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“It felt like every day we were dodging a new threat,” she continued. “The bullies that stole our lunch money and grew into bullies with guns and knives, our parents, who weren’t exactly equipped to help us thrive in that environment, the ever-present possibility of failure, of repeating the same cycle of poverty and aimlessness.” She laughed a little, but it felt forced, like she was trying to lighten the mood. “Anyway, your calm was a blessing to me then. I think it was for Hawk too. I’ll bet your clients feel the same way. They might talk about Hawk, and he might be the one giving interviews, but you’re the one everyone counts on to be steady. I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me? In this world? That’s a lot.”
“Thanks.” It didn’t feel like enough for the compliment, but he didn’t know what else to say.
She straightened and cleared her throat. “You’re probably tired. Let me show you the guest room.”
They stood and he followed her out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I’m fine across the street. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve spent the night in a car for a client.”
“I’m sure,” she said. “It’s silly for you to be out there in the rain when you can be in here.”
They made their way up the stairs to the second floor and she opened the first door at the front of the hall. “I figured this way you could be near the stairs,” she said, leading him into the room. “In case anything happens.”
“Good thinking.” The room was large and comfortably furnished, with a queen-size bed, two night tables, a dresser, a desk, and a TV.
“There’s a private bathroom,” she said, gesturing to the closed door. “I put some clean towels and stuff in there for you.”
He looked at her. “How did you know I’d say yes?”
She smiled. “I didn’t, but I hoped you would.” She headed for the door, like she was suddenly nervous to be alone with him in a bedroom. “Help yourself to whatever you want. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen if you get hungry.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“It’s nothing. Really. You’re doing me a favor,” she said. “I feel better already.”
She stepped into the hall and turned back to look at him. “Goodnight.”
Ella, touching her mouth to his in the Impala, saying goodnight against his lips, her breath a whisper he wanted to absorb.
He shook the memory from his mind. “Goodnight, Gabriella.”
He waited for the sound of her bedroom door closing to sink onto the bed and drop his head in his hands.
What the fuck was he doing?
16
Gabriella turned off the alarm for the second time that morning, rolled onto her back, and listened to the rain beat against the windows. She’d been up far too late for her usual five a.m. wake-up time, both because of her conversation with Logan in the kitchen and because of the hours she’d spent tossing and turning afterward.
It was the first time they’d spoken — really spoken — since he came to Chicago. The first time they’d really spoken in six years, without the loaded guns of Gabriella’s escape to Duke, her marriage and pregnancy looming over the conversation.
It had been almost like old times, the two of them talking long into the night, the rest of the world receding until all she could see and hear was him.
Back in her bedroom, she’d been all too aware that he was just down the hall, and she’d fallen in and out of a fitful doze in between dreams about him she had no business dreaming.
She heard the sound of Leo’s giggle from the kitchen and smiled. She was usually gone before he woke up, squeezing in her workout before she went to the office for another long day. Now she was glad she’d reset the alarm. It was worth a missed workout to spend a little extra time with him.
She got out of bed and used the bathroom, then walked down the hall toward the stairs. The door to the guest room was open, the bed neatly made, and the weight of disappointment dropped onto her shoulders. Logan had probably left early, probably already regretted opening up to her.
She was halfway down the stairs when she heard his voice interlaced with Bea’s.
She found them all in the kitchen, Bea cutting up fruit while Logan flipped pancakes on the griddle. Leo sat at the island, swinging his feet and drinking orange juice.
She stopped in the hall, trying to register the fact that Logan Bane was in her kitchen, making her son pancakes like it was the most natural thing in the world, seemingly at ease with a spatula in his hand while he made small talk with Bea.
“Mommy!”
Leo’s voice rang out and Logan and Bea looked up.
“Morning, sweetie,” Gabriella said to Leo. She looked at Bea, then Logan. “Morning. I see Bea’s put you to work.”
