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I bit off the words, shook my head again, and started to turn away.
"Didn't want what?"
"You to see what I did in there, how I reacted."
His head tilted, lips pursing slightly. "Because you were upset?"
"Can we drop it? Please? I'd like to get out of here."
Once we reached the parking lot, he said, "You asked me to accompany you. You wanted me there, and then you did not, and I'd like to know what I've done, Olivia, because I cannot figure it out."
"You've done nothing. You've been above-and-beyond helpful, especially in the last few days, and if I haven't let you know how much I appreciate--"
"I want to know what I did to make you change your mind about having me there when you met Todd."
I opened the car door but paused before climbing inside and looked across the roof. "You did absolutely nothing wrong. It was one hundred percent me."
His brows knitted, as if I were a witness deliberately ducking a direct question.
I sighed and then admitted, "I was embarrassed. After the throwing up . . . I was worried it would get even worse when I saw him. And I wasn't wrong. I couldn't face him at first, Gabriel. I literally could not face him."
A pause, so long that my gut twisted. I overshared. Again. Goddamn it, Gabriel, do not ask for answers when you don't want them.
Finally, he said, "I would not judge you for--"
"But you do."
I tried to drop it, just climb into the car and break the conversation, but my hands gripped the roof and the words poured out before I could stop them.
"You do judge me. It's subtle, and it might not be intentional, but I can see it and I can feel it. You have no patience with weakness. You have no patience with emotional outbursts. I might not be what you first expected: a spoiled brat playing at living a real life. But it took me a hell of a long time to prove I wasn't that girl, and I still feel like I'm walking a balance beam, ready at any moment to tumble out of your good graces. To make a stupid decision. To overreact to a problem. To be the useless debutante you expect."
He stood there, blank shades fixed on me, the face below them equally blank.
I exhaled. "And speaking of overreacting . . . I--I didn't mean to do that. I should probably . . ." I caught sight of a taxi dropping off a passenger. "I'll catch a ride back to the city and call Ricky."
I headed for the taxi, picking up speed as it started to pull away. I waved and it stopped, and I was almost at the door before Gabriel intercepted me. He motioned the cab on. The guy sped off without even glancing at me.
"Ricky has club business tonight," Gabriel said.
"I know, but he said if I needed him--"
"You don't." He waved me toward the car. "Don won't appreciate it, not when I'm here and can handle this."
"It's not about watching over me, Gabriel. It's about . . ."
I trailed off as I glanced up at him, seeing that same blank expression. It's about support. Having someone to talk to. A shoulder to cry on if I need it. Because I might look okay right now, but I'm not. I'm really not. And you don't see that. You're just relieved that I'm not collapsing in tears on the sidewalk.
"I would like to call Ricky," I said, slowly and firmly.
"I can't stop you, but I don't see the point, unless you're trying to antagonize Don. I have no idea what the Saints are doing--the less I know, the better--but Ricky is very concerned about the situation with James. If he didn't feel he needed to handle this with the club, he'd be with you. You don't need to call him, so you shouldn't."
I stared at him. He frowned back.
You don't get it. You can't get it.
I started toward the rental car without another word.
--
