It’s Always Been You (Laws of You #4)

Prologue

Molly

Twelve Years Ago

Iceland: Sophomore Year, Winter Break

“ M aybe we should just go to bed, Mol,” Gabe says on a yawn, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him. “It’s fucking freezing, and we have two weeks to see the lights.”

He goes to stand up, but I pull him back down into his chair.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Gabriel. First of all, the aurora borealis is not just lights. They’re an interaction of solar wind and Earth’s magnetic field, and they are freaking magic. Second of all, we did not fly all the way to Iceland in the middle of the winter and book a very expensive room at the most famous hotel in the country to go to bed at the very first opportunity we have to see them.”

Too worked up to sit, I push up from my own chair and put a hand on my hip. “If you want to whine about how tired you are like a toddler who missed his nap, then you should go to bed. But I’m not closing my damn eyes until I see the northern lights and you can just…”

I break off when I see the cheshire cat grin spreading across his face and huff out a breath.

“You’re joking.”

Gabe grabs my hand and pulls me down on his lap, wrapping his arms around me and kissing the side of my head.

“Of course, I’m joking. After more than a year together, you should know that. You’re my favorite person, Mol. I would do anything for you, including risking frostbite to sit right here with you all night, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“What do you m?—”

The words clog in my throat as I look up. Bright light spreads over the horizon. Rivers of green and blue swirl in the dark, moving and dancing across the star-studded sky, changing shape, color, and intensity even as we watch. Magic is too simple a word for this. It’s enchanting. Ethereal. Otherworldly. Life-changing. I can feel my cells reshaping, rearranging themselves to make me into someone different than I was five minutes ago for having seen this.

A tear slides down my cheek, my body not big enough to hold the enormity of my feelings at bearing witness to this phenomenon of physics and chance. Gabe catches the tear with his thumb, wiping it away, his fingers brushing gently over my cheek.

“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” I breathe, my eyes glued to the sky.

“It is.” The intensity in his voice has me tearing my eyes away from the lights to look down at him. One hand still on my cheek, Gabe’s eyes are fixed on me. His pupils are blown wide, and the reflection of the Northern Lights dances in the dark orbs. The awe in his gaze isn’t for the lights, though. It’s for me. The love pouring off him hits me in the chest, making my breath catch and my heart pound.

“Gabe.” All I can manage is his name. Any words I could conjure would be insufficient to meet this moment.

“Rory,” he murmurs, voice soaked in love.

“Rory?”

“Like the aurora borealis. The lights remind me of you. Magical. Colorful and gorgeous and one of a kind, and takes my fucking breath away. I love you, Rory. Always.”

“Always,” I whisper, as he wraps his other arm around my waist and brings my mouth to his in a searing kiss. It’s passion and a promise. It’s tongues and teeth and more and mine and always and only you and forever. We kiss each other under the Northern Lights, hearts beating in sync, wrapped in the undeniable certainty that we are each other’s missing piece. Two souls braided together, ones nothing and no one could ever separate.

Always. Forever. Until the end of time.

Ten Years Ago

University of California at Berkeley: Senior Year

“Fuck, Rory, you could not possibly be any hotter right now.”

I whirl around, my back hitting the barre and toe-shoe-clad heels dropping to the floor. Music soars over the studio speakers, and my heart hammers against my ribs from surprise and exertion.

“Jesus Christ, Gabe, you scared the shit out of me. How did you even know I was here?”

He saunters toward me, gray joggers riding low, navy T-shirt emblazoned with the Captain America shield hugging his well-defined chest, and mouth curled up in a sexy smirk. It’s giving hot, sexy nerd and good lord, it gets me every time.

“Your text said midterm over, brain melted. I took a guess.”

My guy knows me well. I always come to the dance studio to unwind. With a double major in dance and applied mathematics and a minor in physics, I need to unwind a lot.

Gabe’s sneakers pad across the wooden floor of the studio. With every step he takes towards me, my heart rate picks up.

