Chapter 18 Gabe
GABE
I grip the edge of the counter, knuckles tight, because the silence on her end crawls straight under my skin. Every instinct I have wants to drive to her place right now and tear the truth out of whatever's hurting her. My voice stays even only because I force it to.
"Lena," I say, quieter than before, the words running hotter than I mean them to, "can I come over in the morning?"
There's a shift in her breathing. She's thinking hard. "Sure," she says finally. "But don't show up trying to change my mind."
I close my eyes. "I won't."
I will. But I can't tell her that.
We end the call with a drop in the middle of the air, and I stand there for a long time, towel dripping against the floor, wanting to punch a wall and wanting to curl my body around hers at the same time.
The idea of her sitting across from another man makes a cold anger move through my chest. I head to bed and stare at the ceiling until dawn crawls in through the blinds.
By the time I reach her house, my head feels like it's been running laps all night.
She opens the door before I knock twice.
She's in leggings and a soft-looking shirt, hair tied back, no makeup.
She looks tired but solid, the way she always looks when she's made a decision she plans to carry like a sack of bricks.
"Come in," she says quietly.
The smell of breakfast hits me immediately. Eggs, toast, and something warm on the stove. She turns her back to me and fusses with a pan like she's trying to keep her hands busy. I shut the door behind me and watch her for a moment. She doesn't turn around. "You cooked?" I ask.
She nods. "Yeah. Sit. The food'll get cold."
Jace is humming to himself at the table, swinging his legs. He smiles when he sees me and waves a piece of toast. It settles something inside me that was shaking all night. "Morning, buddy," I tell him.
He beams with a mouth full of bread and cut-up sausage.
I take the seat across from him. Lena brings the plates over without meeting my eyes.
Along with the toast and fluffy eggs are sausages seared to a deep, greedy brown, their skins split just enough for fat to bead and glisten along the edges.
A hiss still rises from one of them, the last breath of a perfect pan-fry.
They look incredible, and useless. My stomach is a tight fist. Hunger exists somewhere far away, behind whatever churned through me last night and whatever is still happening right now.
I pick up the fork only to set it down again, the shine of those sausages mocking the fact that I can't force a single bite past my throat.
We wait until Jace finishes his last bite.
School's closed today, and he wants to go out to the yard and paint.
Lena set up canvases for him, and he runs to them like he's been waiting all morning.
We sit together for a moment, watching him make bold red circles on the canvas and proudly call it a tomato sitting on a treetop.
He looks back at us and grins, showing a small gap between his two front teeth that has no business making my heart ache the way it does.
I clear my throat and watch him get busy with pebbles and dirt, the way kids do.
"So," she starts. "I'm doing the date because it'll let the gossip die down. That's all."
The words are clipped. Straight to business. No room for argument.
I study her face. She's holding herself too tightly, like someone pushing a door closed with their whole body. "Why do you care so much about the gossip?" I ask.
She stiffens. "I don't. I just need it to go away."
"You act like this date is the only fix," I say. "It's not."
She cuts her eggs into smaller pieces. "Gabe, I'm not discussing the entire town with you over breakfast."
"That's not what I asked."
Her answers just sound off, because she's not looking at me.
She's speaking too quickly and her tone is too flat.
It's as if she's building a wall while I'm sitting in front of her.
This spikes a hot anger in my chest, though it's not her that I'm angry with, but at whatever has her this twisted up and whoever made her believe she has to deal with this alone.
I'm in half a mind to push the plate aside and force her to look at me so I can tell her she doesn't have to carry any of this.
But if I push too hard, she'll shut down even more.
The anger sits hot under my ribs anyway. Someone has her scared, or cornered, or ashamed, and she won't say who. And the thought of that—of her turning to a date because she feels outnumbered, not because she wants it—makes something inside me snap tight.
I keep my face still and don't let any of it show. But my pulse is thudding like I'm back in a bad room overseas and waiting for the next hit. I don't want her on this date and I don't want some other man touching what's mine. And it bothers me that she thinks this is her only way out.
She finally looks up and into my eyes and sighs. "I'm doing this because it's simple," she says. "It shuts people up. It resets things."
"Resets what?"
She hesitates for one long second, then gives a shrug that doesn't fit her body at all. "My life. Maybe it's time I… put myself out there."
The words don't belong to her, I'm almost sure of it. I lean back in my chair. "So you want to see this guy."
She shrugs her shoulders and looks down once more. "It's one dinner."
"That's not what I asked, either."
Her jaw moves once, like she's grinding her teeth. "Gabe, don't read into this."
