by Rebecca Shea
“What are you doing here?” I mumble, wiping tears from my face with the back of my hand. Looking at me like he doesn’t know what to say, I grab his hand and pull him inside the condo and out of the doorway. He takes a few hesitant steps into the kitchen area, and I notice him looking around the condo.
“Can we talk?” Gabe asks, “Is now an ok time?”
Extending my arm toward the living room, I nod. “Yeah, have a seat.” Finding a spot on the love seat that sits perpendicular to the couch, I see him fidgeting with his hands. I sit at the end of the couch nearest him and take a deep breath.
“Landon called me,” he says immediately, and my heart stops again.
“What? Why?” I question him.
Shaking his head at me, he continues, “He didn’t say much. Just that you needed me, but you wouldn’t call.”
Closing my eyes, I remember every word Landon said to me on the beach last week. The words are ingrained in my memory.
“There can’t be an ‘us’ when you’re heart belongs to someone else.”
“I will never be that guy for you. I want someone who needs me to breathe, to survive, and to love. For you, that’s Gabe.”
“You need to call him.”
I hear Landon’s deep voice whispering these words to me again. I close my eyes and listen to those words repeat in my head.
“I will leave right now if you want me too,” he says, looking at his hands.
“No,” I whisper. The tears are back in my eyes, threatening to spill over once again. “I need to talk to you, and I owe you an apology.”
He shifts slightly on the couch. “Before you start, there is something I need to say.” Making direct eye contact with him, he clears his throat. “When you came to say goodbye that night, I know you thought something was going on with Heather. There’s not. Luke and Heather are dating. She had just walked up and given me a hug, and that’s when I saw you. Jess, for three and half months all I have done is think about you. For the rest of my life, I will regret not fighting harder for you. I should have fought harder for us.”
Tears are literally spilling in buckets down my face. Listening to the words he is speaking is breaking my heart. He isn’t to blame for any of this, yet here he sits trying to own wrongs that he didn’t commit.
“I should never have let you go that easily. But I was so scared for you. I still am.” He admits, pausing. “I know you needed time, and I tried to give that to you. But please, don’t for one second think that the time and space I gave you was any indication that I didn’t love you. Until the day I die, I will love you with my last breath.”
Sliding off the couch, I lay my head in his lap and cry. He places his hand gently on the back of my neck and lightly rubs. Through the tears and sobs, all I can muster out is, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over.
For hours, we sit and talk. I don’t know how many ‘I’m sorry’s’ I said, but I’m certain it will never be enough. We talked about my therapy, my internship, and even Landon. I was surprised to hear how Landon contacted him, but with every beat of my heart and every breath from my lungs, I’m so thankful he did. I haven’t talked to Landon since he dropped me off after our talk on the beach. Something in my gut told me that night would be the last time I talked to him.
For the first time in months, I wake up excited. Gabe is asleep in the guest room, and I feel a sense of hope. I don’t know where this will lead us, but it felt good to talk to him and apologize. It felt good to explain my feelings, my thoughts, and why Dr. Peterson called me a ‘runner’. I’ve never faced my issues head on, and for the first time, with Gabe here, I did.
I slowly open the door to the guest room and peek my head inside. He is sprawled across the top of the bed wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. His jeans are on the floor in a pile with his t-shirt. He didn’t even pull the comforter back on the bed. I know the three-hour time difference is hard, and we talked until the early morning hours. Closing the door, I lean back against it and smile.
Shuffling through the fridge, I realize that I have nothing except coffee creamer. Jotting down a small list, I grab my keys and wallet and head to the grocery store. Filling my basket with fruit, eggs, bacon, bread, and muffins, I grab a few extra items to snack on throughout the day. Unloading all of my items onto the belt, I reach for the last item. Setting it down on the belt, something, actually someone catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. Landon is standing three lanes down holding a few plastic bags full of groceries. We make eye contact for a brief second before he shifts his eyes and turns to walk away.