Stopping in front of me, Gabe runs his knuckles down my cheek and leans in, pressing his mouth to mine. The kiss is slow and deep and full of enough fire to level the building. His tongue glides along the seam of my lips then pushes into my mouth to slick against mine, and he swallows the whimper that escapes my throat. When we break apart, his crystal-clear blue eyes stare at me with a mixture of devotion and heat that never fails to give me butterflies.

“You’re so beautiful when you dance, Rory. I love watching you, and I didn’t want to interrupt. But then you did that thing where one of your legs was pointing straight at the ceiling, and you’re basically doing a split standing up, and my mouth was making words before my brain caught up.”

I grin at him, hands coming up to play with the soft brown hair at the nape of his neck.

“Did you like it? It’s called a Penché. It’s my favorite. Took me years to learn how to do it right when I was a kid.”

I’ve been a dancer all my life, and ballet is my first love. Pursuing contemporary dance instead of ballet was the hardest decision I’ve ever made, but I know myself well enough to understand that the conformity professional ballet requires would kill my soul. I want sparkly leotards, hot pink tights, and taco Tuesdays. Won’t find any of those in the halls of the American Ballet Theater. So contemporary dance might be my career, but ballet will always be my heart.

Hence, solo dancing on pointe after dark to shake multivariable calculus from my brain.

Molly Jenkins contains multitudes. It’s my favorite part about myself.

Gabe brings his hands to my hips, pushing my back against the cool wood of the barre.

“You have no idea what it did to me.”

I give him a wicked grin. “Show me.”

He wraps his hands around my hips, tugging me against the unmistakable bulge of his hot, hard cock. I drop one of my hands between us, palming him over his sweatpants. When he lets out a low groan and pulses in my hand, my thighs clench, my need for him rising in a wave.

I lean in and run my nose up the column of Gabe’s throat, licking behind his ear before whispering, “Fuck me.”

His cock jumps in my hand, and he dips his head to kiss his favorite spot on my collarbone, goosebumps rising along the path of his lips.

“Right here?” he murmurs against my skin, voice laced with amusement and arousal.

“Can you think of a better place?”

Gabe lets go of my waist and brings both hands to my shoulders, yanking my leotard down and pushing it to my waist in one motion. He immediately dips his head and sucks a nipple into his mouth, rolling the other one between his fingers. A gasp tears from my throat.

When he lifts his head, his eyes are full of lust. It may be late, and the risk of anyone coming into the studio is low, but semi-public sex is Gabe’s kink. We’ve defiled classrooms and bathrooms all over this campus.

“No, I sure can’t.”

He crushes his mouth to mine before spinning me around to face the barre and the mirrored wall. He nips my shoulder and snakes his arms around me to palm my breasts, plucking my nipples into tight, stiff peaks. My skin heats under this touch, and arousal pools between my legs, soaking my tights.

“Want to play with me, Rory?”

“Fuck yes.” My voice is breathy and need blazes through me at the playful, sexy side of my gorgeous tech genius.

Gabe chuckles, dropping to his knees behind me. He peels my leotard and tights down then with a flick of his fingers, unties my toe shoes, and unwinds the ribbons. He lifts one foot, then the other, kissing my ankles and pulling the shoe from each foot before freeing my legs from the tangle of spandex.

With a toe shoe in each hand, he stands, his hard chest crowding my back. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So fucking pretty. My girl is the most beautiful girl.”

Gabe runs the platform of one shoe along my torso and up the valley between my breasts. He rubs it over one nipple then the other, and my head drops back against his shoulder, a whimper falling from me at the feel of the satin sliding over my sensitive skin.

Pushing me forward with his weight against my back, Gabe presses one of my wrists down, winding the toe shoe ribbons around it and binding it to the barre. When I tug on the restraint, I gasp at the feeling. Gabe’s eyes glint when they meet mine, and he binds my other wrist without ever pulling his gaze away. A flood of arousal gushes between my legs, and I rub my thighs together, trying to take the edge off my vibrating pleasure.

Gabe presses his lips to the back of my neck, running his fingers over my wrists, checking to make sure the ties aren’t too tight.

