12. Gabe
Chapter twelve
Gabe
Gwen is agitated. I can hear her fingers flying across the screen of her phone, the tapping sounds riling me up right along with her. She seemed fine until a message came through a while ago and then she ran out the front door, went to the bathroom, and took a shower. She’s pacing in there and now it sounds like she’s back on her phone, typing frantically. It feels like she’s stressed. I can't see her, but her sounds and movements are short and stilted.
I’ve been able to stay up later into the day, but I haven't yet been successful at waking up early. She needs me now, though. So I will try to rouse myself.
Please, I beg my body, please let me hold her . I hate that she is dealing with whatever is happening alone. Her arms and legs, the entire length of her body presses into me and I hate being frozen like this. She sniffles and I know she’s crying. Fuck.
To my dismay, though, she doesn't stay long. This time, I can hear her getting dressed before scribbling a note and going to the door, suggesting she will be gone for a while. I strain, feeling like something is really wrong.
I hold to the fact that she needs me, and concentrate on my finger. If I can start with just this one finger, maybe I can help her. Sensation is different in stone sleep and at the very tip of my finger, I feel it returning to a more normal sensation. Focusing on that one point, I will it to warm, to become pliable. Give me this win, let me go to Gwen, let me show her that she can count on me when she needs me.
When it finally does, I want to whoop for joy. I can’t because only my finger can move, but the sentiment is there.
Over the course of the next half hour, I slowly extract myself from my stone form, a full half hour before sunset. I’ll get more time as our bond strengthens, but even this feels amazing. It feels like a confirmation of what we have… even though I am also fairly certain that it doesn’t quite work that way.
The note I find on Gwen’s desk tells me she’s at the house, so I throw on some clothes and head over. When I arrive, there’s an expensive car parked out front, but no sign of Gwen. Is Dad’s estate lawyer here? Preston’s? I don’t recognise the car so I hurry to the front door. I knock and open the door at the same time. It has always felt weird to knock at the house that I grew up in, but I don’t live here anymore, so it only feels polite.
When I open the door, Gwen is sitting stiffly in the parlor across from a woman I don’t know. Her eyes widen when she sees me and she hurries to me.
“Cecelia, This is Gabriel, Preston’s half brother and my… best friend.”
I hate the hesitation in her voice. It cuts me like a knife, but what’s worse is that she doesn’t instinctively know what she means to me. She’s my mate, she’s my everything, and she shouldn’t hesitate for even a second to express that. As soon as we are done with Cecelia, and whatever she needs, I will make sure there isn’t a doubt in Gwen’s mind where she stands with me.
Cecelia raises her brows. “Ah, yes. I wish I could say it was nice to meet you, but all things considered…”
“Same.”
Tilting her head, Cecelia purses her lips. “Preston built you up to be this incredibly dangerous monster—and while that is true, you also seem… more controlled than he implied.”
It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t, to hear that my brother was just as racist as so many others. It shouldn’t hurt that he has apparently so grossly represented who I am to this woman I’ve ever met. I hate Preston, he was so terrible to Gwen—but a part of me is still his little brother, still wanting his approval.
“Well, shall we sit?” Cecelia seems haughty, in her designer clothes, perfect hair, and clipped manner of speaking, but she also seems honest. She holds herself ramrod straight, and Gwen mirrors her behavior.
“Yes, of course, please.” Gwen’s put on that fake voice she has sometimes, her customer service voice, and I don’t blame her. We know nothing about what this woman is here to say or do. She’s got a bag, a large tote that sort of feels like the modern ladies equivalent of a briefcase. She looks like she’s taking part in some weird photoshoot with everything covered in sheets as it is. Gwen settles back into my mother’s armchair, also covered by a sheet, but it’s a comforting sight nonetheless.
“As you know, Preston fucked us over.” Cecelia smooths the fabric of her pants over her thighs “If neither of our marriages are legal, then Preston’s assets will revert back to his father’s estate.”
“What makes you think mine wasn’t legal?” It’s obvious Gwen is insulted. “From what I can tell, he married you second.”
“Yes, well, I have an extremely talented legal team who are prepared to argue the validity of your marriage. So, if you wouldn’t mind, as I was saying… if neither are legal, his assets will revert to the estate. In which case, we’re both screwed. His hag of a mother will take everything we both are due, and I refuse to let that happen. If either of us are deemed the legal wife and inherit, the other loses everything.”
