Saved By The King’s Gamma novel Chapter 18

The evening unfolds with a gravity that weighs heavily on my heart. Abbie sits across from me, her usually radiant face now clouded with doubt and self-loathing. I know she doesn’t believe my words; the compliments that I bestow upon her seem to dissolve before they can truly reach her heart. But I’m determined, resolved to remind her every day of the beauty I see in her until she sees it in herself.

Still, I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness as I watch her pick at her fingers. I wish she could see herself through my eyes, see the way her laughter lights up a room, the way her eyes sparkle when she talks about her passions, the way her heart is so full of love for others.

But tonight, she is lost in her own darkness, unable to see the light that shines within her. And so, I continue to speak words of love and admiration, hoping that someday she will believe them and see herself as the beautiful, deserving woman she truly is.

As the sun dips, leaving the sky draped in darkness, I prepare the spa bath, adding oils that fill the room with a soothing scent. With a deep breath, I shed my clothes but keep my boxer shorts on, understanding Abbie’s fragile state and not wanting to alarm her further. Gently, I lead her into the warm water, positioning her between my legs. The moment her back meets my chest, she shudders, a gasp escaping her lips as her body goes rigid in my embrace.

I reach for the soap, intent on washing her, but she stops me, her hands trembling as they grip my wrist to stop me. “I will never hurt you,” I whisper, my voice laced with a sincerity born from the depths of my soul. “I would rather rip out my own heart than ever hurt you.”

Her hand trembles but eventually loosens its grip as I move the soap over her skin, carefully avoiding the areas that might trigger her.

After a few moments, her hand falls limply into the water, and she allows me to clean her, though I meticulously avoid touching her in any way that might cause distress.

Next, I shampoo her hair, my fingers working gently through the strands, washing away the grime of the day. When we’re done, we soak in the silence that blankets the room, the warmth of the water encasing us both until it gradually turns cold. With a sigh, I pull the plug, turn off the jets, and wrap her in a towel, leading her back to the room where the fire crackles invitingly.

Abbie quickly dresses and grabs a blanket, moving closer to the fire. She sits there, staring into the flames with a vacant expression that chills me to the bone. After a while sitting in silence, eventually, I decide to cook dinner.

It’s hard for me to sit still in the silence. As I cook in the kitchen, the aroma of sizzling steak fills the air. I call out to Abbie, asking her how she likes her steak cooked, but there is no response. Concern gnaws at my insides as I peer around the corner to find her sitting in front of the fire, staring into its mesmerizing flames as if transfixed.

Then, I see it—her hand outstretched toward the flames. “Abbie!” I boom, and she jolts back to reality, her hand jerking back from the fire. I rush to her side, clutching her hands and turning them over to inspect for damage. Her fingertips are burned. “Why, Abbie? Why would you do this?” I demand, my voice a mix of frustration and concern.

She says nothing, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. I curse under my breath, dragging her to the sink to run her hands under cold water. Where has my Abbie gone?

“Why would you burn yourself?” I ask again, grabbing her face gently, forcing her to meet my gaze. Tears blur her eyes, and my heart breaks for her.

I pull Abbie into my arms, holding her tight against me as she sobs, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. I can feel her guilt radiating from her, and it breaks my heart to see her in such a state.

As Abbie’s anguished cries fill the cabin, my heart shatters into a million pieces. “Pain is in your head,” she tells me, her voice breaking. “Physical pain is nothing but this,” she clutches her chest, “this inside me, it’s unbearable. It hurts, Gannon. It’s an ache that never stops. You say I’m good, but I’m angry. I’m so angry, Gannon. I want them to hurt like they hurt me.”

“They can’t hurt you anymore, Abbie. They’re dead,” I try to remind her.

But she breaks down even more, pulling at her hair, yanking it as if trying physically to remove her torment. “They aren’t dead, Gannon! Can’t you see? They haunt me!” she screams, her voice filled with despair.

“They live, Gannon, they live,” she repeats, clutching her head, her memories haunting her in a way that makes me feel utterly helpless. Then, she starts chanting a call for Azalea, almost like she is repeating a mantra before she starts rambling. “More than my life, more than my life, more than my life. But I don’t want this life. She made me promise,” Abbie sobs, lost in her torment.

In a panic, I let her go, my eyes darting around the room until they land on a knife in the kitchen. Snatching it, I move toward her with determination, thrusting the knife into her hand.

“That’s right, more than my life, Abbie.” I press the knife, now clasped in her hand, against my heart. “You want to end it, you end me, too. Do you hear me?”

Abbie’s sobs turn into gasps of shock as I press the knife against my chest, daring her to end my life along with hers. She looks at me with wide, tear-filled eyes, and I can see the terror in her expression.

“Come on, Abbie. Do it,” I goad her, pushing the blade closer to my heart. “End it all.”

Her grip tightens on the knife, trembling as she struggles with her emotions. “Stop,” she pleads, her voice cracking.

“You want it to stop? Then make it stop,” I demand, my voice shaking with emotion. I don’t know if this is the right thing to do, but I can’t just stand by and watch Abbie hurt herself anymore.

For a moment, we stay frozen in that position, our bodies tense and our eyes locked. The tip of the knife presses against my chest, over my heart.

“My heart isn’t worth beating if yours isn’t. More than my life,” I repeat her words back to her, my voice firm yet filled with an emotion I can barely contain.