“I love having you all tied up for me, at my mercy. I can’t wait to bury my cock inside that tight cunt.”

The dirty words and sweet gesture have me twenty seconds away from spontaneously combusting. And when Gabe winks at me in the mirror and peels off his shirt before covering my back with his warm, hard body, I swear I come a little. Judging from Gabe’s smirk, he knows it.

Snaking his arms around me, Gabe rolls and tweaks my nipples with one hand and slides the other down to cup my pussy, grinding the heel of his hand against my clit.

“Shit, that feels good,” I gasp out, rocking my hips forward to get more friction.

He drops his head to kiss along my shoulder as he circles my entrance with one finger.

“You are so perfect,” he rasps, pushing one thick finger inside, slowly fucking me with it. “So wet for me. You think I can make this sweet pussy drip? The next time you’re dancing in this studio, I want you to think about standing like this, at my mercy with your wrists bound while I finger fuck you until your cum drips onto the floor.”

Holy god.

Gabe adds a second finger, and the sound of his fingers fucking me is crude and wet and so damn hot. The fact that my wrists are tied up and I can’t touch him heightens every sensation. When he curls his fingers to rub against my g-spot while grinding harder against my clit, I climb right to the edge, pleasure wrapping around me like a vise.

“I need to come, Gabe. Please. Shit,” I gasp as he adds a third finger, my pussy clenching around him and my arms pulling against the ties.

“Not like this.” Gabe pulls his fingers out of me, and a frustrated groan escapes my throat as my body vibrates from my almost orgasm.

“You’re not coming anywhere but on my dick.”

My eyes meet his in the mirror.

“Then get that thick, perfect cock inside me.”

Gabe’s eyes flash, and his mouth curls in a smirk.

“I love it when you order me around.”

He shoves his joggers and boxers down enough to free himself. His cock juts up, long and hard, precum I want to lick beading on the tip. Gabe reads my mind because he runs his finger over his slit, collecting the precum and bringing his finger to my mouth.

“Suck,” he orders.

I do, taking his finger between my lips. The salty, heady taste of him explodes in my mouth. I swirl my tongue around his finger and graze it with my teeth until he hisses. Pulling his finger away, he grips my hip with one hand and uses the other to press down on my upper back until I’m bent over, forehead resting on the barre. Then he kicks my feet farther apart, sliding his cock against my slit, coating himself in me. His broad tip nudges my clit, and I moan, pushing back against him, angling my hips so he presses against my entrance.

“You ready for me, Rory?”

“So ready,” I gasp out.

He grips my hips and bends his knees, pressing forward and burying himself inside me in one single motion that has us both groaning.

“More,” I moan out. “I need more.”

Gabe pulls back and snaps his hips forward as I shove back, trying to get him deeper. Take more.

“Fuck,” I pant. “So good. So fucking good. More.”

His chuckle is low, and when our eyes meet in the mirror, the sheer want in his gaze has my muscles clenching, his long, hard strokes lighting up my entire body.

“You take my cock so well, Rory. You were fucking made for me. There’s no one else but you.”

Gabe leans over my back and wraps one arm around my waist, his hips never slowing their rhythm. Our bodies slapping together an erotic soundtrack. He brings his other hand to my clit, working it firmly as he fucks me, driving his hips into mine. He pushes in deeper, grunting into my ear as sweat slicks our bodies and pleasure snakes into my veins.

“I’m close,” I grit out. “So fucking close.”

Gabe pistons his hips faster, hitting a spot deep inside me that has every nerve ending in my body screaming. “Come for me, then. Let go and soak this dick—show it who we belong to.”

“Me,” I rasp out. “You belong to me.”

“You’re damn right I do. Come, Rory. Now.”

Gabe pinches my clit at the same time he tweaks my nipple, and I explode around him, tremors wracking my body as I chant his name. I yank against my restraints, desperate to get my hands on him, to give myself an anchor in the swirling vortex of pleasure so acute it’s almost painful. My orgasm goes on and on, and Gabe sticks with me, riding me through it until his hips jerk and his cock swells inside me. He slams into me and groans out the pleasure of his release into my ear, holding me tightly as he unleashes, burying his face in my neck as his hips slow.

