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Gabriel’s chin dips to his chest as his posture slumps. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too. But I already told you once, I won’t let anything jeopardize my life’s work.”
“I’ll stop. I’ve learned my lesson. Today I kept out of the fray even if it killed me every second. I can do better.”
I shake my head. “You say that now, but you’re a loose cannon. I can’t predict what you’re going to do in two days or in two months. I can’t take that risk, not again, Gabriel.”
Eyes red-rimmed, he stares at me. “No, you won’t take that risk. You’ll never let me in. You know how hard it was for me today to sit back and watch your stock crumble, doing nothing? I felt powerless.”
“And I felt blindsided, so maybe we don’t bring out the best in each other.”
“You bring out the best in me. But apparently, I don’t do the same if you’re still so stubborn about not letting anyone in. It took you two months to say I love you when you knew it from day one. How long is it going to take you to realize that shutting me out is a mistake?”
“Well, it’s my mistake to make. Gabriel, please just go.”
He does the opposite and takes a step toward me. With both hands on my shoulders, he presses a kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering.
I keep my gaze down because I can’t bear to look at him.
“I love you, Blake.” He whispers the words against my skin in a broken voice.
He lets me go, turns around, and exits my apartment—my life.
The touch of his hands still lingers on my skin, the press of his lips still searing the skin between my eyebrows, and his amber smell still fills my senses—but for the last time.
As the door closes behind him, I’m finally free to shatter.
51
GABRIEL
Thomas throws another pretzel at me from across the parlor. I ignore it like I ignored the ten he threw before.
“Come on,” he provokes. “It’s not fun if you don’t fight back.”
I brush the pretzel off my shirt and ignore him.
The next projectile lodges in my hair, only Thomas miscalculated his timing, and Mom, coming back from supervising the kitchen, catches him.
“Thomas,” she chides, working her fingers through my hair to retrieve the wayward snack. “Stop throwing food at your brother.”
Thomas shrugs. “Someone ought to do something; he’s been like that for hours.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not, dear,” Mom says, squeezing my shoulders. “We’re all anxious about you. It’s not like you to mope around for days and do nothing.”
The irony of the statement hits me in the solar plexus like a wrecking ball, and I bark out a bitter laugh. “Apparently I should’ve done more of that instead.”
“More of what?” Mom asks, puzzled.
“Nothing.”
My mother sighs and goes to sit on her armchair, asking Thomas, “Can you make sense of what he’s saying? Because I sure can’t.”
Thomas snorts and takes a handful of chips, loudly munching them as if to annoy me. “If I had to paraphrase my brother’s cryptic philosophy, I’d say he wished he would’ve kept out of his girlfriend’s business, and not tried to bury her ex into the ground, thus instigating a reaction that almost cost Blake her company, and got him sacked from the role of beloved boyfriend.”
I stand up. “Mom, I’m sorry. I can’t stay for brunch today.”
