept a roof over their heads, food in their bellies, she’d clothed them, she’d tried to teach them right from wrong. Although that hadn’t really worked with Max. But she hadn’t been one to put up with any sort of emotional nonsense, as she’d liked to call it.

Abby moved slowly through the house, tidying up the mess. Nana would roll over in her grave if she didn’t clean up before bed. She walked into her bedroom. And froze. All she could remember was Kent kneeling by the bed, his hands on her legs, his handsome face creased in concern.

She’d thought he cared.

Idiot.

He just felt a sense of obligation. She took a deep breath then walked to her bedside drawers, opened the top one and dropped the card he’d given her in. She should probably chuck it in the trash. But she couldn’t bring herself to do that.

She sat on the bed, and placed her elbows on her thighs as she cupped her forehead in her hands.

She’d made a fool of herself.

She sucked back a sob. She would not cry. Tears didn’t solve anything.

Reynolds don’t cry, Abigail.

“Sorry, Nana,” she muttered. She grabbed Bun-bun, holding him tight.

I made a mistake. I’m not the kind of guy you need.

She gave a humorless bark of laughter. Right. More like she wasn’t what he needed.

Knowing she couldn’t sleep in this room and there was only one way to calm the emotions rioting inside her, she got to her feet, still holding Bun-bun and pulled off her duvet and pillow. She dragged them into the small dining room and dumped them by the table. Then she turned a lamp on in the corner of the room. Moving to the linen cupboard, she grabbed a couple of spare blankets. She arranged them on the top of the table so they draped over the edges, completely covering the table.

She pulled the cushions off the sofa and used them to create a mattress under the table. Finally, she picked Bun-bun back up, grabbed her duvet and pillow and climbed into her fort. She lay there and took a couple of slow, deep breaths to calm herself.

As a child, when her mother would bring home a strange man, she’d always hide herself under the bed. Sometimes, Max would join her.

She winced as she remembered some of the noises she’d heard. As a child, she hadn’t recognized what they were. She’d often worried that the man her mother had brought home was hurting her. Sometimes they would. There would be the slap of flesh meeting flesh. A cry of pain. Her mother limping the next morning or telling her and Max that the fresh bruise on her face was just because she was clumsy.

Abby was clumsy. She’d never once had a bruise on her face. Let alone multiple times.

Of course, she hadn’t realized the lies her mom had told them as a kid. But part of her had still known something was wrong. Hiding herself away had made her feel safer. As she’d grown older and was no longer able to fit comfortably under her bed, she’d started hiding under the covers. When Nana took them in, she’d often let Abby build a pillow fort like this one.