Read Online A Long Time Coming by Heather Van Fleet - Free Book Online

there, in his perfect,
flawed gaze, she saw love—simple, but powerful love that mirrored hers
completely.
    Jesus…why was he doing this?
Didn’t he know that her heart would always and forever belong to him? Why did
he always fight what was so real and ready to be consumed? She gulped. Their eyes
never wavered, simmering as one in the small space of the car. The temperature
was about a zillion degrees in there, and her body was on fire with both her
need for him, and hatred towards the fact that he was still pushing her away.
And just as she opened her mouth to tell him not to go, to tell him she
couldn’t live without him anymore, and to berate him for staying away for so
long as it was, he was looking away, closing off from her once again. And then
he was opening the door, throwing his crutches onto the ground, only to stand
with his back to her. Dammit. He was leaving her. He was always walking
away. Why…why? She didn’t care how many legs he had. She didn’t care if he had
a messed up brain either. She loved him for who he was, for the guy that she
knew he always would be.
    She reached for the door
handle, wanting nothing more than to cry after him. Scream at him. She wanted
to throw something, and then race after him and kiss the hell out of his
perfect mouth. But she also loved him enough to respect his wishes, too. So for
now, she’d continue to bide her time.
    He slammed the door in her
face, no goodbyes, no thank you. Nothing. She watched him as he slowly made his
way toward his front door, just barely making out the sight of his arms shaking
at his sides. He was slower than she’d remembered him being, and fear gripped
her chest as she studied his upper frame. It was more than obvious he was
hurting still. Sure, he’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want her help,
or her sympathy, but damn if her instincts weren’t screaming at her to do
something about it anyways.
    She dropped her hand onto the
steering wheel, clenching her fingers around the leather. Her jaw locked as she
turned to focus on the darkened road in front of her. She was pissed, aching
with need, and now, more than ever, ready to take her ass to California.
    But then again, running wasn’t
about to solve anything.

 
    Chapter Seven
     
         The tires screeched on
the runway as her plane touched down, and Abigail cringed wishing now, more
than ever, that she could have slipped something brown and liquid into her
water bottle just to ease the tension grinding away at her nerves. She gripped
the armrest, pushing back in her seat as she squeezed her eyes shut. She was
completely frayed—relaxing was not an option, because Abigail and flying did
not mix, even though she’d done it many times. Well, really, it was mainly the
whole landing and taking off part that sucked giant monkey nuts, but the whole
flying through the air thing?—that was at least doable…unless of course you
threw in some wicked turbulence. Either way, she hated it.
    She found her luggage easily
enough when her feet finally hit solid ground. Her eyes narrowed in observation
as she turned to hunt for the familiar brown–black set of curls that belonged
to her best friend. She slipped the strap of her carry–on bag higher up on her
shoulder as she dragged her pink suitcase behind her with a heavy click clack
on the tile through the airport. Her feet grew heavier the longer she walked,
but it wasn’t exhaustion that held her down this time, nor was it any sort of
physical pain. It was her heart doing the stressing and it was hanging so heavily
in her chest that there was no way she’d enjoy her mini vacation at this rate.
She was too damn worried about what she’d left behind, those things mainly
being David and her parents. But she was determined to give her insides an
emotional break. She didn’t exactly know how she was going to do that, but
dammit all to hell she had to at least try.
    Seriously though, how many
times did a girl get to go to Santa