One Last Kiss Read online

  “There’s broken glass and red liquid on the floor, and you’re screaming like someone is strangling you. Are you okay?”

  She sucked in a breath and scanned her surroundings for the critter she’d seen a moment earlier. Since when did she have mice? She’d have to call someone to take care of that before selling. “If someone was strangling me, I wouldn’t be able to scream much less breathe,” she said, irritation lining her voice.

  He was frowning when she looked up. “Listen, Abby.” He started to descend the stairs.

  “No, no, no.” She hurried up the steps as her words suddenly stuck in her throat.

  Sam looked completely baffled as she raced in his direction. Or more accurately, toward the basement door, which was quickly closing behind him.

  Clang!

  The door slammed shut with such a force that she jumped a little. Then her body, which was still in motion, rammed against Sam’s with a reverberating thud. Her heart also made a thud that only she could hear.

  “You idiot!” she snapped.

  Sam didn’t move until she made a show of pushing him to the side. She climbed the rest of the stairs and turned the knob to no avail. She gave the door a push, but it didn’t release.

  “I can’t believe this.” Turning back to Sam, she glared at him with her best see what you did now look. “Can you pull out your cellphone and call one of your brothers to come let us out? The door is broken.”

  “I could.” He hesitated. “And I would…if I had my cellphone on me. It’s in the truck.”

  Her knees went weak.

  “It’s fine. I’m stronger than you. I’ll get it open.” He was standing beside her at the top of the staircase in a heartbeat.

  She stepped down and gave him room, then watched as he pushed, pulled, cursed, and kicked the door.

  Her breaths grew shallower with each failed attempt. She heard the little wheeze in her lungs.

  Sam did too apparently. “Are you hyperventilating?” he asked, turning and meeting her at the middle of the staircase. “Let’s get you down on the floor before you pass out.”

  She felt his hands on her shoulders. Under the most recent circumstances, she’d be inclined to throw him down the steps for touching her. But she barely had the strength to stand right now.

  “Right. I forgot you’re claustrophobic. Don’t worry, Abs. I’ll fix this.” Sam guided her to a chair on the floor, and then returned to kicking the door. When that didn’t work, he checked on her once more and went looking for something to beat the door with.

  “It’s not going to open,” Abby said when she’d finally gotten control of herself. She’d been trapped in an upside-down truck when she was sixteen. Her dad had been drinking again. After her mom left, he was always drinking. He’d flipped the truck on a quiet backroad. It was late. Dark.

  “Abby,” her father had said. His voice slurred, both from the alcohol and the blow to his bleeding forehead. “The door is stuck. Can you open yours?”

  She reached for the handle beside her and pulled. It didn’t release. “N-no. It won’t open.”

  “We need to switch places before the cops get here.”

  Everything was blurry as her father unbuckled her. She succumbed to gravity in the enclosed space and fell with an excruciating blow to her own head.

  “Move, Abby! I can’t be the one driving. You just got your license. You’re a new driver, and you went off the road. That’s our story.” Despite his injuries, he yanked her into the driver’s seat. Then they both tried the doors again.

  Blood made dark streaks down her father’s face. Her own face was streaked with hot liquid too. Blood or tears? She wasn’t sure. The space between them seemed to be closing in on her. Why wasn’t anyone coming to their rescue?

  “Abby?” Sam stood in front of her now. “Abby, are you okay? You’re pale.”

  She blinked her husband, soon to be ex, into focus. “I need to get out of here. Now!”

  “Take a deep breath and hold it…1-2-3. Let it go. That’s right.” Sam had his hand on Abby’s back, watching her as she followed his instructions.

  She sucked in a deep breath, held it, and then let it go. Repeated.

  He waited until the color in her face started to return before cracking a joke. “I can’t remember the last time you actually listened to me,” he said on a small laugh, hoping to relax her even more.

  She gave a sidelong glance at him as the corner of her mouth twitched into a slight smile. It was enough.

  “Feel better?”

  “Yeah.” She blew out another breath, and then flicked her gaze to his hand still on her back.

  He lifted it quickly. Right. No touching. Her usual rules also included no talking, but this was an extenuating circumstance. He’d been meaning to discuss things with her, but he hadn’t envisioned doing so in a dark basement when she was already upset. They were locked in though, so at least she’d have to stay and listen.

  He glanced around and found a metal fold-out chair. He grabbed it and set it up a few feet away from her. Far enough where she couldn’t kick him without a little effort.

  “I gave the staff the weekend off,” Abby said, her voice tight.

  Sam swallowed. “Don’t worry. There’s no way we’re going to spend the entire weekend down here.” No way, no how. He’d try the door again. There was also a window, albeit a small one. He’d find a way to reach it and see if he could wedge it open. He’d break the damn thing if he had to.

  Abby brought a hand to the side of her head. No doubt she was starting to get a headache like she always did when she got upset. He still knew her all too well. Still missed her all too much. “Abby?”

  Her gaze snapped up. “I don’t want to talk about the papers.”

  “Don’t you think we need to?”

  “Why? You and I haven’t lived together as man and wife in almost two years, Sam. I think we both know it’s over. Time to move on.”