“Landon,” I holler at him. I know he hears me calling his name. “Landon,” I yell again. I see him slow for a second, dropping his head back slightly, but then he continues to walk away. I’m left standing in the grocery store as I watch him walk away from me for a second time.
Making the short drive home, the sadness of watching Landon ignore me for the final time dissipates with the happiness and excitement, knowing that Gabe is waiting for me. I can’t help but feel a sense of peacefulness and contentment with him being here. I line a cookie sheet with parchment paper and bacon, putting it in the oven to cook. I whisk eggs and some milk in a bowl, while I warm up a pan to scramble the mixture in. I also prepare French toast and a large fruit salad. Lastly, I start the coffee.
Setting the table, I get back into the kitchen to finish the eggs and French toast. Reaching into the cupboard, I grab two large coffee mugs. Turning to set them on the breakfast bar, I see Gabe sitting on one of the barstools. A small smile is spread across his face.
“What?” I ask, smiling back at him.
“You look good, really good.”
“Thanks. So do you,” I respond quietly. It’s like I’m meeting him for the first time with the butterflies in my stomach.
“Let me help you,” he says, jumping up from the stool. He grabs the coffee mugs and fruit bowl while I plate up the French toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs.
“This looks amazing, but you didn’t have to go through the trouble,” he says before taking a sip of coffee.
“It wasn’t any trouble. Plus, I wanted to. I like cooking for you,” I smile at him. “How did you sleep?” He still looks tired. I notice the dark circles under his eyes and see the way he is sucking down his coffee, like it’s the drug that will keep him alive.
He’s quiet, contemplating how to answer my questions. “Actually, for the first time in months, I actually slept well,” he says quietly. I feel guilty, knowing that I was the cause of so much stress and many sleepless nights for him.
I reach out and place my hand on top of his, just a small gesture, an unspoken apology. “So how long are you hear for?” I ask, hoping he’ll say forever.
“I leave tomorrow. I have to be back at work on Monday. You know, that boss of mine is a real slave driver,” he laughs. Laughing back, I can’t help but think of my dad. Even though he’s not a man of many words, I really do miss him.
Picking up our dishes from the table, I carry them to the sink. Gabe follows behind with the few I couldn’t carry. It feels good to be standing next to him, falling into old routines like we used too, except I have no idea where this, or rather us, is going. Bending over, I stack the plates side by side into the dishwasher. Standing up to retrieve the remaining dishes in the sink, Gabe pulls me to him, pressing his soft lips against mine.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t look at your mouth any longer without tasting it,” he mumbles against my lips. Relaxing into his embrace, I let him kiss me, relishing the feel of his lips on mine. He devours my mouth like it might be the last time he ever kisses me. For all I know, it might be.
I kiss him back while wrapping my arms around his neck. Lifting me gently to the breakfast bar, he sets me on the cold granite countertop. I gasp when the back of my warm thighs press against the ice-cold granite.
“And I love how you look wearing my t-shirt,” he says, brushing his hand across his name that is screen-printed o
ver my left breast. I smile against his kiss.
Pulling out of his kiss, I run my hands down both sides of his face, holding him. “I wore it almost every night since I’ve been here,” I tell him, wanting him to know that just because I ran, he was never far from my thoughts. Pressing his forehead against mine, he leans in one last time to press a firm kiss to my lips.
“I’ve missed you more than you’ll ever know or understand,” he whispers.
“I’ve missed you too.”
“Hey, I’d love to show you where I’m working, if you’re interested,” I say.
“I’d like that,” he says with a smile.
It’s Saturday afternoon and WXZI should be fairly quiet. It’ll be a great time to show him the station without being in the way. Using my keycard, we enter through the front door to the always-empty reception area. Gabe gives a little whistle as he takes in the leather furniture and swanky desk that no one uses.
