Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Gabriel
In the last four months, I’ve been alone with Monica a whopping two times. Twice. While I know some of that has been due to schedules and conflicts, it’s obvious she’s back to avoiding me. It appears her relationship with Marcus has continued and gotten more serious. I’ve seen them out a couple of times, and he flashes me a victorious grin each time. Monica never looks fully relaxed and at peace. I’m concerned.
I’ve wracked my brain on where I know Marcus from. I’ve even called Tommy, who is still on active duty, and asked him to look into our past soldiers. After discovering Marcus’s last name is Shields, I became even more concerned when there wasn’t an online footprint from a few years ago. Marcus Shields just appeared four years ago. Nothing before that.
My entire career in the Army was spent doing a variety of things. I even dabbled in Intelligence for a bit. An online footprint for a thirty-five-year-old man who only shows up for a few years tells me his name isn’t actually Marcus Shields.
It’s another Friday night, and I met Tommy for dinner. He tried to get me to agree to hit a bar again, but I said no. I’m in no mood. Work is busy, I’m lonely as fuck, and I don’t feel like dealing with a one-night stand situation.
“You should get on some dating apps, man. You need to get laid,” Tommy tells me.
“Fuck no. I’m not interested in women asking me what’s my favorite color and all that bullshit,” I respond.
“You still need to get laid. You’re so tightly wound I’m surprised you can relax in the booth,” Tommy says. I fucking know.
“I’m worried about this kid I had you look into. Something’s not right.”
“You think he’s trouble?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think your girl is in danger?” Tommy asks. I don’t miss the obvious inflection in his tone when he says, ‘your girl.’
“She’s not my girl. She’s my employee,” I stammer. I’d love for her to be my girl. Any interactions we have during staff meetings or at the office just cement the fact that she’s amazing. I’ve read the Vivid Realty handbook as a precaution. No rules about dating a co-worker or subordinate.
“She may not currently be your girl, but you want her to be your girl,” Tommy says, and I sigh as I nod. No sense in lying to him about it. He knows me too well.
“I know him from somewhere, Tom. Every gut instinct I have says he’s bad news, but I can’t just go to her and tell her that. I need evidence.”
I made a comment to her last week that insinuated I didn’t like Marcus, and she bit my head off. That Italian temper that Meghan spoke about is quite evident. I’m incredibly frustrated, both emotionally and sexually, that I can’t move forward.
“Not much you can do, Gabriel. Just keep an eye out for her. Angel Gabriel, at her service. Or was it Archangel Gabriel?” Tommy ponders.
“Archangel.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m named for him. Archangel Gabriel. He was the keeper of visions,” I explain.
“You were literally named after an archangel?”
“Yes?” I’m puzzled as to why he’s so confused.
“Like, why?”
“You’d have to ask my parents, I guess.”
“Are they religious or something?”
“Most people are in Brazil.”
“What religion?”
“Catholic.”
“Oh. That explains it. Explains a lot, actually,” Tommy says with a smirk. Now I’m confused.
“What could religion explain other than my name?”
“How tightly wound you are. How you operate by the book. Fuck, man, thinking back to our times downrange and how you’d get so pissed if we deviated even slightly from a mission. All comes back to being Catholic.”
“The fuck it does.”
“Well, it’s definitely part of how you were raised. I bet you had hell threatened on you more than once,” Tommy says. I don’t answer him. He’s right. “And I bet your mom had some kind of weapon in your house that you knew could be used on you at any point. Something weird like a ruler or a ping pong paddle.”
“A shoe,” I mumble.
“A shoe ?” he shouts with laughter.
I can feel my cheeks beginning to redden. Yeah, my mama kept a shoe in every room that she’d threaten us kids with for any infraction. We didn’t think anything of it. Everyone we knew had a similar story. We were raised Catholic, attended Catholic schools through high school, and went to mass every week. Only once I joined the Army did I finally stop going. Seeing so much death overseas made me stop. When you see that much despair and destruction, you no longer believe the shit taught in churches.