“So, what’s it gonna be? Are you going to kill me? Because I can’t live without you. My heart only beats for you.”

Her lips quiver, tears streaming down her face as she looks at me, the knife trembling in her grasp. The weight of her decision hangs in the air between us, a palpable tension that threatens to consume us both. In this moment, I realize the depth of her pain, the darkness she’s been fighting alone.

But she’s not alone, not anymore. I’m here, willing to bear the burden of her pain, to stand by her side through the darkness until we find the light together. “Abbie, please,” I whisper, my voice breaking with the intensity of my plea. “I need you more than my life. We can get through this together.”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Abbie lets out a sob and drops the knife to the floor.

“I can’t,” she cries out, falling to her knees as tears stream down her face. “I can’t do it.”

Without hesitation, I drop to the ground beside her and wrap my arms around her trembling form. It breaks my heart to see her like this – so broken and vulnerable.

“It’s okay,” I whisper soothingly into her hair as she clings to me for dear life.

“You’re not alone, Abbie. You’ll never be alone again,” I promise her, my voice steady.

I love her, and I’ll do whatever it takes to see her smile again, to see her realize how truly beautiful and strong she is.

Abbie clings to me on the floor, her sobs finally quieting until only her uneven breathing remains. Her small body trembles in my arms, and I hold her tighter, as if somehow my embrace alone can shield her from the storm raging inside her. I kiss the top of her head gently, murmuring quiet reassurances, even though I know my words probably won’t reach her right now.

She’s lost in her own mind, in her pain. I can see it in her vacant expression, feel it in the way her fingers twitch restlessly against my chest as if she doesn’t know what to do with herself anymore. It tears me apart, this helplessness, but I won’t give up on her. I refuse to give up on her.

I let her cry it out, holding her until her trembling eases. After a while, I gently help her up and lead her back to the kitchen. She moves like she’s on autopilot, her steps slow and her eyes distant. I sit her at the table and grab the plate of food I prepared earlier. The steak has gone cold, but I don’t care. What matters is getting her to eat something.

I set the plate in front of her, but as I sit beside her, I hesitate. My eyes flick to the silverware, and a deep worry gnaws at my gut. After what just happened, I can’t risk giving her the knife, not when she’s still in this fragile state.

Taking a deep breath, I cut the steak into small pieces myself, then pick one up with my fingers and hold it out to her. Abbie stares at me blankly for a moment, as if she doesn’t understand what I’m doing.

“Azalea’s pregnant.” Liam’s words hit me like a freight train, momentarily stopping me in my tracks. “We have another royal brat on the way,” he chuckles. “Clarice is so excited. Maybe Abbie hearing that will help her. She loves Azalea—she’ll be happy for her.”

I swallow hard, my mind racing. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this news will give Abbie a reason to keep going, something exciting for her when everything feels hopeless.

“I’ll tell her,” I say quietly before cutting off the mindlink.

Key in hand, I jam it in the lock and unlock the bathroom door, pushing it open. Steam billows out, and I immediately spot Abbie sitting on the shower floor, her knees pulled tightly to her chest as the hot water cascades over her. She looks so small, so fragile, and my heart clenches painfully in my chest.

“Abbie,” I say softly, stepping inside. She flinches at the sound of my voice, shrinking back against the wall, but I ignore it. I know it’s an automatic reaction, a reflex born from everything she’s endured. I’m not going to take it personally.

Without a word, I begin stripping off my clothes, leaving only my boxer shorts on. Abbie’s eyes widen in alarm, and she immediately tries to stand, to leave the shower, but I block her path.

“Stay,” I say firmly, but gently.

Her breathing quickens, her eyes darting around the small space as panic sets in. “Gannon, please⁠—”

“You’ve seen me naked before,” I remind her quietly, keeping my voice calm and steady. “I’m not going to hurt you, Abbie. I would never hurt you.”

She shakes her head, her whole body trembling. “I… I can’t⁠—”

“Yes, you can.” I cage her in gently, placing my hands on either side of her to prevent her from fleeing. Slowly, carefully, I take her trembling hands in mine and place them on my chest, right over my heart. “Feel that? My heart only beats for you.”

Her hands tremble against my skin, but she doesn’t pull away. I let her feel the steady rhythm of my heartbeat, hoping it will help ground her, help her see I mean her no harm.

Reaching for the soap, I lather it in my hands before gently running them over her arms. She stiffens at first, but gradually, she relaxes under my touch, her breathing evening out as the tension drains from her body.

“Azalea’s pregnant,” I say softly, working the shampoo through her hair. “You’re going to be an aunty.” My lips tug up at the thought. It makes me wonder if Abbie wants kids, though I know that would be far off in the future if ever.

Abbie freezes for a moment, tilting her head back slightly to look at me, her eyes wide as she processes my words. Slowly, a faint spark of something—hope, maybe—flickers in her eyes. “She’s… she’s pregnant?” she whispers, and I can tell that, for the first time in a long while, she feels something other than pain.

“She is,” I confirm, rinsing the soap from her hair. “And she’s going to need you. We’re going to need you.” I tell her and she chews her lip, returning her gaze back to the shower wall.

“Abbie?” I ask, rinsing her hair.

“I’m going to be an aunty,” she whispers and I press my lips to her shoulder.

“Yes, you are.”