Last Minute (Timeless Series Book 3)
Chapter 11

I stared at Abel with wide eyes as the words I killed a child hung in the air. A bird chirped in a nearby tree, but all I could do was stare at the side of his face. Thousands of questions tumbled through my mind.

“How?” It was the only word I could get out.

His shoulders slumped as the weight of the truth bore down on the both of us. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Abel sighed and wiped his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “I had been working as a distribution manager for a local distillery near Kalamazoo. We were short-staffed, so the owner had asked a few of us to stay late, work an overnight shift to try and catch up. I’d been saving every penny to go toward my dream of opening a brewery and wanted the overtime.” Abel’s voice was low and shaky. “We worked all through the night. By the time we finished, I was exhausted. We cleaned up the shop and called it a night. I wasn’t high or drunk. I was just . . . tired.”

Pain was etched on Abel’s face, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as if he could still feel the fatigue wash over him. “Thing is, I didn’t think twice about climbing behind the wheel. I just wanted to get home.” He swallowed hard and struggled to continue. “Somewhere along the highway, I nodded off and struck an oncoming vehicle.”

I froze with a sharp intake of breath. I hadn’t meant to react, but I couldn’t help it. My mind whirred. “So it was an accident.”

Abel shook his head. “No. I killed him.”

“An accident,” I repeated carefully. “Abel, you have to know that you went to prison because of an accident.”

His jaw flexed. “My lawyer tried to argue that the final positioning of the vehicles suggested I wasn’t who crossed the center line, but . . . the prosecutor didn’t see it as an accident, and neither did the judge. The penalties for drowsy driving are the same as for charges of driving under the influence of alcohol or drugs. They had to prove that I operated a vehicle intentionally recklessly, with a willful disregard for the safety of others, and they did.”

“How long did you have to be in jail?” My words were barely a whisper.

“I could have had up to fifteen years, but the mother testified on my behalf.” Abel scoffed. “Can you believe that? A dead child and a broken back, and she’d asked for leniency when I didn’t deserve it.”

I bit back the tears. Would I have been so forgiving?

“I served five years.” Abel finally looked at me. His umber eyes were stormy with unspoken emotion. I was sure he was waiting for me to shove him away, maybe scream and run because he saw himself as a reckless killer.

My heart ached for him, and I could barely whisper “Okay.”

He frowned in disbelief. “What do you mean, okay?”

I nodded. “I asked for the truth, and you gave it to me, even though it was hard for you to do. It’s not my story to tell, so I won’t share it with anyone, but my worry is satisfied.”

His eyes scanned my face as though he couldn’t believe my acceptance was that easy. Truth was, I had about a thousand other questions, but I knew in my bones Abel was a protector. He was a good man.

“I still think we can make this work,” I said, placing my hand on his forearm.

When he shifted, I let my hand slip off and tucked it into my lap.

Abel’s scowl was locked into place. “What will you tell the kids?”

I lifted a shoulder. “Only as much as they need to know. We’re friends, and friends help each other. You’re helping us while we get started on fixing up the farmhouse. They don’t need to know more than that.”

When I said it out loud, it seemed easy. Simple. I only hoped that was the case.

He slowly nodded. “Makes sense.”

Finally, I tilted my head toward Abel and said, “So are we really doing this?”

He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees, gazing out into the yard with sad eyes. “Looks like we’re really doing this.”

Holy shit. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Five days after Abel rescued me and brought me to his house, I was standing in front of the steps of the Remington County Courthouse. Michigan law required a three-day waiting period after applying for a marriage license before it could be issued and used. We then had thirty days to change our minds.

Since this was strictly a business arrangement, we’d wasted no time in deciding to stand in front of a judge and make things official. After dropping the twins off at the library, I’d offered to drive us both, but Abel insisted that he meet me there.

County law also required that we supply two witnesses. When I saw Sylvie round the corner, my chest pinched.

She waved. “What’s with the cloak-and-dagger texts?” She offered a quick hug, and her hands stayed planted on my shoulders. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

I swallowed hard and looked around. “No, not trouble really. But I do have something to tell you. It’s going to be a shock, and I hope you’re not mad.”

Sylvie steeled her spine and lifted her chin. “Okay. I’m ready.”

I offered a wary grimace as I said, “I’m marrying Abel today and need you to be my witness.” I hoped my words sounded playful and upbeat, but I was fairly certain I sounded like I was going to puke.

“You’re what?!” Sylvie shrieked.

My hands came together in front of me. “I know. I know. I should have said something sooner, but I was worried you’d freak out or that he’d back out and I would have told you for nothing. Hear me out. I promise it’s not as bad as you think.”

“I doubt that.” Sylvie crossed her arms. “But I’m listening.”

“I have money from my dad that I can’t access unless I have a significant life event—like getting married. I need that money. Ergo, I need a husband.”

“And you’re marrying Abel?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Yes. In exchange, I am investing in Abel’s Brewery so he can buy your dad out, but we also need him to believe that Abel and I are actually married . . . which means I’m also moving in with him?” The end of my sentence rose as if I were asking a question.

In reality, I was just hoping Sylvie would still speak to me after all this.

She exhaled. “What the hell, Sloane?”