Rolling my eyes at him, I grab his hand and pull him down the hall to the area where all of the offices and cubicles are. Weaving our way through four-foot cubicle walls, I lead him into my cubicle.
“Very fancy,” he says with a smirk. “You’ve hit the glass ceiling, haven’t you?” he kids with me.
“Don’t be mean,” I fire back. “This internship was all but given to me on a silver platter in exchange for counseling,” I mumble out.
“What?” he asks confused.
Flinging my purse onto my desk, I fall into my desk chair and slouch down. “When Janet called me to tell me I had to make a decision on my internship right away, I went to her office. I was still pretty bruised up, and with a few questions and a mini-mental breakdown in her office, I told her what happened. Kevin, the News Director is her brother. She told me the internship was mine if I wanted it, but she made going to counseling a condition of my internship,” I explain.
“Can she do that?” he asks.
I actually laugh. “No, I don’t think so, but I was so desperate to escape, I took her up on the offer.” I realize how those words must hurt him. “But Dr. Peterson has been wonderful, she’s really helped me work through a lot of my issues, but I know I still have a long road ahead of me.”
Gabe nods his head in understanding. “So that’s why you left so quickly, to escape?” he asks timidly. I know he fears over stepping his boundaries.
“Kind of. The other reason was you. I know I hurt you when I broke up with you.” I feel a lump form in my throat, but I need to tell him this. “Every day when I would look out my window, get in my car, or lie in my bed, all I saw was you.”
Interrupting, he snaps at me, “And what was wrong with that?” His eyes are squinting and he looks angry.
“Nothing is wrong with that, and everything was wrong with that,” I offer. “I felt at that time you deserved better. Mentally, physically, and emotionally I was broken,” I mumble. “You deserved someone who wasn’t—me.”
Moving closer to me, he bends down so we’re eye to eye. Sitting forward in my chair, I lean into him, our faces mere inches apart. “Do you still feel that way? That I deserve someone better?” he asks quietly, his eyes softening.
“Sometimes,” I say honestly and divert my eyes to a picture hanging on the wall of my cube.
Grabbing my chin lightly, he turns my head back toward him. “All I have ever wanted was you and is still you. You are what I deserve,” he whispers. Pressing his lips to mine, he offers me the softest, sweetest kiss. “Understand me?” he asks, still not releasing his grip on my chin.
“Understand,” I quietly return.
“Good.”
With that, he stands up, pulling me up out of my chair. “Now show me around this place so we can go to the beach.” He laughs and takes a hold of my hand. For the next half hour, I show him the ins and outs of a small TV station. He genuinely seems interested and smiles when I get excited about teleprompters and newsfeeds.
The afternoon was spent lying on a blanket in the soft sand at the beach just outside my condo. Conversation was easy, just like it used to be. But there was an unsettling feeling that hovered around us. I knew he felt it too as he’d been a bit more quiet and restless for the last few hours.
Lying on our backs, his fingers are laced through mine, just like we used to do. Pulling my hand to his mouth, he runs his lips over all of my knuckles and places gentle kisses to the top of my hand.
“Jess,” he says. “Come home.” It’s a quiet plea. “I need you with me in California.”
“So much has changed,” I say. “I’ve pushed everyone I care about out of my life: you, Ava, Mom, and Dad. I’m almost embarrassed to go home.” Sitting up, he looks down at me as I fling my arm over my eyes to hide the tears rolling down my temples and into my hair.
“Everyone misses you and wants you to come home, not just me,” he says.
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m just not sure I’m ready yet.”
“Will you ever be ready? Or will I be waiting forever?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t know,” I tell him through my tears and a shaky voice. The look on his face is desperation, and sadness. The damage I’ve caused is heartbreaking, and I hate myself for it. The rest of the evening is filled with moments of awkward silence. We’re tip-toeing around the delicate subject of us.
“What time do you have to leave tomorrow?” I ask him as we sit on the living room floor picking at our Thai take-out.
