"He's still my father. Whether people think I'm like him or not, they think I'm a freak because of who raised me."
"You're not a freak. He committed those crimes on his own. You aren't responsible for any of it. Besides, if you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already." I smiled. He moved closer to me and put his arm around my waist, kissing my temple.
"Did you hear about the story?"
"I must have, but it happened a while ago," he said.
"So, you've forgotten. I've tried so hard to do that. I thought I would be safe here. Out of his shadow. Of all the things I could possibly be known for…" I said darkly.
"They had no right to say that to you. Even if they did know, they should have kept it to themselves."
"It was a nightmare during the trial. They made me take the stand with my neck bandaged up. Then afterward, they wouldn't leave me alone. People were scared of me or wanted to interview me. They wanted to write their articles and human interest pieces. Laugh, point their fingers."
"I'm so sorry, babe," he whispered. He kissed me again. "None of that can touch you now."
"But they know," I protested.
"They are going to leave at some point and without proof, it's just a story from two wackos who wanted to start a rumor." I leaned my head against his shoulder.
"What if they won't leave me alone? When he said it, I remembered everything like I was there again."
"I'll take care of them," he said.
"How?" I asked, turning to look at him.
"Let me do this for you, Abby," he said, not answering my question. "Come on. You can't spend the whole day here. The sun is going to go down soon.”
"Just a little while longer?" I asked. We sat there twenty more minutes before he walked me to the car he came in and drove us back to the hotel.
He peeled my clothes off and put me in my bed when we got to my house. He made me tea and sat with me until I fell asleep, talking to me and letting me talk.
I wasn’t a freak when I was with him. My past didn’t exist. It had shaken me, what had happened, but I needed this. He’d help me get over it.
Chapter Thirty-One
Nate
"What's been your worst experience with a guest here at the hotel?" I asked.
"Worst experience? The people who come here are usually pretty tame," Makani said. She and Abby were behind their desk. It was early, and they had just come in. Abby from my suite and Makani from her place — or Keno's place, if I had to guess, judging how happy the two of them had been since the night we had met at Abby's house.
She had been Abby's friend and the other front desk girl to me for most of the summer. I'd only ever been around her with Abby or talked about her with Keno, but since that night at Abby's, things had changed. The four of us had hung out a few more times, and I had gotten to know Makani.
She was such an important person in Abby's life, it only made sense that I got to know her, too. That was where I was, doing shit because I knew it would be important to Abby. Getting to know her friends, her life, her plans — everything I could get her to tell me.
The thing about her dad... It still sort of surprised me whenever I remembered it. I knew there was still so much stuff I wanted to know about her and so much I didn't know, but some stuff you never expected to hear. Abby had seen some shit.
Since she had told me, I had looked the story up, really because I had just wanted to see whether it jogged my memory at all. I got about two articles deep before I stopped searching.
There was a lot of stuff, not just news stories. There were forums and threads discussing it, crime scene pictures, audio of the police negotiations with Abby's dad when he had her and her mother hostage. Sick shit like conspiracy theories about where Abby was now and what she was doing, the daughter of this monster who had killed a bunch of people.
It made me mad. I knew how people were. They weren't interested in the case and what had happened to Abby because she'd just been a kid when it had happened, and they wanted to hear she was doing okay. They wanted to track her. They wanted to watch her because she was interesting to them now.
I had made a rule a long time ago that I would never, ever try to see what people were saying about me and the band. I avoided news and rumors about us because the opinions of thousands of people who knew nothing real about me meant jack shit.
It wasn't a compliment that people wanted to know what you were up to; it was stupid. It was empty because, at the end of the day, they got their shits and giggles at your expense and moved the fuck along. All you got was thousands of people judging you.
They were different, Abby's situation and mine, but there were enough similarities there to make me feel like I could relate. Being recognized had really fucked her up for a couple days. I couldn't imagine being that kid, having to watch your father murder your mother in front of you, and then try to murder you, too.