“I know.” My nose scrunched. “Do you hate me?”

Sylvie pulled me into a hug. “No, I don’t hate you. Do I think this is totally out of left field and kind of fucked up? Yeah . . . but who am I to judge? It’s just that . . . wow.” She laughed as the reality of the situation settled over us. “Wow!”

I smiled at my best friend. “I guess this means we’ll be sisters. At least . . . on paper and for a little while anyways.”

Sylvie shook her head. “I mean, if you’re really getting married, are you sure you don’t want your grandfather here?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Definitely not. I’ve got enough on my plate without my granddad poking his nose into things. He’s a romantic at heart and wouldn’t understand that this is strictly business. He needs to know as little as possible.”

Sylvie nodded once. “Got it. Well . . . I guess you’re marrying Abel then . . .”

I swallowed hard and looked up at the courthouse. “I guess so.”

Just inside, we waited for Abel, and I tried not to let my nerves get the best of me. I paced across the tile as my fingertips played with the hem of my shirt. Despite their pleading and open dislike for Jared, my dad and stepmom had once paid for a big, splashy wedding—complete with a dress that made me look like a frosted cupcake. I’d grown up and now I knew better. Today was a business arrangement and nothing more. Plus, I was on shift at the brewery later, so I chose to wear a pair of black jeans and a formfitting black shirt that I could swap out for an Abel’s Brewery tee later. The outfit was simple and no-nonsense.

I’d chosen it in part to keep my brain from thinking things like: Why does Abel smell so good? Will he keep saying my wife in that gruff tone I seem to like so much? What if this feeling isn’t entirely fake? Oh, fuck, am I making a huge mistake?

When I saw Abel walking up the courthouse steps, my heart sank. Beside him was his aunt Bug.

For the first time in my life, I saw him dressed in a suit that looked as though it had been tailor-made for him. It was nearly black, but in the sunlight I could see the expensive material was, in fact, a beautiful dark gray. His black dress shoes were shined, and the white of his shirtsleeves peeked out from his jacket.

He’d worn a tie.

Shit.

I gulped and looked down at my own outfit. Nerves rippled through me, and I sent a pleading look to Sylvie. With nowhere to go and no time to change, I stood my ground. When he opened the glass doors and entered the corridor of the courthouse, I adjusted the strap to my purse and smiled.

Thank god I remembered lipstick.

“Hi,” I chirped.

Abel’s eyes floated down my front and back up, snagging on my red lip.

“Morning.”

Nervous, I ran an errant hand down his white dress shirt, noticing he’d even trimmed his stubble. “You sure clean up nice.”

Abel leaned away from my touch and tugged at his collar. He angled his body away and held his arm out for Bug. “Aunt Bug, I think you’ve met Sloane.”

Bug King was the standing matriarch of the King family. It was common knowledge that she was stern and humorless. Her assessing eyes moved over me, and I tried not to squirm under her stare.

I let out a surprised squeak when she pulled me into a hug. “Thank you for doing this for him,” she whispered in my ear.

I watched Abel over her shoulder as he shifted uncomfortably. It seemed the story he’d told her left out what I was gaining as a part of the arrangement. After she released me, Bug moved toward Sylvie and started chatting, no doubt about the impromptu wedding they’d both been thrown into.

Determined to make the best of this, I smiled up at Abel. “Ready for this?”

A small laugh escaped him. “Definitely not.”

I looped my arm into his. “Aw, come on. I told you—I’m going to be the best wife you’ve ever had.”

When I went to step forward, Abel stayed rooted to the spot, and I glanced up at him.

His eyes were soft and warm. “Before we go in . . . I have something for you.” He adjusted his stance and reached into his pocket, pulling out a simple silver band.

He held it between us as I stared.

Abel cleared his throat. “It was my mother’s.”

My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh, Abel . . . no. I couldn’t⁠—”

“It wasn’t her wedding band or anything.” Abel shook his head. “I remember Mom wearing it on her right hand. She never went anywhere without it. For some reason she’d left it on the dresser when she . . . you know, left us.”

His eyes were steady on mine, but they held a depth of emotion I couldn’t quite read.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I managed to grab it before my dad burned it with the rest of her stuff.” Abel shrugged. “I figured this is probably the only marriage I’m going to get, so . . . it just felt like you should have a ring.”

My heart thumped and my chest ached for the small, motherless boy he had been.

“It’s beautiful.” I held out my left hand and allowed him to slip it on my ring finger. “Huh.” I smiled and flipped my hand over. “It fits.”

His jaw flexed as he stared at my finger. “We should go in.”

I steadied my shoulders and tried to ignore the weight that slim silver band added to my hand. “Let’s do it.”

Side by side we found our way to the appropriate office, Sylvie and Bug not far behind us. The clerk reviewed our paperwork and gestured toward the seats that lined the large office window. “We’ll call you when it’s time.”

In near silence, the four of us sat in the stiff wooden chairs and stared ahead. Only the sounds of creaking wood and the shuffling of paper filled the waiting room.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door to the judge’s quarters opened, and a woman filled the doorway. “Sloane Robinson and Abel King?”

We stood before her.

Here goes nothing.