  There were still a million things left unsaid between them though. “I can’t sign those papers without at least knowing why you hate me? I deserve that much, don’t you think?”

  Her gaze cooled. “If you even need to ask, that’s reason enough,” she bit out. “Maybe if you’d agreed to marriage counseling when I suggested it, you could’ve figured out why I was so unhappy in our marriage. I didn’t just decide to walk out one night, Sam. There were a hundred nights we could’ve sat down and talked.”

  Sam wet his lips, his throat suddenly dry. Dr. Dumont had told him to tell Abby exactly how he felt, but he’d never been good at that kind of thing. There may never be another chance though. “Abby,” he began, “I…I…” He scratched the back of his neck, then shifted in his chair as she watched him with those large, green eyes. The ones that used to look at him with so much love. “Abby,” he repeated.

  She held up her hand. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. We gave it our best shot.” She shrugged. “Or at least I did.”

  Her words cut straight to the bone. A good husband was supposed to be a provider. He’d provided well for Abby. He gave her the house she always wanted. He even helped make her dream of owning her own restaurant come true. He’d done everything for her. His whole life had been about making her happy. And yet, he’d failed.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. He needed some water, but there didn’t appear to be any down here. That was another reason he needed to get them both out of this basement sooner than later.

  Needing to do something, he stood and looked around the dimly lit room again. He knew the layout. The only ways out of this basement were through the door, which was currently stuck, or through the small window which was designed only to let in a little light. It wasn’t designed for giants like him. “Is there a ladder down here?” he asked, turning to Abby.

  “No. And I don’t think standing on the chair will get us high enough to reach the window.”

  He gave her a half smile. “Maybe not for a little bit like you,” he joked.
Abby wasn’t short, but compared to him, she was. She used to like it when he’d teased her about being small. He guessed she’d never been labeled as such in her entire life. She’d told him that she was taller than all the boys in her class until her senior year of high school when they’d met. She’d just moved here with her dad and had gotten Sam’s attention from day one. She was the girl he was meant to marry. And now she was the girl he was meant to divorce.

  Abby had to pee. At least that was one thing taking her mind off her claustrophobia and Sam. Why hadn’t they designed the basement with a bathroom? If she was going to be in here all weekend, she was going to need a way to relieve herself.

  She crossed her legs for the twentieth time in the last half hour.

  “Something wrong?” Sam asked, looking over his shoulder at her. For the last twenty minutes, he’d been trying to figure out a way to get up to the window. And so far, he’d been unsuccessful.

  “It's just, well, I have to use the bathroom, if you must know.” She and Sam had sex once upon a time. Telling him that she had to pee wasn’t that intimate in comparison.

  Sam turned and blinked at her. He scratched his chin. “Well, that is a dilemma,” he finally said. Then, being the typical man, he went in search of a solution to fix her problem. A moment later, he stood in front of her holding a bucket.

  “Are you serious? You expect me to pee in a bucket?”

  “You have any better ideas?”

  She didn’t. The only better idea would be opening the door and going upstairs to the actual bathroom. Since that wasn’t an option, she yanked the bucket from his hand and stood.

  “What? No thank you?”

  She glared. “I’m going behind that wall of shelves over there. Don’t you dare watch.”

  As she was walking away, Sam called back to her, “You actually think I want to watch you pee in a bucket? We were kinky back in the day, but not that kinky.”

  She didn’t even respond to that remark. His mention of them being kinky conjured up all kinds of memories that she would rather not entertain right now though.

  Abby set the bucket on the floor and stared at it for a moment. She really didn’t like this idea at all, but her bladder was about to explode. If she peed her pants, Sam would have a field day with that for the rest of their uncivil days.

  With a huff, and one last check to make sure he wasn’t spying on her, Abby did her business in the bucket. She did not want to be doing this all weekend long. At least she had a travel-size hand sanitizer in her pocket. She’d kept it handy because she was supposed to be cleaning all weekend. Instead, she was dodging her ex and using a bucket as a toilet.

  “How’d it go back there?” Sam asked with a grin as she made her way back.

  She scowled. “Just fine. Have you come up with another way to get us out of here?”

  He shook his head. “I’m supposed to be on the boat with Dad tomorrow morning. When I don’t show, he’ll call Jack or Noah, and they’ll come looking for me. My truck is parked out back. I’m sure someone will rescue us.”

  Abby crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly. “So what you’re saying is that we’re going to be here overnight?”

  Sam grinned. He seemed to be enjoying this a little too much. “That’s right. You and I are spending the night together.”

  For the next two hours, Abby didn’t say one word. She was doing her best to pretend that her estranged husband wasn’t even in the room with her. Claustrophobia or not, she would have preferred to be locked in this basement alone. Then again, no one would come looking for her this weekend if that was the case. She’d made a point of telling her staff not to even think about coming to the restaurant until Monday.

  She’d wanted some alone time. She had just sent divorce papers, and she was finally giving up on the man she thought she’d be with forever. That warranted privacy. Instead, she was locked in a basement with said man. If Sam wasn’t here, however, she’d be trapped until Monday morning for sure. If he was right, somebody would find them by the morning.

