would be okay, and so would her baby.
“You all right?”
She shrieked and jumped, and spun around. Her heart jackhammered in her chest, and she had to force herself not to raise her fists into a defensive posture. It was Kincaid. Just Kincaid. “You should warn a girl before you sneak up behind her.”
“I did. But you were lost in your own head, and didn’t hear me.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Abby wrapped her arms around herself, even though it wasn’t cold. When would she find peace again? A measure of calm? When would she stop looking over her shoulder? Freaking out at the smallest sound?
Kincaid draped an arm over her shoulders. He was a good foot taller than her, a broad, strong man, and his embrace acted like shelter from a storm. All their lives, it had been Abby and Kincaid, the two of them against the Foster machine, built out of expectations and rules and traditions so rigid, it seemed as if their lives were steel cages.
Abby leaned into her big brother, just as she had the day she’d told him the truth about Gordon. Kincaid’s face had gone stormy, and his fists had tensed at his sides. Then he’d done what he always did—protected her. Five minutes later, he’d taken her and one hastily packed bag away from the sprawling mansion Gordon had built, he said, as a testament, a gift to his wife. A mansion she had hated from the very first day. A gift she’d never wanted because it felt more like a prison.
Kincaid had left everything—his job, his upscale home in New York, his life—to take her to the only place she’d ever felt at home. This tiny little spit of an island, on the side far from where the wealthy played and turned their back on those “less fortunate.” To the part of Fortune’s Island where people drank Bud and watched the game and kids built sandcastles that washed away at the end of the day.
Abby Foster had grown up with more money than she could ever possibly spend, and yet, it was here, among people as ordinary as apple pie, that she felt like she could breathe. She could be herself. This was the kind of life she wanted for her baby. Not the one with marble floors and hushed words and silver spoons.
“You’re going to be fine,” Kincaid said, drawing her tight against him, until her heart began to slow and her breath came easier. “It just takes time. And I’m here with you, to give you all the time you need.”
She tipped her head to look up at him. “But what if Gordon finds me?”
“I’ll still be right here.”
“But what if he fights the divorce?” They were questions Abby had asked before, a hundred times. The same questions that made her heart race and kept her up at night. Every time, Kincaid answered her with the same calm voice, and her worries would ease.
“He will fight the divorce,” Kincaid said. “You know it and I know it. Gordon isn’t the kind of guy who likes to lose anything.”
“Especially me.” She turned back to the water and let out a long breath. When she’d been young, the way Gordon courted her had been intoxicating. He’d sent her flowers, whisked her away to Paris, had her favorite cookies delivered in the middle of the night when she’d mentioned a craving. He’d thought of everything, knew everything about her, right down to her shoe size and her favorite drink. At the time, Abby had thought it was because he loved her.
But it had all been part of an ever-tightening noose. One she only had the guts to escape when Gordon put the baby at risk. It was as if that flipped some long-dormant switch in Abby’s brain.
“Maybe I should have told Father. I was just…so afraid of what he would do.”
Kincaid nodded. “I understand that. And honestly, Gordon is the favored one at the law firm, so I’m not so sure Father would have believed you right away. It could have made a bad situation worse. And you don’t need that, especially not right now.”
Abby nodded. “You’re right.”
“You’re doing the right thing,”
“You all right?”
She shrieked and jumped, and spun around. Her heart jackhammered in her chest, and she had to force herself not to raise her fists into a defensive posture. It was Kincaid. Just Kincaid. “You should warn a girl before you sneak up behind her.”
“I did. But you were lost in your own head, and didn’t hear me.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Abby wrapped her arms around herself, even though it wasn’t cold. When would she find peace again? A measure of calm? When would she stop looking over her shoulder? Freaking out at the smallest sound?
Kincaid draped an arm over her shoulders. He was a good foot taller than her, a broad, strong man, and his embrace acted like shelter from a storm. All their lives, it had been Abby and Kincaid, the two of them against the Foster machine, built out of expectations and rules and traditions so rigid, it seemed as if their lives were steel cages.
Abby leaned into her big brother, just as she had the day she’d told him the truth about Gordon. Kincaid’s face had gone stormy, and his fists had tensed at his sides. Then he’d done what he always did—protected her. Five minutes later, he’d taken her and one hastily packed bag away from the sprawling mansion Gordon had built, he said, as a testament, a gift to his wife. A mansion she had hated from the very first day. A gift she’d never wanted because it felt more like a prison.
Kincaid had left everything—his job, his upscale home in New York, his life—to take her to the only place she’d ever felt at home. This tiny little spit of an island, on the side far from where the wealthy played and turned their back on those “less fortunate.” To the part of Fortune’s Island where people drank Bud and watched the game and kids built sandcastles that washed away at the end of the day.
Abby Foster had grown up with more money than she could ever possibly spend, and yet, it was here, among people as ordinary as apple pie, that she felt like she could breathe. She could be herself. This was the kind of life she wanted for her baby. Not the one with marble floors and hushed words and silver spoons.
“You’re going to be fine,” Kincaid said, drawing her tight against him, until her heart began to slow and her breath came easier. “It just takes time. And I’m here with you, to give you all the time you need.”
She tipped her head to look up at him. “But what if Gordon finds me?”
“I’ll still be right here.”
“But what if he fights the divorce?” They were questions Abby had asked before, a hundred times. The same questions that made her heart race and kept her up at night. Every time, Kincaid answered her with the same calm voice, and her worries would ease.
“He will fight the divorce,” Kincaid said. “You know it and I know it. Gordon isn’t the kind of guy who likes to lose anything.”
“Especially me.” She turned back to the water and let out a long breath. When she’d been young, the way Gordon courted her had been intoxicating. He’d sent her flowers, whisked her away to Paris, had her favorite cookies delivered in the middle of the night when she’d mentioned a craving. He’d thought of everything, knew everything about her, right down to her shoe size and her favorite drink. At the time, Abby had thought it was because he loved her.
But it had all been part of an ever-tightening noose. One she only had the guts to escape when Gordon put the baby at risk. It was as if that flipped some long-dormant switch in Abby’s brain.
“Maybe I should have told Father. I was just…so afraid of what he would do.”
Kincaid nodded. “I understand that. And honestly, Gordon is the favored one at the law firm, so I’m not so sure Father would have believed you right away. It could have made a bad situation worse. And you don’t need that, especially not right now.”
Abby nodded. “You’re right.”
“You’re doing the right thing,”
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