The Stranger Behind My Orgasm

Abigail

"Holy shit, that hurts like a bitch!"

I was propped up in bed, bruises throbbing across my face and ribs as the doctor pressed lightly along my cheekbone.

Sunlight streamed through the parted curtains in my room. I had passed out yesterday, and when I woke this morning, it was to a doctor dressed in a white coat prodding and pressing at my wounds.

My boyfriend was right beside me the entire time, his large hand resting on my shoulder, thumb stroking gentle circles against my skin.

Every time the doctor touched a tender spot, Finnegan’s jaw tightened, his emerald eyes darkening with concern.

"Does that hurt?" the doctor asked.

I winced. "That’s a tricky question."

Finnegan’s hand squeezed my shoulder. "Be honest, Abigail. Tell him exactly how it feels."

"It hurts like I poked myself in the eye with a piping hot curling iron," I bit out, sagging against Finn, suddenly feeling drained even though I had been awake for barely thirty minutes.

The doctor nodded. "Good. She needs to rest. Bed rest for at least three days. No strenuous activity. Ice the bruises, take the painkillers I prescribed, and keep the cuts clean. The same goes for your friend down the hall."

Finnegan asked question after question: how long until the swelling went down, what signs to watch for, whether I needed stitches anywhere.

I really wanted to be mad at him for not telling me he had a freaking twin brother, but I couldn’t help it, especially when he did sweet things like this that left my stomach giddy with butterflies.

He listened intently, nodding at whatever the doctor said. When the doctor finally left, Finnegan settled on the edge of the bed, his hand taking mine.

"You heard him. You should be on bed rest."

I shook my head immediately. "I don’t need bed rest. I have to get the evidence to Benjamin today. The thirty-day deadline is closing in. If we don’t submit it soon, the case gets archived, and I’ll lose everything."

Finnegan groaned, gently brushing a strand of hair out of my face.

"Abigail," he murmured in a low, pleading voice. "Please. Don’t do this to me again. Don’t rush into danger like that. Annette told me everything about the fight with Gavin. What if something worse had happened to you..." He swallowed hard, eyes filled with raw pain.

"I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. Please. Think about me before you run off to face dangerous men again. Call me, let me help. Let me protect you."

His words hit me straight in the chest. I reached up, stroking his jaw. "I’m sorry. I was so angry and scared for Annette. I didn’t think. But I promise... I’ll try. I’ll call you next time."

"I hope to God there won’t be a next time," he grumbled. "Just rest, okay? I’ll go to Benjamin myself."

"Really?" I gasped, pulling him in for a hug.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. But... that would mean turning your brother in."

"It’s like you said," he stated, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "We’re in this together."

When Finnegan left, River and Angel came in to check on me. River carried a tray of tea and snacks, while Angel bounced onto the bed beside me, eyeing the art Gavin made of my face. "You look like you fought a bear."

River set the tray down and sat on the other side. "We brought pictures. Thought you might want to see what we’re dealing with."

They showed me old family photos of young Finnegan and Devin as children.

"Holy smokes, they look like someone hit the copy-and-paste button."

"Yeah," River chuckled, pointing at a picture of the two of them laughing together. "The only time they looked very different was when they laughed."

She was right. Devin’s eyes had a mischievous glint when he looked at the camera. In a way, he looked like Angel. That mischievous grin and all. Finnegan, however, looked like a hearty little boy when he laughed.

The laugh and smile lines completely disappeared as they grew older, though.

In the last picture of them as adults, Finnegan stood alone, looking serious, while Devin grinned, hugging Gina. She really took playing favorites way too far.

"Grammy always compared Dad to Uncle Devin," Angel quipped. "Nothing Dad does is ever good enough for her."

"Angel," River sighed. "How on earth do you even know that?"

"Because I’m fourteen and not stupid, duh." She grabbed a cup of tea from the tray River brought. "Abby, you should drink this."

"Thanks, Angel," I mumbled, my heart aching for Finn. "How can a mother hate her own child so much?"

Angel shrugged nonchalantly, but like her father, her green eyes were filled with pain. It had to be hard, having a terrible grandmother and an even worse mother.

I pulled her into a gentle hug, ignoring the pain that shot up my arm. "That’s not how a mother is supposed to be. I’m sorry you had such terrible women in your life."

"It’s not all that bad," she murmured, smiling up at me. "I had Aunt River."

"Of course you do, baby girl," River replied.

"And I have you now." Angel’s eyes held mine, flickering warily. "Right?"

My heart swelled so much in my chest I thought it would burst. "Right. You have me now."

After breakfast, I padded to Annette’s room to find her sitting up, laptop on her lap.

"You should be resting," I chuckled, flopping down next to her.

"So should you," she shot back with a weak grin.

"Oh, look, we got matching bruises, we should take a picture," I teased, earning a glare from her.

We talked for a while until Finnegan returned with Benjamin. All of us trooped out to the living room.

Benjamin wore a grave look as he sat down. "I have good news and bad news. The good news is we can stop the case from being archived. The evidence you provided is strong enough to force a review of the case."

"But the bad news is we need a witness. Someone who can testify to the events surrounding your parents’ deaths. Without a living witness, the judge may still archive it."

"A witness? Where would we get a witness?"

Then I remembered the name from the documents I had taken from Lander.

"Owen Smith," I whispered. "We have to find Owen Smith."