Walking Disaster

giving it to her was even a good idea. A few weeks ago, maybe even a few days ago, Abby might have freaked
out, but we were past that now. I hoped.
    “What?”
    “Don’t freak out,” I said. “I kind of . . . already took care of that part.”
    “What part?”
    I stared up at the ceiling and sighed, realizing my mistake too late. “You’re going to freak out.”
    “Travis . . .”
    I reached for the drawer of the nightstand, and felt around for a moment.
    Abby frowned, and then blew her damp hair from her eyes. “What? You bought condoms?”
    I laughed once. “No, Pidge,” I said, reaching farther into the drawer. My hand finally touched the familiar corners, and I watched Abby’s expression as I pulled the small box
from its hiding place.
    Abby looked down as I placed the small velvet square on my chest, reaching behind me to rest my head on my arm.
    “What’s that?” she asked.
    “What does it look like?”
    “Okay. Let me rephrase the question: When did you get that?”
    I inhaled. “A while ago.”
    “Trav—”
    “I just happened to see it one day, and I knew there was only one place it could belong . . . on your perfect little finger.”
    “One day when?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “Can I see it?” she smiled, her gray irises shining.
    Her unexpected reaction caused another wide smile to stretch across my face. “Open it.”
    Abby lightly touched the box with one finger, and then grasped the golden seal with both hands, slowly pulling the lid open. Her eyes widened, and then she slammed the lid shut.
    “Travis!” she wailed.
    “I knew you’d freak out!” I said, sitting up and cupping my hands over hers.
    “Are you
insane
?”
    “I know. I know what you’re thinking, but I had to. It was The One. And I was right! I haven’t seen one since that was as perfect as this one!” I inwardly cringed, hoping
she didn’t pick up on the fact that I’d just admitted how often I actually looked at rings.
    Her eyes popped open, and then she slowly peeled her hands from the case. Trying again, she pulled open the lid, and then plucked the ring from the slit that held it in place.
    “It’s . . . my God, it’s amazing,” she whispered as I took her left hand in mine.
    “Can I put it on your finger?” I asked, peering up at her. When she nodded, I pressed my lips together, and then slid the silver band over her knuckle, holding it in place for just a
second or two before letting go. “
Now
it’s amazing.”
    We both stared at her hand for a moment. It was finally where it belonged.
    “You could have put a down payment on a car for this,” she said quietly, as if she had to whisper in the ring’s presence.
    I touched her ring finger to my lips, kissing the skin just ahead of her knuckle. “I’ve imagined what this would look like on your hand a million times. Now that it’s there . .
.”
    “What?” She smiled, hoping for me to finish.
    “I thought I was going to have to sweat five years before I’d feel like this.”
    “I wanted it as much as you did. I’ve just got a hell of a poker face,” she said, pressing her lips against mine.
    As much as I wanted to undress her until the only thing she had on was my ring, I nestled back against the pillow, and let her rest her body against mine. If there was a way to focus on
something other than the horror of that night, we’d managed it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Mr. and Mrs.
    A BBY STOOD ON THE CURB, HER HAND HOLDING THE only two fingers I had free. The rest were gripping bags or trying to flag
down America.
    We had driven the Honda to the airport two days prior, so Shepley had to drop his girlfriend off at her car. America insisted on being the one to pick us up, and everyone knew why. When she
pulled up to the curb, she looked straight ahead. She didn’t even get out to help with the bags.
    Abby hobbled to the passenger seat and got in, babying the side she’d just inked with my last name.
    I tossed the bags in the hatchback, and then pulled on the handle of the backseat. “Uh . . . ,” I said, pulling on it again. “Open the door, Mare.”
    “I don’t think I will,” she said, whipping her head around to glare at me.
    She pulled forward a bit, and Abby tensed. “Mare, stop.”
    America slammed on the brakes, and raised an eyebrow. “You nearly get my best friend killed at one of your stupid fights, then you bring her to Vegas and marry her when I’m out of
town, so not only can I not be the maid of honor,