by Lara Adrian
“I don’t do this, either, Gabe. I haven’t wanted to let anyone in for a long time.” I rub my hand along his covered thigh, caressing him, drawing on his strength. “After I left modeling, I spent a long time in hospitals too. Emergency rooms. Rehab programs. I even checked myself into a mental institution for a few months.”
“Christ,” he whispers, reaching up to engulf my hand in his.
I force a laugh. “Real sexy, right?”
“Just real,” he says, returning my answer in a voice that’s so tender it nearly breaks me. “What happened? You mentioned eating disorders and the drug addiction, the physical exhaustion. But I know there’s more.”
I nod. “There’s more.”
“The subway?”
I swallow, unsure I’m ready to admit out loud just how weak I’d once been. No one knows the depth of my self-destructive impulses because I haven’t dared speak them out loud. Not then, and not in all the time since. But Gabe’s hazel eyes hold me gently, a tether I feel myself reaching for even through my fear and shame.
“It was about a year before L’Opale opened. I had finally come through everything. I’d gotten better . . . so I thought. I was clean and sober. My weight had rebounded. Anyone looking at me would think I was completely healthy.” I shake my head, glancing down as the memories swamp me. “I’d fought my way back. I’d survived something that should have killed me.” The words clog in my throat. “I should have been happy. Why couldn’t I have just been happy?”
“Baby.” Gabe curses, bitter and sharp. He gathers me up, lifting me onto the edge of the tub beside him and swinging my bare legs over his so that I’m halfway on his lap. He pivots toward me, caressing my face, his brow furrowed. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
“I should have been grateful simply to be alive, but instead--”
“All you wanted to do was die.”
“Yes.” I’m astonished that he knows how I felt, that he understands. And yet I shouldn’t be. Because I can see a similar pain in his handsome face, in those haunted eyes that have seemed to reach deep inside me from the moment our gazes first met.
“I bought groceries that morning,” I tell him. “There is this great farmers market in Inwood, at the northern tip of Manhattan.”
“I know the place,” he remarks. “I don’t live far from there.”
“I took the subway to the market,” I say, as his comforting touch and patient, concerned gaze encourages me to continue. “I always took the subway around the city before that day. And I’m not sure what was different on that morning, but as I was returning home, I just felt lost. I felt so empty and afraid. I remember standing on the platform, waiting for the train. My foot kept inching forward, onto the yellow line . . . then over it. I felt the vibration of the oncoming train as it started rolling into the station. I remember I closed my eyes as I inched farther forward.”
“Jesus Christ.”
I can’t hold Gabe’s bleak stare as I let the rest of the words spill out. I glance down, ashamed. Terrified of what he’ll think of me. “I remember feeling nothing but air beneath my right foot. Then the sudden gust of hot, exhaust-tinged wind. Less than an instant later, I was violently yanked back. I stumbled on my heels and landed on my ass on the concrete platform. I don’t know who saved me. The crush of people crowding on and off the train was like a stampede. All I saw were legs and moving bodies. I left my groceries scattered everywhere on the ground and I ran back up to the street. I ran for blocks and blocks before I finally collected myself enough to hail a taxi home.”
“And you’ve never stepped foot in the subway again.”
I shake my head, swallowing hard. “I can’t. I’m afraid it could happen again.”
“Not if you don’t let it.” He caresses my cheek, then leans forward and kisses me softly on the lips. “And it won’t ever happen again while I have anything to say about it. Scout’s honor.”
I smile in spite of the cold weight that’s settled inside me. But that weight is lessening. It’s lifting, the longer I stare into Gabe’s eyes.
I want to believe him. I want to trust that what I’m feeling is real.
He kisses me again, his strong hands cupping my face. When he releases me and settles back, he sighs heavily. For several long moments, he doesn’t speak. I’m not even sure he’s breathing. But then his hand covers mine, his thumb idly brushing my fingers.