“Fuck me,” Gabe gasps out, his heart hammering against my back.

“Yeah,” I manage, trying to control my breathing.

He recovers first, leaning over and untying my hands, letting the toe shoes drop to the floor. Pulling me down to curl up in his lap, he lifts each hand, inspecting my wrists closely for marks. When he’s satisfied there aren’t any, he kisses the inside of each wrist and wraps his arms around me.

“I fucking love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“I fucking love you right back.” I kiss his chest and feel his arms tighten around me. “You can tie me up and fuck me in a ballet studio any time that pleases you.”

He snorts out a laugh, which makes me laugh, and then we’re both howling, sprawled out mostly naked on the floor of the studio. Our laughter is so loud it takes us a few seconds to realize Gabe’s phone is ringing.

“Who the fuck is calling me at ten at night?” he mutters, pulling up the joggers still tangled around his ankles and digging his phone out of his pocket.

“Hello?”

I hear a woman’s voice on the other end, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.

“Yes, this is Gabriel Sullivan.”

He pauses, and then his face turns ashen, twisting into an expression I’ve never seen on him before. Fear curls into my stomach as I watch Gabe jump up, one hand pressing the phone to his ear and the other coming up to tug on his hair.

“Are they okay?”

The raw terror in Gabe’s voice has me jumping up too. I stand next to him, and he wraps an arm around my waist, bringing his forehead to mine and squeezing his eyes shut. His entire body trembles and I hug him back tightly, giving him an anchor. I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, it’s the worst kind of bad.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Gabe’s phone drops from his hand, landing with a thud.

“It’s my parents,” is all he manages.

He collapses to the floor, silent for a few seconds before he bends forward, sobs wracking his body.

The logical part of my brain that is great in a crisis tries to engage, but for the first time in my life, it fails me. Because this is Gabe. My best friend and the love of my life. The happiest, most cheerful man in the universe. He is on the floor, crying like his world is ending, and there’s nothing logical about that. I drop down and wrap my arms around him, helpless to do anything but hold him as he breaks into too many pieces for me to be able to put back together.

“What the fuck?” Gabe yells, one hand gripping the phone he holds to his ear and the other tugging at his hair. “My parents were killed in a fucking helicopter crash, and you want me to do paperwork? You’re the fucking lawyers for their estates. You do the damn paperwork.”

For more than three years, I never heard Gabe raise his voice. Since the helicopter crash that killed his parents a month ago, that’s all he’s done.

His voice is permanently hoarse. There’s no gentleness left in him. He is all sadness and grief and pure, unadulterated rage.

“God, Gabe, shut up and stop yelling at the woman. It’s not her fault.”

Amelia, Gabe’s middle sister, comes stomping into the kitchen of Gabe’s parents’ house, eyes flashing with disdain aimed exclusively in his direction. Olivia, the youngest of the Sullivan siblings, is at her heels, staring down at the floor and clutching a stuffed bear under one arm and a dog-eared paperback under the other.

They are twelve and eight, parentless, and now, according to Gabe’s parents’ extremely complicated and very difficult to unwind estate planning documents, his to raise.

Gabe takes a breath and speaks through gritted teeth. “When you can explain to me what all these documents mean and why I suddenly need to care about federal taxes I didn’t even know existed before a month ago, call me. Until then, go to hell.”

He stabs the button to end the call and hurls his phone against the kitchen wall, the screen shattering on impact. His second broken phone since the funeral.

We should be at Berkeley, finishing our senior year, partying with our friends, studying for final exams, and making plans for our future. Instead, we’re at Gabe’s childhood home in San Francisco, where the walls are soaked in grief, and Gabe has to parent a third grader and an almost teenager when he’s basically still a teenager himself.

