Breathe by Melanie McCullough Read Free Book Online

tank top sat crumpled atop a pile of leaves at her feet and Jeff’s mouth was on her collarbone, his hand cupping her breast.
    “Hey,” I shouted as I moved toward them.
    Jeff’s head shot up, his eyes flicking to me as he took a step back. “What the hell man?”
    Pushing Jeff away from Abby with one hand, I shoved the hoodie I held in the other into her chest. “She’s drunk douchebag,” I spat at Jeff.
    “What are you, her mother?”
    “Nah, her mother would care as little as you do.” I picked up Jeff’s T-shirt from the ground and tossed it at him. “Just get outta here.”
    “Don’t think that’s your call to make.” Jeff stared me down, his eyes hard. It was the most determined I’d ever seen him. I imagined that if brought that kind of passion to the pool he might win a race or two.
    Turning back to Abby, I waited. She pulled the hoodie on over her bra and zipped it up to her chin, her bottom lip trembling. “Go, Jeff,” she ordered.
    I turned a self-satisfied smile in his direction. “You heard the lady,” I told him.
    “Abby…” he pleaded.
    “Just go,” she said.
    His expression turned sour. “Fine,” he snapped, walking away and pulling his t-shirt over his head, glaring at me as he passed. Fuck him.
    “Jesus, Abby,” I breathed once he’d dragged his sorry ass back to the bonfire. 
    “Nothing happened.” She refused to look at me. Kept her gaze fixed on the ground. On the tank top beside her. She hadn’t put it back on.
    “What if I hadn’t come looking for you?”
    “Nothing happened,” she insisted, still staring at the shirt.
    “It didn’t look like nothing from where I stood.” 
    She bent over, picked up the shirt, and threw it at me. “Look at it,” she screeched. 
    My stomach knotted. To be honest, I was afraid of what I might find, but I unfurled the shirt anyway. Small, splotchy stains peppered the front. I’d expected something a little more shocking. “Okay, Ab, what am I looking at?”
    “I’ve washed it three times,” she told me.
    “Okay…”
    “It won’t come out.”
    “But what is it?” I still couldn’t understand how a few stains on a tank top had anything to do with letting Jeff Walker grope her in the woods.
    Abby raised her eyebrows, creating small creases in the smooth, pale skin of her forehead. “It’s his,” she insisted as if I should have known the answer all along.
    I glanced again at the rust colored stains and finally understood what she was attempting to explain. It was his . It was Tom Ford’s blood.

Chapter Four
    Abby
     
     
    I’d met Tom Ford about a year prior to his death. “I’ll have a beer,” were the first words he said to me. Lounging in a low-back barstool surrounding a small round table with three other guys, he had handed me his credit card and told me to start a tab.
    “Large crowd for a Tuesday,” I leaned over the bar and remarked to Uncle Jim.
    He’d looked up from his crouched position behind the bar and stopped shelving freshly washed pilsner glasses. “Biggest crowd we’ve had in weeks,” he’d agreed and pulled himself up to his full height. It always amazed me that Uncle Jim and I shared the same genes. He was massive and I was slight, like my mother. “What d’ya need?” he asked.
    “Four bottles of Miller Light for the guys at table seven.” I’d placed the credit card on the bar top. “Oh, and the tall one says to start a tab.”
    Uncle Jim eyed the group at table seven, turned, pulled four bottles from the refrigerator behind him, and then placed them on a tray. “Have Becca take ‘em their drinks.”
    “What?” I’d laughed. “Why?”
    He’d glanced at the group again. “’Cause I don’t like the looks of ‘em.”
    I’d chuckled then, thinking my uncle was merely being overprotective. “You just don’t like strangers,” I’d replied and looked over my shoulder at the four men. “They seem harmless enough.”
    Now I stood in the woods, Garrett holding my