“The day of my injury, my platoon was coming in from a routine sweep for IEDs. We’d spent eight hours combing a stretch of godforsaken, hot desert dirt road. It had been a good day, as far as good days went in Kandahar. We were heading back to base on a road we’d been on a hundred times before when the explosion hit. Our vehicle went airborne. It slammed down on its side, smoke and flying shrapnel everywhere. Fire burning inside and out. My ears were ringing from the detonation, but I could still hear my friend Norris choking on his own blood beside me. His chest was gone, nothing but an ugly hole. The other guys were already dead. Somehow, I crawled out of the vehicle. I tried to get up and walk, but--” He chuckles grimly. “It took me a minute to realize what I was seeing when I looked down at what was left of my leg. I was still crawling through the blood and twisted metal and body parts when another unit rolled up and pulled me out of there.”
“Gabriel.” All I can manage is a whisper. I don’t want to break down in front of him, but the pain I feel for him is staggering. When I know any words I have to say will prove inadequate, even harmful, I reach out and wrap him in my arms.
“I wanted to die too,” he says, his breath warm in my hair. “I know what it’s like to survive and wake up some days wishing you hadn’t. But you get through. Whatever it takes, you get through.”
I don’t know if he’s giving me a command, or if he needs the reassurance as well. Either way, I hug him closer. His arms cocoon me against his strong body, and I think I could stay here like this forever.
But all we get are a few moments.
His phone rings, and I reluctantly let him go as he reaches down to retrieve it from atop his folded pants on the edge of the tub.
“Don’t tell me that’s my brother or Nick calling you at this hour.”
“No,” he says, frowning. “It’s my brother, Jake. I have to take this.”
He answers, and while he listens, I catch only snippets of the deep voice on the other end, speaking in an urgent tone. Gabe’s face goes slack. A curse punches out of him.
“Okay. Yeah, I’m on my way now.”
My heart was already heavy, but now it’s filled with cold dread when I see the bleak look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“My father’s had a stroke. The ambulance just picked him and my mother up. I have to get to the hospital right now.”
20
~ Gabriel ~
The intensive care unit’s doors swing open in the short hall outside the general waiting room. A grieving family exits together, their muffled sobs growing louder as the group moves listlessly toward the ICU floor’s elevator.
It’s been a constant stream of people in and out of the ward all day, some in tears, others walking in shell-shocked silence, a few so distraught they’ve melted down in sobbing puddles right outside the unit. I’d almost forgotten what a critical care area of a hospital sounded like, but in the sixteen hours since I arrived, it’s all come crashing back to vivid life again.
Idly, I check my phone for the hundredth time. I won’t find the number I really want to see. I left Evelyn’s place without asking how to reach her, and it’s not as if I can call her brother for the information. Instead, I kill a few minutes rereading texts from O’Connor and other members of my security team. There’s one from Dominic Baine, too, reiterating what he’d told me on the phone early this morning, that work would wait and I should take all the time I need to be with my family.
My family are some of the lucky ones today. According to Dad’s doctors, the clot that caused his stroke has been mitigated and if he continues to improve as they exp
ect, he should make a full recovery in time. The good news hasn’t kept my mother from worrying, though. She’s been in his room most of the day. As the unit’s doors whisk open again, I hear her voice in the hallway. It’s strained and weary, even as she insists to my brothers who accompany her that she wants to be back first thing tomorrow.
I rise from the uncomfortable waiting room chair as she enters with Jake and our next oldest brother, Ethan.
“Oh, honey. You’re still here?” She reaches for my hand, her slender fingers feeling cold and small in my grasp. “I thought you left a couple of hours ago with Shane.”
I shake my head. “I wanted to stay.”
She squeezes my hand, and I can almost feel her leaning on me for balance. My mother is petite and delicate looking, her sable hair shot through with silver strands, yet I know better than to think she’s anything but formidable.
