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Upstairs
Chartres Street
Same Time
Gamble’s Private Hell
T o say that he was struggling would be a huge ass understatement. Someone had a lot of nightmares, and that someone was him. In most of them, Gamble was reliving the most painful moments in his life.
Because apparently, the universe hadn’t finished fucking with him.
The whole time, he was trapped, aware he was dreaming, but unable to escape what he knew was coming. Each was a snapshot of his past.
The day they’d first made love.
The day he and Storm found out they were having a child.
The day before he left to come to help The Hunters, and the day before she ended her life.
It was random, and he never knew which it would be, but each one would hurt.
They were brutal reminders that he’d not saved his wife or his innocent, priceless child.
A part of him wondered why Storm had to take their daughter too.
Why didn’t she just take him also?
The dreams were painful reminders that he was meant to suffer. That he was never going to escape.
Ever.
In each one, he promised Storm he’d never love another woman but her.
And he meant it.
He was done with women.
He couldn’t risk anything else ever again.
Before Storm, he’d been no stranger to terrifying moments, but after her—after finding her and their child’s bodies, this hell was his new norm.
He’d close his eyes, and the wheel of misfortune would be spun, and the dream would take him to his knees.
Sometimes, it was about her death.
It would be him saying goodbye, and then seeing it from her point of view as she woke up the next day and decided to end her life.
Without a word.
He would have come for her.
Gamble would have come home immediately had he had any inkling she was in danger of hurting herself.
And.
His.
Child.
