Gabe Devereaux stands there like a monument to bad timing, all six-foot-six of him blocking the hallway. His dark eyes meet mine, and for a half-second, neither of us moves.
Fuck.This is the man who put me in hospital.
The man whose half-finished dick portrait is permanently inked on my left ass cheek because Quinn never got to finish before I escaped her tattoo chair.
The man who, despite everything, I've somehow… mostly forgiven.
Because that's what my parents taught me to do, right? We push through. We don't hold grudges because grudges aremessy, and messy doesn't win championships.
"Lane." Gabe's voice is a low rumble.
"Devereaux." I straighten, rolling my shoulder like the near-collision didn't rattle me. "You know, most people use doors. Not... lurk in hallways. What you doing out here?"
Gabe rubs the back on his neck. "I, uh… I just came from my session."
Therapy.Right. The whole team knows Gabe's been working through his anger shit with a professional since the incident. Good for him. Great, even.
Doesn't make this less awkward.
"Cool, cool." I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets. "How's that going? Learning to use your words instead of your fists?"
Shut up, Colt.
But my mouth never listens to my brain. Never has.
Gabe's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in those dark eyes. Guilt, maybe. Or exhaustion. It's always too damn hard to tell with this guy.
"You seen the guys?" he asks instead of responding. "Samuel said you were coming in today."
"Yeah. Just had a meeting with Delaney." I gesture vaguely toward the executive wing. "Got assigned to some community partnership thing while I'm benched."
Because you benched me, I don't add.
But here's the thing my brain won't stop doing as I stare up at his face. It's connecting dots I didn't ask it to connect.
Gabe's hit put me in hospital. The resulting concussion has kept me side-lined. And being side-lined meant Delaney needed something for me to do.
And that something is... Butter Batch.
So technically,technically,this giant, brooding, skate-throwing motherfucker standing in front of me is responsible for the best thing that's happened to me in months.
Gabe shifts his weight, arms crossing over his massive chest.
"Look man, I gotta go. But are you, uh." He clears his throat. "Heading to the Lounge later?"
I blink. "Are you...invitingme for drinks?"
"The guys are going. After we finish the weight session in the Clawhouse." His expression is pained, like this conversation is physically hurting him. "Thought you might want to... youknow." His ears are going red. "You've been away for a bit, so... whatever."
It's the most awkward olive branch in the history of olive branches.
And I, because I am fundamentally incapable of letting a beautiful moment exist without ruining it, can't resist.
"Devereaux." I press a hand to my chest. "Are webondingright now?"
He rolls his eyes and grunts. "Don't start, Colt."
"No, no, no—" I grin, stepping forward to clap him on the shoulder. The muscle under my palm is like granite. "I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it. This isgrowth, big guy. I'm proud of you."