Tonight, however, I am reminded that she is mortal. Just like my old man.
“How’s he doing?”
Ethan answers. “He’s been sleeping for the past few hours. They’ve got him on blood thinners and they’re running a bunch of tests, but it’s looking good. The doctors think he could be back home in about a week.”
I exhale a sigh, genuinely relieved. “That’s great news.”
Ethan nods in agreement. He slides a glance at Mom and runs a hand over the short waves of his chestnut-brown hair. “Dad’s almost out of the woods. Now, we need to keep this one in line.”
She scoffs lightly. “My heart is in that hospital room in there. I can count on one hand how many times your father and I have slept apart in our forty-three years together. I just hate leaving him here.”
Jake rests his hand on her back. “He’ll be home before you know it.”
“Jake’s right,” Ethan tells her, his deep voice grim. “And we all have you to thank for saving him, Mom. If you hadn’t called 911 right away, things would’ve turned out very different.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, nodding her head. “He didn’t want me to call. He was embarrassed. Stubborn man kept insisting he was fine.”
“What happened?” I ask. Until now, I haven’t wanted to press her for details.
“He woke up early this morning to go to the bathroom. I noticed he was a little off balance and he told me his leg had fallen asleep. Well, no sooner had he reached the toilet than I heard him fall. I ran in and found he’d collapsed on the floor. He was confused, and he was having trouble talking.”
“Classic warning signs,” Ethan interjects.
As a police officer also trained in basic emergency medical response, he should know. I’m personally aware of three instances where Ethan’s skills have saved lives.
And as a widower and father of an eight-year-old son, he, of all of us, truly understands the fragility of life.
“I’ve never seen your dad so upset,” Mom continues. “He could hardly form a coherent sentence, but he made it crystal clear that he did not want me calling an ambulance to come and find him naked in front of the toilet.”
Jake gives her a reassuring smile. “Nothing the EMTs haven’t seen before, I’m sure. Better the old man gets a little embarrassed than the alternative.”
“I know that,” she admits quietly. “I only hope he’ll agree.”
“If he doesn’t,” Jake says, “he’ll have to contend with all four of his sons.”
I meet my brother’s glance and nod. I may not be on the best terms with the old man, but I’m damn glad he’s going to be okay. Mom would be lost without him, and I don’t doubt that my brothers would be too.
Ethan releases a heavy sigh. “I’m going to take Mom home to my house tonight. Liam’s over at a neighbor’s while I’ve been here. He’ll be asleep by now, but I want him to wake up in his own bed. Besides, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have breakfast with Grandma.”
Mom smiles. “I’d like that too, sweetheart.”
She turns to Jake and tells him goodbye, hugging him close and kissing his cheek. Then she does the same with me. She holds on to me for an extra moment. “You’ve been here in the waiting room all day. You should go in and see your father before you go.”
I shrug. “Dad needs rest. I’ll look in on him next time I’m here.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, Mom. I promise.”
She pats my cheek the way she used to when I was her grandson’s age. “I’m sorry for all of this stress today. Especially for you, Gabriel. The last place you probably want to be is in a hospital. And I know how busy you must be with your new promotion.”
I shake my head. “It’s all right. Don’t ever hesitate to call me if something’s wrong with you or Dad.”
We say goodbye and Ethan escorts Mom to the elevator.
As they go, for what isn’t the first time, my thoughts return to where I was when Jake called this morning. Evelyn’s been on my mind more than I want to admit. The memory of her softness as she moved beneath me in her bed. Her exquisite, addictive sensuality. Her soothing, tender care after I’d withdrawn in self-directed anger for having let myself lose control with her.
I’m no better than my old man in a lot of ways. Yet she’d handled me with patience, with affection. With a trust I haven’t earned and don’t deserve.
I can’t deny the stark dread that shot through me when she joked about telling anyone that we’d been together. I’d acted like a dick, pushing her away and then losing my shit while I was donning my prosthesis.
