Chapter Thirteen
Gabriel
I almost actually do convince her tostay the night. Fuck me, after what we did in that tub, I want her to that night, the next night, and every fucking night for the rest of my life.
But in the end, I know she’s right: she can’t stay the whole night with me. As it is, she’s told her parents she’s staying late at a friend’s house for bible study. She could lie some more and mention she’s just staying the whole night, but it’s too risky, and I’m not telling her to lie to her parents even more.
After the tub, I wrap her in a towel and bring her into the Winnebago. We do actually fall asleep with her head on my chest, but she’s up somewhere around midnight giggling and swearing that she needs to run now. I manage to keep her for one more kiss before I walk her back to the truck and watch her drive away.
I sleep like the fucking dead, and for the first time in a while, I don’t feel the need to use chemicals to fall asleep. That is, until somewhere around eight when the fist starts banging like hell on my Winnebago’s door.
“The fuck…?” I grumble, half rolling out of bed. I manage to pull boxers on before I trudge to the door and open it, wincing at the light.
“You’re helping me raise those funds, Marsden.”
I frown, still blind from the morning sun. “Who the fuck…”
“Get out here.”
I grunt as a fist grabs my shoulder and yanks me out through the doorway. I hiss as I stumble, but I catch myself, whirl, and my fist is up before I blink in surprise.
“Paul?”
Delilah’s brother narrows his eyes and his arms fold over his chest as he smiles thinly.
“Morning, preacher,” he half sneers.
Shit. My first thought is that Delilah got busted sneaking home last night, and spilled everything, and now Paul is here to put a shotgun up my ass for laying hands on his sister. I eye him, and my gaze darts down to check if I can see any tell-tale holsters or guns tucked into belts.
“What can I do for you, Paul?” I growl thinly.
He grins. “Like I said, Mr. Marsden, you can help me raise the rest of funds I’m gonna need before I, well…” he smiles smugly at me. “I guess we both know what you know, don’t we?”
I suck on my teeth. “Paul, I’m not sure what you’re—”
“You looked at my laptop, Gabriel,” he says flatly. “I saw you through the window, and then I checked last opened files after you left to confirm it. And yeah, you did. You know what my plans are.”
I nod, clearing my throat. “Paul, I don’t honestly care what your plans for the future are. I’m leaving Canaan in two days, and after that, I don’t even need to remember how to spell it. Whatever you’re trying to do here, this ain’t my town, and whatever this is ain’t my fight.”
His smile widens, and he chuckles. “Yeah, see, that’s the thing, Gabriel,” he sneers. “Now it is.”
“Paul—”
“I know what you are, preacher,” he hisses.
I clear my throat again. “Now, Paul, I am but a humble servant of the—”
“Shut up, Gabriel,” he spits. “Seriously, just shut up and stop bullshitting for once!”
Not that easily, dipshit. I’ve played this role eight shows a week for years. I am this role.
“Listen, Paul. God does hear us, even when you don’t think he’s listen—”
Paul groans. “Oh enough, Gabriel. I know what you are. I called some people I know, made some connections, called some more people.”
His smile thins as he glares at me.
“Oh, people know you, Gabriel Marsden. You’re not exactly welcomed in a few of the towns you’ve been in before, now are you?”