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Chapter 32
Gen clasped her fingers together on top of the table to keep them from shaking. This was going to be it. The big bend in the road. She couldn’t go on like this anymore, living in limbo, wondering what was going on. Her imagination, she was sure, had taken her to much darker places than reality ever could.
Or…was she sure of that? How could she be? What if the truth was so much more devastating than anything she’d thought about, or dreamed about in her worst nightmares? What if—
She cut herself off. No. This was the reason for calling Gavin here, to the Cupid’s Arrow, to talk. To stop the damn what ifs. They were killing her slowly.
She looked up as the front door swung open, with a rush of adrenaline flooding her system, her breath catching in her throat, her heart pounding out of her chest.
Yeah. It was about the tenth time she’d gone through that little routine. At this point, she expected it to be a random person more than she expected it to be Gavin. But she was wrong.
It was him. Even backlit by the streetlight just outside the door, the interplay of light and shadow obscuring his features, she recognized him.
She knew the shape of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the cast of his jaw. She would know them anywhere. If they were apart for fifty years and he came walking into a room, she would goddamn know him. He was engraved on her heart, every single detail of him. Forever.
She lifted her hand; the gesture meant to catch his attention and show him where she was sitting. Her voice had caught in her throat and she couldn’t call out.
He slid into the booth across from her and sat quietly.
She studied his face and body language, trying to tell if he was pissed, or sad, or happy, or if he felt sick, or if he were in any of a hundred other physical or emotional states that other people would’ve worn all over themselves, giving away thousands of clues as to what was going on inside them, both intentionally and not.
Not Gavin, though. He just sat there stoically, like he always did.
Of course, sometimes he had telltale signs. A tiny twitch at the edges of his lips meant he was thrilled. A microscopic drawing of his brows together meant he was fucking livid. There were clues. Sometimes. Just not now.
As the silence drew on, Gen fidgeted more and more, then finally said, “Uh, yeah. So, I guess you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here today.”
His expression didn’t change. He let the silence stretch for another few seconds, then replied, “Joke?”
She grunted. “Well, apparently not. But, moving on. Here’s the thing– I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t work.”
He put his hand over hers. “Why?”
It took every ounce of control she had not to explode with rage at the question. Anyone else in the world, she would’ve assumed they were playing games. Not him, though. Games were not in his wheelhouse.
So, instead of exploding, she took a deep breath and forced herself to speak evenly and carefully, enunciating every word. “Because, Gavin. You are sick. And you will not tell me what is wrong with you. And I have tried to be the cool girlfriend, but there are two problems with that plan– one, I’m not cool. I’m fiery. And it’s hard to fight your nature. And, two, I’m not your girlfriend.”
“What are you, then?”
“I’m your…I don’t even know what. I doubt you do either.”
All he did was shrug, which brought on another wave of volcanic rage that she had to work very hard to shove down, using nothing more than force of will and the power of deep breaths.
“Are you all right, Gen?”
“Fine. Why do you ask?”
Another shrug. “You sound like you’re hyperventilating. Also, you’re saying every word through teeth gritted so tight I’m afraid you might break them.”
“Well, I’m upset.”
He sighed and looked down at the tabletop. “I know. I get that. And you’re not alone, believe me. My brothers have been staging a full-fledged campaign to get me to talk about what’s happening.”
“I don’t get it, Gavin. People care about you. What in the ever-loving hell is so terrible about that? Do you even know how many people are alone in this world, that would give their left nut to be surrounded by friends and family that would love them the way yours do? Why the eff will you not just talk to us?”
The little twitching, ghost of a smile thing he did appeared on his lips. “When did you start dialing down your cursing? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“First of all, I’m not dialing it down. I’m switching it up for variety’s sake. Secondly, jokes about your own mortality right now? They are in poor taste.”