She takes a deep breath and I can see her pulse hammering at her neck. Gwen is nervous beside me, but so is Cecelia, it seems. Why?
“Which is why I don’t understand why you are here.” Gwen’s voice is steadier than I’d have assumed and I’m so proud of her.
“Listen, Gwendolyn—”
“Gwyneth.”
“Ah yes… Gwyneth. I’m here out of the goodness of my heart.” Her voice is shrill, she’s not just nervous… she’s desperate. “I could take you and Preston’s mother in court in a snap. With the lawyers I have? You’d be left with nothing if that is how I wanted it. Luckily for you, I have no interest in your shitty little house or your store in nowhere town.”
“Do you always insult people during negotiations or is this new?” Gwen asks and it’s everything I can do not to cheer.
Cecelia bristles, but continues.
“Luckily for you, I am prepared to offer you a deal.” She clicks open the top clasp on her bag and pulls out a folder. She lays it on her lap and smooths it, like she’d done with her pants. I can’t help but wonder if it’s some sort of nervous tic.
“A deal?”
“This contract stipulates that if you are willing to grant me ownership over our penthouse and Preston’s business holdings, with the exception of the game shop. I will certify that we were married after you were. We can split his accounts fifty/fifty.”
Gwen blinks, her eyes flicking to meet mine where I stand next to her chair. “That sounds… risky… for you.” Gwen’s right, of course—she usually is.
Cecelia grimaces. “Yes, well, I do have my own reasons for wanting to avoid an extended legal battle.” Her tone is clipped and dismissive. “And, neither of us are at fault here, really. Preston did this to us. I don’t know you, and I may not even like you if I did, but too many women get fucked over in this world for us to be doing it to each other.”
I blink several times, because damn. This is some real girl power solidarity shit and it’s pretty magical.
“I see,” Gwen says. “Obviously, I’d need to look over the contract, but if it is as you claim, I would be amenable.” She looks up at me again, this time with a hint of a smile playing on the edges of her mouth.
“Well, then. I think we are done here.” Celia claps her hands on her thighs and stands, “I will leave this with you to review.” She places the folder on the coffee table. “If you see any problems please reach out as soon as possible. I’d really prefer not to take you to court. Because you’d lose, darling—though I genuinely hope not to.”
Without waiting for us to show her out, Cecelia clicks out of the house and shuts the door behind her. She really doesn’t want to go to court… which tickles a part of my brain I can’t quite seem to place.
It’s silent for a moment as Gwen reaches over to grab the folder. She reviews each page before handing it to me. From what I can tell, it says exactly what Cecelia said. She will formally relinquish any claim on Preston’s assets, as long as we agree to transfer ownership of their penthouse and several specific businesses.
We’ll need to have Gilbert, the old slug-man lawyer look it over. He might insist on being called a solicitor like he was when he was overseas, but he still has solid advice.
After we’ve both looked it over. Gwen places it back on the coffee table with a sigh.
“That’s it?” She asks. “All this and it’s over? It seems too easy…”
“I guess? She seems to really not want to go to court.”
Gwen’s mouth drops open. “You know what, you’re right!”
“Yeah, it feels fishy to me.”
Gwen purses her lips. “I mean… I hate to accuse someone but… Preston’s brakes on his brand new car did fail at a pretty inconvenient time…”
“Oh shit! Gwen, you might be right! You think she offed him?”
“It would explain why she doesn’t want to go to court so bad, especially if her lawyers are as good as she says. They might be able to get her the money, but getting her off on a murder charge is probably way harder.”
We sit there in stunned silence for a few moments while we take it in.
“I mean, it’s pure conjecture,” Gwen says. “It would be terrible to accuse someone of that. It was just a terrible accident. ”
I nod my head and pull her up from the chair to hug me. “Agreed, even if he was a slimy piece of shit that deserved it.”
Gwen blinks and shakes her head. “Whew she was something though, huh? I was so nervous and ‘m so glad you got here when you did. Having your help really grounded me. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time, it took me a minute to wake up.”
“Oh my GOD! Gabe! You’re here during the day! How’re you doing that?” she squeals.
“I tried… really hard?”
“Because I needed you?” Her voice is thick and she’s blinking a lot.
“Yeah, can’t have my little thief navigating tricky situations without me, can I?”