I may not actively practice in church or consider myself religious. I consider myself spiritual. I have a relationship with God. Churches have become too political for my liking. I don’t need to attend church to pray and live a Christian life.
Tommy is still cackling as the bartender brings us another round. This will be my last one. I never drink and drive, so after this, it’s water until we leave. Our food arrives immediately after, and we’re both quiet as we eat. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar silhouette. Fucking hell. Marcus is here. He hasn’t seen me yet, so it gives me an opportunity to observe him.
Marcus is talking on his phone and gesturing wildly with his hands. His voice is raised, and he begins to shout. Tommy starts to talk, and I motion for him to be quiet, pointing at Marcus. Tommy raises an eyebrow at me, and I shake my head. I’ll explain in a minute. But I need to make sure he’s not yelling at Monica.
“No, boss, I swear, I’m making headway. We’re on the right track,” Marcus says. Tommy and I are both listening attentively as Marcus continues. “No, you don’t need to come here. I’ll get this done. I’ve got it under control.”
Marcus winces and closes his eyes as if in pain.
“I’ll fix this. It’s going to be fine. We’ll both be celebrating soon.”
What the fuck will he be celebrating?
Marcus looks to the side, and he grins widely as a blonde woman walks into his arms. “I gotta go, boss. My girl just walked in.”
What the fuck?
I thought Monica was his girl?
“Hey baby,” he says as he leans in to kiss the blonde. “You wanna eat or get out of here?”
“Are you going to her tonight?” the blonde pouts.
“No, I’m all yours tonight,” he purrs as he pats her ass.
Marcus turns like he’s going to sit at the bar next to Tommy and me, and I immediately crouch so I’m hiding behind Tommy. If Marcus sees me, it could mean trouble for Monica.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Tommy murmurs.
“Shut up,” I mutter as I duck my head down and pretend to tie my shoe. Marcus and his lady friend move to the other side of the bar, and I let out a relieved exhale.
“I take it that’s not your girl?” Tommy asks.
“Nope. No clue who that was. I’m even more concerned for my girl now,” I say quietly.
“Told you.”
“Told me what?”
“That she’s your girl.”
Fuck. I didn’t even realize I called Monica mine. She’s not mine.
I sigh in frustration.
“She’s not mine, Tom.”
“You wish she was, though.”
“Yeah.”
“Just keep on being there for her, man. She’ll see that. She’ll realize that you’re one of the good ones,” Tommy tells me. His cell vibrates with an incoming text, and he smiles as he reads it. “The guys want to meet up for drinks. You in?”
“Nah. Been a long week. I want to relax at home,” I tell him. “Do me a favor and keep looking for any information on that guy. Something isn’t right.”
“I will. Maybe call some of your contacts at home. If he isn’t Army, maybe he’s also from Texas, and you’re remembering something from there.”
“Hard to ask anyone there about a guy who only existed a few years ago,” I comment dryly.
“You need his fingerprints, man. We could run them and find out everything,” Tommy says jokingly. I don’t smile.
“You’re right,” I tell him.
“Woah, dude, that was a joke. Pretty sure it’s all kinds of illegal to take someone’s prints without their knowledge,” Tommy warns.
“I’m not gonna arrest him or report him. I just want to find out his real name and see where I know him from. See if Monica really is in any danger,” I say.
“Don’t do anything that could get you in trouble, Gabriel. I know you like this girl, but you can’t do anything from prison. And if this guy is dangerous, she needs you here. Remember that,” Tommy says as he stands up, throwing a wad of bills on the bar for his meal. “You wanna meet up next week?”
“Can’t. I’m going out of town for a conference, and then heading home for my mama’s birthday,” I explain. I haven’t been home in almost a year. My m?e is turning sixty-seven years old, and her health has been declining for the past few years. My pai told me to come home soon. I have a feeling they’re going to tell me her health is worse than I think it is.
“Text me when you’re back, and we’ll meet up.”
“Tell the guys I said hello,” I tell Tommy.