"You're giving me nothing but reasons to."
She looks away and takes a sip of coffee. "You said you wouldn't try to change my mind."
"I'm not." I keep my voice calm. "I'm trying to understand what you're thinking."
She pushes her plate away and wipes her fingers on a napkin. "I'm thinking it's just dinner, and if I'm out with this guy, the town will move on and find something else to gossip about."
"But why?" I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "Gossip never bothered you, Lena. You were always better than that."
"Turns out I'm not anymore," she snaps. "I'm settled here, with a good job, and my son has a good life here. I don't appreciate people talking about me like you're my sugar daddy and…" Her lower lip trembles. "Gabe, I'm sorry. Like I said, this isn't anything serious. But you need to let me do it."
She stands abruptly and lifts her plate. "I need to get ready," she says. "I have errands before I meet him."
The words drop like a brick in my stomach.
I stand too. "Lena—"
She cuts me off gently. "Don't. You said you wouldn't push."
I force myself to nod. Lena turns away again, pretending to fix something on the counter that doesn't need fixing.
When she faces me next, her shoulders have squared. It's her armor. I recognize it.
"We're fine," she says. "This is fine. I'll see you later."
I look at her for one long moment. She won't meet my eyes. She knows exactly what she's doing, and she hates that she's doing it, but she's doing it anyway. "Okay," I say quietly. I move to her, kiss her on the forehead, and step outside and head to the rental.
Over the next few hours and until the evening, I'm able to get zero amount of work done. The thought of her sitting across from some man who thinks she's available twists in my gut, and by the time the clock hits six thirty, I'm already grabbing my keys.
The Tahoe rental waits in the driveway. Black, plain, and forgettable, it's the kind of vehicle no one pays attention to and perfect for a man who plans to stay in the background.
I get to her street right as the sitter walks up to her porch.
Jace opens the door and shows off a stuffed dinosaur.
Lena steps into view a moment later. Even from a distance, I catch the warmth in her smile when she talks to her son.
Then she tells the sitter a few things, checks the lock, and steps outside.
My breath stalls.
She's stunning.
Every part of her outfit looks chosen with care. Soft dress, shaped at the waist. Hair loose. Lips glossed. A look made for a night she doesn't even want to go on. She adjusts her purse, glances back at the window to make sure her boy's okay, and I take it in without letting my face show a thing.
I don't know if I deserve to feel protective of her, but it happens anyway.
She walks to her car and unlocks it before sitting behind the wheel with her hands resting on top of it for an extra second, like she needs one last moment to steady herself. Then she drives off toward town.
I wait a few heartbeats before pulling out behind her.
No tailgating. No close tracking. Just enough distance to keep her safe if anything goes wrong.
She reaches the restaurant early enough that the parking lot is still half empty.
She steps out, smooths her dress, lifts her chin, and heads toward the doors.
She carries herself like she's determined to get through the night without letting anything show—not nerves, not frustration, not the mess this week has turned into.
I stay in the Tahoe two rows back, near the exit. She disappears inside. The lights from the restaurant glow on the asphalt, and I settle in to wait.
A few minutes later, another car pulls in. A man climbs out. Early thirties. Clean shave. New shirt. Too much confidence in the way he checks his watch even though he's clearly early. He straightens his collar, fixes his hair in the window, and walks inside.
Leo. I know this kid's father, and I know for a fact that the son is a lech who already has a girlfriend and several flings on the side. I stood across from him and his father two weeks ago while he went on and on about ‘bagging an item’. He couldn't shut up about her. Great.
I shift in my seat. I've seen men like him on too many jobs—eyes everywhere, charm used like a tool, always ready to talk about themselves for hours. This kind of guy deserves no access to a woman like her.
My hand rests on the wheel, tense, steady. I'm not storming in there. I'm not dragging him out by his shirt. But I'm not leaving, either.
She's in that building, and whether she knows it or not, she has backup tonight.
The engine stays off. The night settles. Cars pass, conversations float from the outdoor patio, nothing unusual. But every part of me stays alert. My muscles stay ready, like my body remembers every mission briefing I ever sat through.
I lean back and stare at the front doors.
She walked in there alone. She won't come out alone if I can help it.
Not because she's fragile or needs saving. She's stronger than me when she needs to be. But I promised myself I wouldn't fail her again, and I'm not going back on my word this time.
I rest one arm over the back of the seat and force myself to breathe slowly. She can have her dinner, talk to this man, and figure out what she wants. But no one in that restaurant gets to treat her like she's a second choice.
Not on my watch.