  I can do this.

  It was like camping, she told herself, then broke free of her thoughts when Sam cleared his throat. He’d done this at least twenty times in the last hour. It was a bad habit of his. A tell that he was nervous. It used to drive her batty when they were together. The same way the little moan he did when he was eating made her insane. It’d been cute when they were dating, but day after day, meal after meal, it’d started to bother her.

  Sam cleared his throat again.

  “Will you stop?” she finally snapped, breaking her vow of silence.

  He looked up, his thick blond brows drawing together. “What?”

  “You’re clearing your throat. Can you quit?”

  He sighed. “Sorry. I forgot there was even anyone else in the room, seeing that you’re not talking.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  He cleared his throat again.

  She wanted to hurl herself across the space between them.

  “So you really hate me that much, huh?”

  Her gaze went to his, and her breath caught for a moment. She wanted to hate him. Really wanted to. But, no, she didn’t.

  She looked away, refusing to admit that. It was easier if they hated one another. An amiable divorce was overrated. Then they’d have to make niceties when they saw each other.

  Ignoring each other or crossing a store to avoid contact was better.

  “Well, I don’t hate you, Abs. I love you. Still. Even if you can’t stand to be in the same room with me anymore.”

  Chapter 3

  Annnnd he’d really put his foot in his mouth this time. Or, more accurately, his heart on the floor between them.

  Abby was tight-lipped again. She wasn’t speaking or even looking at him. He wasn’t sure what he’d thought she’d do when he confessed that he still loved her. Jump into his arms? No. Say it back and mean it? Maybe.

  Instead, her arms were folded tightly over her chest, her body was rigid, and she was looking at the floor off to the left of her.

  Without thinking, Sam cleared his throat. Her gaze snapped up, and he held up his hands. “Sorry. I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

  She looked away again.

  This was most certainly going to be a long night. He got up and moved toward the shelf. If they weren’t going to talk, he could at least eat. “It’s all cans,” he said after several minutes. “I don’t suppose you have a can opener down here too?”

  She frowned at him.

  “Didn’t think so. And what are you doing with so many cans anyway? You don’t use canned food in your restaurant.”

  “It’s for my Meals on Wheels program.”

  “Oh, right.” She’d started that since they’d been separated.

  “They’ll miss their meals tonight,” she said.

  “Well, I’m sure they’ll be fine. All the extra supplies you send will come in handy. Or,” he said, “maybe one will send a search party for you.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Well, do you have anything we can eat down here?” he asked as he walked back toward her.

  She looked at the shelves with a thoughtful expression. “I have jars of peanut butter and jelly. And plastic silverware.”

  “Now you’re talking. Where?”

  She pointed. “First shelf on the bottom. The plastic ware is in a large bin on the second set of shelves.”

  A few minutes later, Sam returned to his seat across from her with a jar of PB in one hand and grape jelly in the other. “Want some?”

  She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Back to avoiding words at all costs.

  Sam was on his fourth or fifth spoonful of peanut butter when he heard Abby’s stomach growl. Her skin flushed when he looked up. “You sure you’re not hungry? It’s the last jar of peanut butter. I can share.”

  “No. That’s okay.”

  “Come on, Abs. Sharing a jar with me doesn’t mean you hat
e me any less. I promise. I’ll even get you your own spoon.” He got up and went to retrieve another plastic utensil. Then he scooted his seat next to hers and handed the items over.

  She dipped her spoon inside the peanut butter jar. “I don’t hate you, you know,” she finally said.

  His lungs constricted. “No, I didn’t know.”

  She pulled the spoon to her mouth and handed the jar back, not speaking again until she’d swallowed. “It’s complicated, Sam, but after all we’ve shared, I could never hate you.”

  He dipped his own spoon in the jar and held it back out to her. This was good. He needed to keep her talking. Dr. Dumont said talking was key. And listening. Sam hadn’t listened enough in their marriage. He knew that now, but he hadn’t learned that lesson until Abby had stopped talking to him all together. “I know I wasn’t the best husband, Abs.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. “No one’s perfect.”

  He swallowed a spoonful of peanut butter and passed the jar. “I’m sure I deserve whatever feelings you do have for me. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I failed big time, and it cost me everything. It cost me you.”

  She passed the peanut butter back and was quiet for a long moment. He was starting to think the conversation was over, and then she looked up. “Maybe you were right. Maybe we shouldn’t have tried so hard to have a baby.”

  Sam stiffened. So he was right. His inability to give her a baby was why she didn’t want him anymore. Pain spearfished his heart.

  They had both wanted to start a family. It’d been fun trying to do that at first. Then the sex had become less spontaneous and more methodical. And each passing month that Abby didn’t turn up pregnant, she became more forlorn. She was a goal-based woman. She liked to be in control, and neither of them had any control over this.

  Sam could agree that trying to get pregnant had been the start of their marriage troubles. He’d worked longer hours to pay for the fertility treatments. And he’d come home to a wife who’d only wanted him for the end goal. When it wasn’t the “right time” according to science, she wore baggy clothes and kept her distance.