“Will do,” he says as he slaps the bar once before heading toward the door. I pull cash out of my wallet for my meal and leave it next to his before following him outside. Tommy has already pulled out of the parking lot when I see Monica’s car careen into the lot. There are a lot of small white sedans in Colorado, but she has Mardi Gras beads hanging from her rearview mirror and a small stuffed otter on the dash. It’s hard to miss. Even if I didn’t see those two things, I’ve memorized her license plate. I know, I’m pathetic.
“Ms. Valducci,” I say as she steps out of her car.
“Oh. Hi, Gabriel,” she says quietly.
“Here for dinner?” I ask.
“Just grabbing a to-go order. I’m really beat,” Monica tells me, her eyes cast downward. She rarely looks me in the eye anymore. I wish I could cultivate a friendship with her. Let her see that I’m a good person.
“I just finished dinner here. Nice place,” I comment, suddenly realizing she’s about to go into the restaurant and see her boyfriend with another woman. I’m at a crossroads. Part of me wants her to see them so she’ll dump him, and part of me wants to protect her from the pain. “Listen, Monica, I really don’t want to do this to you, but I think I saw your boyfriend in there, and he wasn’t… alone.”
She winces, and pain flashes in her eyes.
“I’m not surprised,” she whispers.
“You’re not?”
“No. I had a feeling. He’s not exactly my boyfriend, but I’ve been trying, and he just gets angrier and angrier with me, and I don’t know what to do …” she trails off.
My entire body stiffens as her words sink in.
“He gets angry?” I ask calmly, my hands in tight fists.
She looks up at me, and her eyes widen.
“Oh, Gabriel. No. No! He doesn’t hit me. He just yells and then leaves. He’s never touched me like that, I swear,” she blurts out. I exhale slowly. This is typically how many men begin beating their women. They start out slow. Just an argument. Just raising their voices. Then the gaslighting starts, and then finally, the violence.
“You’ll tell me if he hits you, right? Querida , you have to tell me,” I say quietly. Fuck. I slipped and called her sweetheart again. Her eyes narrow.
“Stop calling me that,” she hisses angrily. I hold up my hands in surrender.
“I’m sorry, Monica. Ms. Valducci. It just slipped out,” I tell her earnestly. “You can trust me. I promise. If he hurts you, you can trust me.”
Her eyes search mine, and she nods.
“Let me go in and get your food for you. That way, you don’t have to see him, talk to him, or anything. Okay?”
Monica nods again.
“Get back in your car. I’ll be back out.”
I run inside and grab her to-go order before returning to her car. She sits sullenly in the front seat, holding on to the steering wheel. When I knock on the window, she visibly jumps before putting her hand to her heart, then rolls down her window.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I tell her.
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I’ve bitten your head off so many times in the last few months, and you’ve been nothing but nice and respectful to me. I’m sincerely sorry, Gabriel,” she says. I give her a crooked smile as I hand the bag of food through the open window.
“It’s fine, Ms. Valducci. Enjoy your evening. I’ll see you in a week,” I tell her as I turn away.
“Didn’t Chase tell you?” she calls out.
“What?” I ask.
“He’s sick. He won’t be attending the conference with you. I will.”
My eyes close in anguish. Four days stuck in a conference with Monica will be blissful torture. My dick is about to be raw because I’ll have to fuck my own damn hand multiple times a day to keep a clear head around her .
“He didn’t tell me,” I say as I focus on keeping my voice steady. “He and I were going to drive to Boulder together. Would you like me to pick you up?”
Monica hesitates before nodding.
“If that’s okay with you,” she says softly.
“Of course. Text me your address. I’ll be there around noon on Monday, okay?”
“Thank you, Gabriel.”
“Have a good weekend, Ms. Valducci,” I respond.
“Gabriel?” she calls as I begin to walk away. I hesitate before turning again.
“Yes?”
“You can call me Monica.”
As she closes her window, she gives me a small smile as she drives away.
Progress. That is fucking progress.
I whistle as I walk to my car.
Maybe next week won’t be so bad after all.