Chapter 48
Gable
Part of me knew I’d end up here.
It was either here or the morgue, I guess, but I don’t know which I’d prefer.
The orange jumpsuit scratches against my skin, and I roll my neck in a pointless attempt to get some relief from it. I was never exactly the kind of guy who wore designer, but I’m uncomfortable as fuck.
I’ve been here for two weeks, and I’m already fucking sick of the place. The food sucks, it’s always cold, and I have no communication with anyone on the outside. I know the whole point of jail is to be unpleasant, but I just want one hot shower where I’m on my own.
But that’s the least of my problems.
I haven’t seen a lawyer, have had no visitors, and haven’t even had a hearing to put forward my plea.
Guy is keeping my stay here under wraps, and while I can’t see him resorting to murder, a man will do anything when their family is on the line. He’s proven that by going to Ranger.
“Flynn. Letter.”
I sit up in bed as an envelope is tossed at me. It’s already opened, like all mail is, but this is the first thing I’ve received. The first thing I’ve been allowed to receive, more like.
Unfolding the contents, I scan the words.
Hunter DeLuca.
Estate.
Businesses.
$73.7 million dollars.
Left to: Gable Flynn.
Nothing about Ella.
I tear up the paper and flush it, lying back in bed and staring at the rusted springs of the bunk above mine.
She’ll be okay. She’ll be healing, probably grumpy as hell, demanding that her dad get in touch with me. He won’t, because he’s stubborn, but she’ll wear him down.
She wore me down, didn’t she?
Closing my eyes, I imagine she’s beside me. Cuddling me, doing that little sigh she does when she’s tired or bored. She’d be hot. Annoyingly, wonderfully hot, and I’d complain, but pull her close if she tried to move away.
“Hey, Flynn.”
I open my eyes again to the monster truck of a man in the doorway. Charlie Callahan. He’s the only guy in here bigger than me, but also the nicest. He’s like a teddy bear, and had heard of me, so was the first to introduce himself.
“You gonna stay in here all day?”
I tuck my hand behind my head. “Why? They opened the doors for us?”
He chuckles, and the mattress dips as he sits at the end. “I wish.”
It’s hard to believe the guy is in here for attempted murder, but I doubt he’ll be here for long. He has friends in high places already trying to get him out, and each piece of evidence against him keeps mysteriously disappearing.
“I’ve been thinking. I might start an agency once I get out,” he says, and I open my eyes again. “Totally legit, y’know? Private security shit.”
“Sounds nice.”
“You could come work for me.”
My smile is weak. “Thanks for the offer, but something tells me I won’t be leaving anytime soon. Not alive, anyway.” His expression darkens, and his brows pinch together in concern. “Don’t worry about me, Charlie.”
“You don’t wanna fight for your girl?”
I tense but don’t take his words to heart, because I know he means well. He really does.
Fuck, I’m getting soft. This is all Ella’s fault.
“That’s all I want to do,” I say. “But—”
“Flynn.” Roger Perkins appears in the doorway, eyes wide. He’s a weedy guy, in here for killing his business partner. “Get your ass out here and watch the TV.”
I shoot up from bed and out into the main area. The television is hanging in the corner, and the news is on.
Ella’s face is on the screen.
“Turn it up!” Charlie shouts at someone.
“—Sarah is on scene with this developing story,” the anchor says, and the camera cuts to outside the hospital.
“Thanks, Jen. The tragic news broke only minutes ago that Ella Gibson, New York Times Bestseller, has died.” Something inside of me crumbles.
My mind is awash with noise, like static in my mind.
“She was rushed to this hospital just over two weeks ago after being attacked. Gibson, twenty-five, was brutally stabbed four times, and though she survived the initial attack, she died of complications due to her injuries yesterday. Her father, Chief of Police Guy Gibson, had this to say.”
Guy appears on the screen, microphones in his face. Eyes red-rimmed.
“My daughter was the light of my life. She didn’t deserve to die the way she did, and though the perpetrator is dead, I won’t rest until those linked to her death are caught and punished.
” Somehow, I find the strength to move closer to the television.
“That includes the criminals that don’t roam our undergrounds but walk among us in suits—and uniforms. Not just those who commit crimes, but those officers who cover it up.
Now, you aren’t just hiding from a chief determined to clean up our force.
” He looks into the camera. “You’re hiding from a father avenging his child. ”
He walks away as questions are screamed at him.
“I’m sorry, Gable,” Charlie says from beside me.
I’m fixed in place, a humming in my ears that almost knocks me over.
But I remain standing.
“Don’t be.” I clear my throat of emotion. “She’s not dead.”
I walk back to my cell, Charlie on my heels.
“Listen, man, I’ve heard that denial—”
“It isn’t denial. It’s facts. Ella isn’t dead.” I sit back on the bed and lie down, refocusing on the rusted springs. Charlie stands in the doorway, unmoving, and I close my eyes and breathe deep.
She’s not dead.
A week passes.
Then another.
No visitors. No more letters.
Endless reports about Ella.
Candlelit vigils. Protests about organized crime. And a hard drive released outing hundreds of officers for taking bribes.
The biggest crackdown in legal history, they called it.
