The Bad Things (Book 5)

Chapter 10. Ours

Abigail and I already have two brand-new vehicles. They also bought me another motorcycle which wasn't necessary either. They claimed they had twenty birthdays to make up for.

"Is Irena coming over?" Abigail asked.

"Yes," I said.

"That's good." Abigail peered back out the window. To say she looked uncomfortable would be an understatement.

"What's wrong, bebé?"

Abigail looked up at me, and tears filled her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what to say to you, Andy. This is horrible. We haven't spoken in days. Not ever since Iris—" Abigail stopped and shook her head. She wiped the tears away. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, I froze. I wasn't upset with her, but like her, I didn't know what to say. I gazed back out the windshield and released the breath I held. "I'm sorry too. I just didn't know what to say either."

"You're not upset with me? I wasn't sure if I was giving you too much space or not enough."

I brought her hand to my lips without looking at her and kissed each of her fingers before kissing the back of her hand. "I haven't any reason to be upset with you. I don't think I would make it through half the things I made it through if it wasn't for you."

Abigail squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Same here."

We pulled into the driveway of the enormous beach house. I sighed in frustration as I took in the massive house once again. To say the house was beautiful would be an understatement. They basically bought me a mansion on the beach that I wouldn't stay at often.

"What's wrong?" Abigail asked.

"I just still can't fucking believe they bought me a vacation mansion on the beach," I said and shrugged.

Abigail snorted and giggled. "Neither can I. Why didn't they just keep it in their name?"

"Because they own three other houses in Florida just like this one, and because they knew we would come here to see your mother. They figured Sean and Chelsea would stay too. Apparently, Angel has a few places in Florida too. One of them is just down the road from here," I explained.

Abigail shook her head in awe and disbelief as we climbed out of the car. I walked around the car and grabbed her hand in mine.

Irena came up behind us and let out a low whistle. "Your parents' vacation home, huh?"

"Nope. It's mine," I said and shrugged.

Irena stared at me with wide eyes, and her lips parted. "What?"

"They bought it for me. We come to Jacksonville to see Abigail's mother from time to time," I explained. "They like to give people stuff."

Irena chuckled and shook her head. "I wish my parents had this kind of money. It's breathtaking, to say the least. From the front, it looks like a mansion," she said.

"It is," I agreed. "They have a lot of them." Different colored flowers lined the sidewalk. Most of the house was made of bulletproof glass and concrete. My parents called it a safety measure. They had the windows replaced and large metal shutters just in case. On the backside, it had a large deck that hung over a concrete patio with a pool and looked over the sandy beach below. Why they thought I needed a pool and hot tub was beyond me—for crying out loud, the house was within walking distance to the beach.