If not for my job and her brother, everything would be different.
Everything but me. I’ll still be the same fucked up asshole I’ve always been, and she deserves something more.
That doesn’t mean I crave her any less.
If I had her phone number, I would have called her already. Not because I want to get between her legs again, although I do want that. Desperately. More than anything, I just really want to hear her voice.
As much as that ought to scare the ever-living shit out of me, it doesn’t.
With Mom and Ethan gone, Jake stares at me for a moment. “Awfully nice of Kelsey to stop by earlier tonight.”
“O’Connor? Yeah.” I nod. She’d come by the hospital for a few minutes on her way home from work, bringing a bag of fast food burgers and fries, which my brothers and I devoured on the spot. “I told her when she texted me this morning that she didn’t have to go to the trouble, but you see how far that got me with her.”
Jake smiles, still studying me. “She cares about you, man.”
“She’s a good friend.”
He clears his throat. “That all?”
I glance at him, frowning. “That’s all.”
“So, you and her . . . you two have never--”
“Slept together? Fuck no.” My scowl deepens. “And don’t you think about it, either. Like I said, she’s my friend. I’d hate to have to kill you if you touch her, brother.”
He backs off, holding up his hands. “Okay, okay. Point taken. It’s called a bro code for a reason.”
Bro code. Shit. What kind of hypocrite am I to hold Jake to any kind of sacred code when I’m breaching the one I have with Beck?
At this point, I don’t think any level of threat would be enough to keep me away from Evelyn. And while guarding her body is part of my current job description, I’m pretty sure doing it while naked is grounds enough to cost me both my job and another limb. Or three.
“You know what? Fuck me,” I tell Jake. “Fuck everything I just said. She digs you, in case you aren’t aware.”
He perks up again. “Yeah? You think so?”
I nod begrudgingly. “Yeah, she does.”
Although Jake’s a dedicated bachelor and makes no excuses for that fact, I know that deep down, where it matters, he’s a good man. Better than me, that’s for damn sure. And as much as I want to protect my friend O’Connor from heartache, she’s a grown woman capable of making her own decisions.
I scowl at my brother’s lopsided grin. “Get one
thing clear, though. You hurt her, and you answer to me.”
“Done.” Jake cuffs my shoulder. “What do you say we get out of here? You up for a beer?”
I shake my head, even before my brain kicks in. “Long day. I’m just going to head back to the city.”
I hardly ever turn down a chance to hang with my brother, but right now it’s not alcohol I’m craving. It’s not hard, anonymous sex at one of Jared Rush’s private-invitation clubs, either, which astonishes me to realize. Normally, after a stressful day like this one, I turn to either one of those outlets--often both.
Right now, I can think of only one thing I need.
Jake and I walk down to our cars, and he drives off toward Bayside. I head for the Queensboro Bridge and the fastest route back to Manhattan. Back to the Upper East Side apartment building I have no business being at, yet cannot seem to drive past.
Using Evelyn’s garage code from last night, I park next to her Volvo and take the elevator up to the tenth floor. My palms are damp, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. I stand outside her door for a long minute before I raise my hand and knock.
Shuffling footsteps sound from inside, then a pause. I flick my gaze to the peephole.
“Gabe?” Her voice is muted by the panel that separates us, but the locks are already snicking free and then she pulls the door open and stares at me. She’s wearing a wine-colored camisole and loose black pajama pants. No makeup, her dark hair swept up in a messy bun.
And Christ, she’s never looked more beautiful.
I can see the questions in her eyes. I can see the worry. It’s the soft affection that humbles me the most.
I have things I want to say to her--apologies for this morning, and for the way I’ve showed up on her doorstep late tonight without permission or explanation.
There are a hundred different things I want to tell her, all of them jammed in my throat. And they all boil down to just one truth, anyway.
“There’s nowhere else I want to be right now.”
She opens her arms, and I walk into them.
