Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
GABI
I stared at him. This man I’d met in a hurricane.
The very night I’d been trying desperately not to remember as he’d sucked up all the air in the clinic with his very unwelcome presence.
This man I’d let myself fall for, let myself build a future with in my mind, though we’d never overtly defined things between us.
We’d started out in a situationship and evolved into more.
And it had been as natural as breathing.
Maybe that should have been my first warning sign—nothing in my life had ever come easily before.
Not my career, not my relationships, not even finding my place back home in Hatterwick after being away for so long.
I’d thought we were on the same page. Then he’d proved I couldn’t have been more wrong, shattering my poor, trusting heart.
And now, here he was, dropping an apology that was so beyond overdue, I had no idea what to do with it.
"You're sorry? You're sorry." The words tumbled out of me, edged with a bitter laugh that scraped my throat raw. "Do you even know what you're apologizing for?" Because an apology wasn't an apology without understanding. Without acknowledgment of the specific wounds inflicted.
"For hurting you. I made the wrong fucking choice for damned sure."
The admission hung between us like a bridge I wasn't sure I was ready to cross.
It meant something for him to acknowledge his mistake so plainly, without excuses or deflection.
To mean it with such obvious conviction.
Regret was written all over the face I knew so well, etched into every familiar line and angle.
Those dark eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled at me, warm and inviting as Louisiana molasses.
The strong jawline I'd traced with my fingertips countless times during lazy Sunday mornings in his bed, memorizing the slight roughness of stubble beneath my touch.
The face I'd once thought I could read like a book.
But familiarity bred assumptions, and assumptions had led us here. To this broken place where love wasn't enough to bridge the gap his choices had carved between us.
His words weren't enough. Not when I was still raw from how thoroughly he'd blindsided me. Not when the wound was still tender to the touch, barely healed over with scar tissue that pulled tight whenever I thought about what we'd lost.
"You were offered a promotion, and you took it without even discussing it with me.
" The words came out steady, each one carefully measured.
"You made the decision without taking me into account at all, either assuming I'd change the plans I'd been talking to you about for months, or implying that my plans—that I—didn't matter.
Do you have any idea what that felt like, Daniel?
To go from feeling like the center of your world to realizing I was just an afterthought? "
The ache that had faded these past several weeks to a manageable throb flared bright and sharp again.
Like pressing on an unhealed bruise. I fought back tears, the same ones I'd shed in private for weeks after he'd left.
All that wasted time and effort and dreams we'd built together, reduced to nothing by his unilateral decision.
He set his plate aside so fast half the food slid onto the floor with a wet splatter, forgotten in his urgency to explain.
"Gabi, no. That's not what I meant. Not at all what I intended.
" His hand started to reach for me—the same instinctive gesture he always made when I was upset, when he wanted to comfort and connect.
But he caught himself midway, awareness flickering across his features as he remembered we weren't there anymore.
Instead, he tunneled both hands through his thick, dark hair, a nervous habit that used to make me want to smooth those unruly strands back into place.
"I know my intention doesn't mean fuck-all now.
" His Louisiana accent thickened with emotion the way it always did when he was worked up.
"The reality is I hurt you, and I never wanted to do that.
Not ever. I was pressured to make a decision real fast—they needed an answer within hours, not days—and I went with impulse.
Pure, stupid impulse. I knew it was the wrong impulse pretty much the moment I had time to breathe and think clearly.
But by then, I was already on the damned plane and the damage to us was done. "
I watched him struggle with the memory, saw the way his shoulders tensed with the weight of regret. Part of me wanted to reach out, to offer the comfort that had always come so naturally between us. But I held myself still, waiting for more. Needing more.
As if exhausted by the confession, he braced his forearms on his knees and leaned toward me.
"I was wrong in how I handled it. I was wrong in taking the promotion at all.
So much so that I knew within a week of getting there I'd made the biggest mistake of my life.
I missed you like crazy, Gabi. Every damn day.
And I hated Seattle—the rain, the cold, the way everything felt gray and lifeless.
This Southern boy does not need to live so far above the Mason-Dixon line, that's for sure.
" A ghost of his old smile flickered across his face before fading.
"And it's just—it took some doing to orchestrate a transfer to Nag's Head so I could get over here to try to apologize and fix what I broke. "
My plate wobbled in suddenly nerveless fingers, nearly following his to the deck.
"You're stationed at Nag's Head?" The question came out sharper than I'd intended, surprise cutting through my carefully maintained composure.
I'd wondered when I saw him yesterday at the clinic, but I hadn't let myself dwell on the possibility of what it might mean. Hadn't dared to hope.
"Yeah. Kinda took a demotion to do it. But yeah."
The simple words hit me like a physical blow.
My heart started to pound, a rapid staccato that echoed in my ears and made it hard to think clearly.
This was a big freaking deal—bigger than I'd ever expected.
He'd made major changes that went against everything I thought I knew about him.
The Daniel I knew was ambitious, driven, always climbing the Coast Guard ladder with single-minded determination.
He'd taken a hit on the career that meant so much to him, sacrificed rank and opportunity for. .. what? For me?
And I had no clue what any of it meant. I mean, he'd already declared he was here for me.
He'd changed his life to put me first, to repair what he'd so carelessly broken, even though he couldn't have known what my current position was or whether I'd forgive him at all.
For all he knew, I could have moved on completely, could be dating someone else, could slam the door in his face and tell him it was too late.
This was huge. Life-altering. The kind of grand gesture romance novels were built on.
And I had absolutely no idea how I felt about it.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" The question slipped out before I thought better of it, tinged with hurt and confusion. "You've been here since yesterday, Daniel. You could have—"
His shoulders lifted in a shrug that managed to be both sheepish and determined.
"Well, I wanted to prove I was serious before I came to grovel and apologize.
Show you I'd already made changes, not just promise to make them. I’m aware I'm falling down on the groveling portion of the program right about now, but I can work on that if you'll let me.
" His dark eyes met mine, steady and sure despite the vulnerability I saw lurking beneath.
"The essential point here is that I love you, Gabi.
I'm in love with you, and I miss the hell out of you.
Of us. Of what we had before I screwed it all up. "
My breath caught, trapped somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
Love. He loved me. The word I'd bitten back a hundred times during our months together, afraid of scaring him off with the intensity of my feelings, afraid of being too much too soon.
The word that had threatened to spill out when he'd hold me close after a particularly long shift at the hospital, or when we'd dance in his kitchen to old jazz records while dinner simmered on the stove, or when we lay curled together in bed, talking long into the night about everything and nothing.
I'd known I loved him for months before he'd left.
Had ached with it, carried it like a burning coal in my chest that both warmed and scorched me.
The emotion had been so overwhelming sometimes that I'd had to bite my tongue to keep from blurting it out during quiet moments.
But we'd never said the words. Never crossed that line that would've made everything real and defined instead of existing in that gray area between casual and committed.
Now here he sat on the floor of my clinic, speaking the words that would've changed everything back then.
The words that might've made me fight harder when he'd announced his transfer to Seattle.
Might've made him reconsider taking it in the first place.
Might've given us a foundation strong enough to weather the storm of his ambition and my dreams.