“Eight o’clock. I have to drive back to Charlotte and return the rental car before my two o’clock flight,” he says, pushing his food back and forth across his plate.
“Gabe?” I say quietly. Reaching out, I place my hand on his arm, stilling him. Looking at my hand, he drops his fork and places his other hand over mine, but he won’t look at me.
“I’m really happy you’re here,” I say.
“Me too.” He squeezes my hand.
I don’t sleep for all but ten minutes over the course of the night. I toss and turn and watch the minutes tick away on the alarm clock that sits on the bedside nightstand. Finally, around seven in the morning, I pull myself out of bed and take a quick shower. Putting his fire department t-shirt back on, I pull on some clean yoga pants and head downstairs to make coffee. By the time my feet hit the second stair on my way down, I see him. There he sits on the loveseat with his already packed bag lying on the floor. He’s staring at the wall, deep in thought.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” He turns toward me and responds with a half smile.
He looks as bad as I feel. The dark circles under his eyes are even darker. He looks exhausted. Sitting down on the loveseat next to him, I run my hand over his unshaven face, stopping to run my thumb over his lower lip. His hand stops mine and pulls it away from his mouth.
“When did you get this?” he asks, running his finger across my barely healed tattoo on my inner left wrist. “I noticed it yesterday but forgot to ask,” he says.
“Last week.”
“What does it mean?” he asks, tracing each letter of the script that is barely visible against my skin.
“Unbreakable,” I whisper.
“Unbreakable,” he whispers back, running his fingers back and forth, over and over again across my wrist.
“I finally decided that I can’t let circumstances or events that I have no control over break me,” I offer. “No better reminder than to have it front and center every day where I have to see it and can’t forget it,” I explain. A small smile crosses his face, and he pulls my inner wrist to his lips. He closes his eyes and gently presses small kisses along my wrist and over the tattoo.
“I have to go,” his voice breaks. Clearing his throat, he stands up still holding my hand. Pulling me into a hug, I wrap myself around him.
“I love you,” I whisper in his ear. “Thank you for finding me.”
“I love you too. God, you have no idea how much I love you.”
Pulling away from me, he saunters over to his bag, picks it up, and turns back
to me. “I will wait for you. When you are ready to come home, I’ll be there. I will always wait for you.” And that’s when I know there is no one in this world for me other than Gabe Garcia.
“Turn down Beach Avenue,” I direct Matt as I do every shift we work. Driving past her condo has become a ritual for me when we’re on duty.
“Have you talked to her?” Matt asks, his voice masked with sympathy.
“Nope,” I reply abruptly. “Only two more days of you driving my sorry ass past her place,” I reply quietly. “She’s moving back to California.” The patrol car is silent except for the radio broadcasting calls, which Matt has turned the volume down so that it’s almost inaudible.
“Sorry, brother,” Matt says.
“It’s okay. It’s what’s best for her.” Saying those words, even thinking them, is fucking killing me. I keep my attention focused out my window, trying to not get emotional. “She was different,” I say, turning my head to look at Matt.
“I know,” he says, nodding his head in agreement. “I’ve never seen you like this over any woman. She has to be something. I really am sorry.”
“Thanks,” I reply, knowing he’s right. I fuck women. I use them and dispose of them. I don’t care about their feelings, and I certainly don’t fall in love with them. Until, Jess.
“You need to say goodbye to her, man. Don’t let her leave without talking to her,” he says. I listen to him and take his words to heart, but I don’t know if I can stomach seeing her. I don’t let people in, and she is in a place I didn’t know existed.
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
“Do it, man,” he tells me.
“Let’s go eat. I’m starving,” I say, changing the subject and taking my mind off of the one thing that has consumed my every thought for the last three months.
“Hey, big brother,” Lindsay announces as she rounds the corner into the kitchen. I’m sitting at the small table, drinking coffee and reading the latest Sports Illustrated.
