“Very wrong,” he agrees with a nod. “Did you feel that at all?”
“Not really, but I’m not sure I’m the right one to give an opinion on other people’s motivations.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m emotionally invested in this. I’m likely not seeing things straight.”
He scoops up one of my hands, placing both of his around mine and kissing my palm, eyes on me. “We’re both probably too emotionally involved to think straight about this.”
I nod, the only response I can really give. I wish there was something I could say, because I see the tension in him; it’s all but radiating out of him. I understand, too. Because as much as I can’t read other people, I can read him. He wants to protect me. He wants this over, not for Evan’s sake, but for mine, and I guess I like that he has my back. “Why don’t we talk about something else for a while,” I say, hoping to ease whatever is going on in his mind. “Something normal.”
He keeps my hand in his and exhales a long breath before addressing me. “We haven’t had very much of that, have we?”
“No.”
He smiles, and it almost reaches his eyes. “Well, I do have something to ask you. You know my good friend Micah?” I nod, and Gabe adds, “He came to Ryder’s headquarters yesterday. That’s why Ryder and I left you with Alex. I guess he’s been trying to get ahold of me, but couldn’t reach me.”
Instant guilt roars through me, but is momentarily muted when Gabe continues. “He’s actually invited us to attend his wedding tomorrow night in Napa Valley. It’s nothing big or lavish; it sounds like it’ll be small, intimate.”
I shift up a little farther on the couch, but keep the ice pack in place. “Are you sure they want me there? I mean, won’t all your friends be there?”
His expression softens, as does his voice. “They all want to spend time with you on a more personal level, aside from seeing you in the pub. Don’t think otherwise.”
I’m not convinced, and I think he can see that in my expression, since he brushes his fingers across my cheek and adds, “We all agree none of this is your fault, Kenna. No one blames you.”
But I feel to blame . . . for all of it. “Do you want me there with you?”
“Micah is my closest friend in the world, of course I want you there.” With a smile, he slides his knuckles across my jaw. “There is nothing I want more than to solidify your presence in my life.”
“Well,” I say, nibbling my lip. “Will they care if I have a horribly gross black eye?”
His mouth twitches. “No, they won’t care. But to be honest, your bruise will look worse on day three anyway.”
“I guess that’s a positive in all this.”
“There is no positive in any of this,” he mutters.
I stare into his exhausted eyes, and somehow even though everyone keeps telling me this isn’t my fault, it all feels like my fault. “I’m sorry, Gabe.”
“What are you sorry for, sweetheart?” he asks softly.
“This. The fact that you look so exhausted,” I tell him, shifting the ice pack to avoid the icy bite on my skin. “I wish I could make this all go away.”
“It will go away, McKenna.” His hand slides up and down my leg, stopping to give my thigh a firm squeeze. “And stop thinking about me. Right now, I’m only thinking about you.”
Something passes between us then. It’s in his eyes, the protective way he’s watching me. He rises and slides his arms underneath me, gathering me close to his chest. After which, he brings me into the bedroom then gently lays me down in the middle of the mattress. With no heat in his eyes, he grabs the end of my yoga pants, and I lift my hips as he pulls my pants off. I shift upward a little, getting my head comfortable against the pillow, and he pulls the sheets back then places them over my bare legs.
I notice the throbbing behind my eye has lessened some, the painkillers doing their job, while Gabe strips off his shirt in that fast way men do. His pants are gone a second later, and then he’s sliding into bed next to me. He tucks me in close against him and whispers, “Be still.”
There in the safety of his arms, I let the darkness take me.
Chapter 11
Gabe
Bright and early the next morning, the ringing of my cellphone drags me out from the shower sooner than I would have liked. With things on edge as they are, I can’t miss the call. I grab a towel off the heated rack on my way to the vanity and wrap it around my waist. When I glance at the screen and discover who’s calling, I grumble, “Fuck.” I’m in no mood to talk to my mother with all that’s going on, and especially because it’s a Monday. She always seems more herself on Mondays than she does on Fridays. Partly because she’s just spent time with her squad of spoiled, self-absorbed friends.
I click the speakerphone on my cell and greet her, “Good morning, Mother.”