I come up behind him, laying a hand on his heaving back. He flinches at my touch. He flinches every time I touch him now. I’ve tried to hold him together. I’ve made funeral arrangements and spoken to extended family and made sure everyone was fed. I’ve kept up with my classes long distance and gotten Gabe a semester of bereavement leave from his and held Amelia and Olivia while they cried themselves to sleep.

I’ve done my best to wade through the legalese to help settle his parents’ estates. But much to my dismay and irritation, my genius level IQ and all the math classes in the world didn’t prepare me for the very nuanced particularities of federal transfer tax law.

I’ve tried so hard. I’ve done everything I could think of.

It all feels like nothing.

Gabe hasn’t touched me in a month. Not since the dance studio when he got the call.

He’s grieving, and I love him with everything I am. This isn’t how my life was supposed to go, but Gabe is my life, so this is where I am.

Except maybe it’s not.

Because Gabe whirls around, eyes blazing.

Amelia and Olivia take one look at him and dart out of the kitchen. I stand my ground and let his angry gaze meet its mark. He doesn’t scare me.

“Molly. You need to go.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, my heart twisting at his use of my real name for the first time since Iceland.

“I don’t want you here. You can’t be here anymore.” His voice is vacant, even as anger clouds his vision. For the first time, my own anger rises, because how fucking dare he. The fury feels good, cleansing almost. I’ve been holding him and his sisters together for a month. I would lay my life down for any of them. And he asks me to leave? I think fucking not.

“Well, that’s just too fucking bad, Gabe. I love you and you’re mine, and we’re in this together.”

“No. You don’t understand.”

“Well then make me understand.”

I take a step closer to him, but when I press my hand against his chest where his heart thuds, he snaps.

“I can’t look at you,” he roars, the force of his anger knocking me a full step back. Even he seems startled by it, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter.

“You remind me of everything I don’t have anymore. Everything I’ve lost. Every time I look at you, I’m so angry I can’t breathe. I know it’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair Molly, but life isn’t fucking fair.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“My parents were killed in a helicopter crash because they couldn’t just go see the Grand Canyon on foot like every other person in America. And now I have to raise two kids and settle an estate and figure out what the fuck to do with the rest of my life when I can barely figure out what to do five minutes from now. And I know you’re trying to help, but you’re?—”

He cuts himself off, looking down at the floor. He’s about to break us. I can feel it in my bones. But I think maybe we’ve been broken for a month already, our relationship dead the moment his parents’ helicopter went down. I didn’t see it. Didn’t want to see it. But I see it now.

“Just say it,” I order, keeping my voice strong through sheer force of will.

“You’re making it worse,” he whispers.

Pain lances through me, so acute it steals my breath. I wrap my arms around myself to hold all my broken pieces together.

You can, in fact, feel a heart shatter.

I love Gabe too much to be the one who makes it worse. His life is in tatters. I won’t be one more thing he has to survive.

I take one step forward, leaning up to kiss his cheek. His familiar scent is a knife straight through my ribs.

“I love you, Gabe. I’ll leave if that’s what you need, but not forever. For now. Call me when you need me, and I’ll be here. No matter where I am or what I’m doing. Nothing could keep me from you.”

I will my words to land, but he says nothing, just nods. The single tear that slides down his cheek has a sob rising in my throat. I shove it down. I can fall apart later. Not now. I look at him for one more minute, drinking in his gorgeous eyes, red-rimmed and exhausted, with his shaggy hair my fingers itch to touch. I catalog every part of his body like I need to commit it to memory in case I never see him again.

And I don’t see him again.

He never calls. Not that night or any of the ones that follow.

I do.

I text. I call. Over and over. Every day and every night.

He never responds. I send food and letters and emails, and I would send a carrier pigeon and a goddamn singing telegram if I thought it would make him talk to me.

But nothing does.

I don’t know how to be what he needs me to be, and he sure as hell doesn’t seem to want what I have to offer.

My heart slowly crumples to dust as the hard truth of it settles deep in my bones, over and over again, during days and months and years of silence.

My Gabe is gone, and he isn’t coming back.

And I don’t have any other choice but to let him go.