Chapter 8 The Morning #2
“And how exactly would I know that, Naomi? When did you ever tell me? When exactly was I supposed to figure that out? When you were texting your ‘mystery guy’? When we used to window shop for designer clothes and you pretended you’d never owned some of those brands?
” Megan’s voice hardens. “Or was it when you stood by and said nothing while your father held me captive?”
I sigh in exhaustion. This conversation is going in circles. Maybe this was a mistake.
“I misspoke,” I admit. “What I meant to say is… I hope you’ll take into account that I come from a complicated family. And I need some grace here.”
“Grace?” She lets out a short, bitter laugh.
“Sometimes, people do better once they know better,” I continue. “And I won’t sit idly by and allow my father to hurt you again.”
“That’s a strong promise,” she says carefully.
“I mean it.”
“Forgive me if I don’t exactly trust your word these days.”
I let out a slow breath. “I know. I don’t blame you for that. But I have an ally now—Gabriel.”
“Oh, so now you’re using your brand-new mafia husband as proof that I should trust you?”
“He’s not just my husband,” I tell her. “He knows how much I’ve missed our friendship, and he encouraged me to try again with you.”
That stops her for a moment.
“What’s in it for him?” she asks skeptically.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“He sees the toll my father has taken on me. He knows how much I regret what happened between us.”
“Does he also know that you stood by while your father held me hostage?”
Her words cut me like a rusty kitchen knife.
“I think about that moment every single day,” I whisper. She has no clue how much I wish I could go back in time and do things differently.
I clear my throat, shifting gears. “Gabriel wants me to be stronger, Megan. He wants me to stop being my father’s puppet.”
“That’s great,” she says, flat and emotionless. “Do that. But it doesn’t mean we can just go back to how things were.”
“I’m not expecting that.”
“Good.”
“But I’d like for us to try. I’d love to meet your son.”
A silence stretches between us.
“You once told me that I was the only friend you ever had,” I continue softly. “That we were like sisters.”
“I have to go,” she says, her voice devoid of the warmth I’d come to depend on during our friendship.
“Megan, please—”
“No.” She cuts me off, exhaling sharply. “You want grace? Work for it. You want forgiveness? Earn it.”
Well, damn.
A shaky breath leaves my body.
And then just like that, she hangs up.
As if on cue, Gabriel emerges from the bathroom in a towel, his hair damp and his expression carefully neutral. "How did it go?"
“Shitty.”
“But you two talked for a long time.”
“Was it long?”
“If she truly hated your guts, she wouldn’t have bothered to have a conversation, Jo.”
I consider his words.
“I guess if the shoe were on the other foot, I wouldn’t have even answered the phone.”
“Exactly, baby.” He nods, and I can see the relief in his eyes, the satisfaction of a man whose plan is coming together. “Give her time. This was just a first conversation. You need people in your life who know all of you and love you anyway."
"Is that what you do?" I ask, suddenly needing to hear him say it again. "Love all of me?"
Gabriel drops his towel and crawls back into bed beside me, pulling me against his chest so I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Especially the parts you think are unlovable."
And as he holds me in the golden afternoon light filtering through our honeymoon suite window, I realize that maybe this reckoning—this collision of past and present, love and duty, choice and fate—might just be the beginning of something beautiful after all.
Maybe running away isn't always the answer. Maybe sometimes the thing you're running from is exactly what you need to run toward.
Gabriel kisses my forehead with reverence and whispers the words,” Now that’s settled, it’s ladies’ choice.”
I lift my head to meet his eyes in slight confusion. “What?”
“Name the position. How do you want me, Mrs. LaRoche?”
I can feel him hardening against my hip.
God, I love how much he always wants me.
“You were so sweet a moment ago,” I jest.
“And now I’m horny.”
Our horniness is mutual, which is why I laugh with complete joy as I climb on top of my mammoth-sized man in a reverse cowgirl position.
“I can’t see your pretty face when you come for me in this position,” he says thickly.
“But you’ll get a bird’s eye view of my ass,” I tease.
“And a perfect ass it is,” he says through a moan as I lower myself down on his length. “Fuck, that feels good.”
It damn sure does.
This is going to be a long afternoon.
See what I mean?
Totally dickmatized.
Thank you so very much for reading Reckoning.