Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
I trusted him to have it taken care of and take care of me, so I didn’t end up facing the rest of my life behind bars.
He’d never let that happen.
I was sure of that.
We rode back in the dark, the air biting against my skin, prickling it with its chill. I embraced the cold. And the warmth of Gabriel’s back, and the hand that covered mine for most of the ride.
We went back to his place. It wasn’t a question.
Then we made love.
I fucking hated myself for that description, but that’s what it was. There were no handcuffs, no commands, no fury. Just us. Slow. Devastatingly so.
And afterwards we’d talked. Like really talked. About everything. And nothing.
I gave him everything I could, more than anyone had ever gotten. More than I thought I had to give.
It happened after chocolate chip pancakes with Gabriel not wearing a stitch of clothing and me wearing nothing but his tee.
“Your mom,” I said quietly, staring at the pancakes. The ones she taught him how to make. I glanced up to regard him over his kitchen counter. His eyes shuttered immediately. “Is she still…?”
“Alive?” he finished for me, his voice brisk.
I nodded.
His face was blank as he leaned forward and rested his elbows against the countertop. “Yeah. She’s alive. Still in the same house. Doing the same job. Holdin’ on to those same demons.” He shrugged. “I don’t like it. In fact, I hate that she still ignores the man I am because of the boy I was.” He didn’t betray an ounce of emotion, which was weird—heartbreaking, in fact. Because he couldn’t contain it when he witnessed my shit. When he met my demons. But his face was emotionless in the face of his. Even when he’d told me about his sisters, he hadn’t feared the memory, flinched at it. In the face of it all, he was dauntless.
“I don’t like it, but I understand it,” he continued. “My mom had two men in her life who let her down. My dad and me. Stole her daughters from her.”
I pushed off my stool, shoving the pancakes away from me. “You weren’t a man,” I hissed. “You were a fucking kid. A kid trying to survive and trying way too fucking hard to be a man in a world that doesn’t seem to recognize age as a reason to give someone a break.” I paced the room, anger pulsing through me. Fury. “It wasn’t your fault that your sisters died,” I said fiercely. “None of that is on your shoulders. It’s on the people who pulled the trigger on Camila and Sofia, and as much as I hate to say it, on Alexis.” I ignored the stiffening of his jaw. “She was a baby, a kid. But she was old enough to know better. We’re always old enough to know better when life touches us with bitter reality. There’s usually a limited amount of choices to take. The one your mom did, finding a person to blame, the wrong person. Your sister, looking for escape and finding destruction. Or you, looking for destruction and finding redemption.” I paused. “Because that’s what you are. You may have done some bad things, but that doesn’t cancel out the good. Good means something different when you’re brought up in a different world than conventional America. Good is relative. And you’re good. And bad. But you’re still redeemed.” I unintentionally quoted Johnny Cash, but it was apt so I rolled with it, tears threatening the corners of my eyes. “Your mom can’t see that, but I can. So fuck her.”
Because my emotions were exposed to the nerve and I had about as much control over them as a plastic bag in a snowstorm, a wayward tear leaked down my face. I wiped it away angrily.
“You’re crying,” Gabriel observed, rounding the counter.
“I’m not,” I snapped, scrubbing at my face, not giving a shit about my eyeliner.
He stepped forward and clasped my hips lightly. “It’s okay to cry. It’s human. Hell, I bawled like a baby when One Direction broke up.”
I scowled at him. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I would never. It was a tragedy. What was Zane thinking, going out on his own? Solo careers never work. Just look at the Spice Girls.”
“You’re talking about the Spice Girls right now?” I asked in disbelief.
His gaze turned serious and he frowned. “I guess I am. See, I’m still that fuckin’ kid at heart, so I say stupid shit like that. It’s my only character flaw,” he admitted. “When did you get so old and wise, firefly?”
I gave him a long look, tossing up between giving him some smart-assed answer or giving him more.
He got more.
But not before I stepped from his grasp.
I sighed. “I feel like I was born old. Like the universe decided to rob me of my innocence the moment my parents abandoned me. My chance of being young was taken away before I could even be young. At the same time, I feel like I’ve never really grown up because I had to make every decision since I can remember about how to keep myself alive.” I picked up a photo frame on the mantle, more for distraction than anything else. I didn’t get distraction. Two little girls with dark hair and hazel eyes were hugging a bigger girl wearing too much makeup, her beauty still shining through even though she was scowling at the camera.