Ranger Luxe was arrested, but released quickly, because the man is untouchable. He won’t see the inside of a cell like me. Men like him never get punished.
A month passes.
Another letter about Hunter’s estate.
I do the same with it that I did with the last one.
I work out.
I watch the shows about Ella.
I wait.
Every Thursday, visitor day, I wait for my name to be called. For her to be here, because she will be here.
But Thursday passes.
Then another.
And another.
Ten weeks.
And nothing.
Just like today. Another Thursday, and no visitors.
“Why are you so sure?” Charlie asks quietly as we sit at one of the tables, playing cards.
“I just am.”
“They showed her funeral last week.”
I place my cards down. “I know that. I’m not saying the world doesn’t think she’s dead, but she’s just not.”
He eyes me before placing his own cards down. They look tiny in his massive hands. “So, you think she faked her death?”
“Yes. It’s the only way Guy could release those names and guarantee she’d be safe.”
“But … I thought you said Guy and Ranger had an agreement. He wasn’t going to touch Ella.”
I frown. “You think that motherfucker wouldn’t go back on it? I’m telling you, something went wrong and she had to go into hiding. This keeps her safe. And it also means we can be together. We won’t need to hide; we can both leave.”
“But Gable … you’re not together,” he says softly, and my eyes meet his. “No one has come for you. No one has even visited you. Wouldn’t they let you in on all this? Wouldn’t she somehow get a message to you?”
My throat thickens, but I shake my head at him.
I know how it sounds. I really do.
But I know she isn’t dead.
“Flynn,” an officer calls out, and I look over my shoulder. “Visitor.”
A grin spreads across my face. “This is him,” I say, standing and resting my hands at the table, allowing my grin to spread for the first time in months. “I bet my life Guy Gibson is waiting for me in that room, and he’ll let me know Ella is alive.”
Charlie’s smile is weak. “Good luck, man.”
I stride over to the doors, not even bothered by the chill of the handcuffs around my wrists, or the annoyance of them around my ankles. They lead me into the visitor area, and there he is.
Guy.
The relief almost forces me to my knees, but I manage to walk over. He catches my eye and remains expressionless, and I try not to smile, because this is hard for him. Ella has faked her death, which means he won’t be able to see her anymore. I can. I can have her every day once I’m out of here.
But he’s lost her, and I have to respect that.
I’m seated.
“You can uncuff him,” Guy says.
The office falters. “Sir, I—”
“Uncuff him.”
Reluctantly, he does. My knee bounces up and down almost involuntarily, and we’re quiet, only the quiet murmurs of other visits around us.
Guy looks older. Not by much, but he’s definitely tired. He’s in jeans and a T-shirt because it’s spring now—not that I’ve been able to experience much of it, but that’s fine. I can wait a little longer for her.
“How are you?” I ask. I can’t outright ask about her; people could overhear.
Guy doesn’t answer me, he just pushes a large envelope across the table. “I’m here because she asked me to do this, not because I want to.”
I take out the papers.
Across the front, it says:
“GABLE & ELLA”
I turn the page, and it’s our story. Starting from knocking on the door, to her dumping RoboCop in the lobby, to going to the bar and more. I laugh, blinking back tears as I scan over our memories, both good and bad, before love and after.
“It was the last thing she asked me to do.”
I keep my eyes on the paper, picturing her typing everything up. “Before she left?”
“Before she died, Gable.”
I pause mid-turn of the page and glance up at him. Seconds pass. Cold ones. The sounds of the visitor room fade away.
Shaking my head slowly, I say, “You can tell me the truth, Guy.”
Guy Gibson searches my face. “Truth about what?”
“She’s …” I laugh, but it’s hollow. Painful. “Guy, I know she’s alive. This is all fake, a performance to keep her safe. It’s okay. I’ll wait. I’ll get out, and it’ll be—”
“During her fourth surgery, her heart stopped beating.” The statement is sharp.
Slicing through me. “They brought her back, but she never woke up. I kept her alive, hoping, but one night I went home to see to Motor, and when I came back …” He looks away, his eyes glassy.
“She was gone. Blood clots are common after surgery … She’s gone, Gable. ”
Someone has hollowed out my chest.
Torn my heart from me.
Squeezed the muscle until it’s useless.
I’m breathing, but I’m not alive.
I’m here, but I’m somewhere else entirely.
There.
Then gone.
That’s death, isn’t it?
Quiet.
Absolute.
“You’re lying,” I whisper, but it’s more a prayer. A hope.
A wish on a star I cannot see.
“I’m not—”
I stand, my chair falling over. “I would know if she were dead. I’d fucking know!
” I hit my chest. “Something would have changed, altered … my soul would be spilling onto the goddamn floor if she was dead, Guy!” I’m panting, the room silent as everyone watches me.
A tear falls down Guy’s cheek, but I shake my head, refusing to see the grief.
“Give me your phone. I want to call her.”
“Gable—”
“Give me your fucking phone so I can call her!” I lunge for him, his jacket, but officers are on me in seconds.
I hear their orders.
The shouts.
The screams of visitors.
And I yell.
I demand to see her.
To talk to her.
To be told anything other than the truth.
That Ella …
My Ella.
She’s …