Chapter 11 #2
The parents in the image stand over their sleeping children, faces creased with worry they hide from innocent eyes.
The father clutches a newspaper with war headlines, keeping knowledge of distant violence from touching his family’s peace.
The mother bends, adjusting blankets with tender hands that can’t protect her children from the world’s cruelty.
It’s a lie I’ve always recognized. Now I wonder what lies Gabriel grew up believing, what secrets the Rockfords kept hidden from their golden youngest son.
The water shuts off in the bathroom, and minutes pass before the door opens, releasing a cloud of steam filled with the scent of my cheap soap on Gabriel’s expensive skin.
He steps into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets tracking down his chest and darkening the carpet beneath his feet.
His clothes, scattered across the floor, offer an unappealing option for coverage.
The button-down shirt lies in pieces, the fabric torn in my haste last night, and the pants and underwear are now three days past their freshest. His nose wrinkles as he picks up the shirt, examining the missing buttons with a grimace.
“You can borrow some of mine.” I push myself up from the bed, crossing to the dresser.
The drawer sticks as I pull it open, requiring the usual jiggle to free it from the track. I grab a plain black T-shirt, boxer briefs, and the newest pair of jeans I own.
“Thanks.” Gabriel takes the offered clothes, his fingers brushing mine in the exchange. “That shirt cost more than I care to admit.”
I snort, stepping past him toward the bathroom. “Should have thought about that before you let me rip it off you.”
His laugh follows me into the bathroom, the sound warming places inside me that have been cold for years. I close the door before he can see my expression, unsure what truths he’ll read on my face.
With Gabriel having showered first, I scrub myself clean in record time, not willing to risk being doused with cold when the last of the hot water runs out.
The bathroom mirror fogs as I yank a towel from the rack, droplets of water tracking down my spine. My reflection appears distorted and incomplete through the condensation, fitting for how I feel, caught between who I was before and whoever I’m becoming with Gabriel’s presence in my life.
Not wanting to linger, I pull on clean boxers and a faded, long-sleeved shirt that’s seen better days. The damp towel hangs on the door hook as I step into the hallway, expecting to find Gabriel waiting in my bedroom.
The room sits empty, the bed unmade, with the sheets tangled from our bodies moving together. My clothes from yesterday clutter the floor, but Gabriel’s are gone. He must have left while I showered, and my stomach drops with unwelcome disappointment.
I pad barefoot through the apartment, following a low murmur coming from the living room. Gabriel stands by the window, his back to me, phone pressed to his ear, and a sense of déjà vu washes over me.
The black T-shirt stretches across shoulders broader than mine, jeans hanging looser on his hips. The casual outfit does nothing to diminish the authority in his stance.
He stands rigid, shoulders squared beneath the cotton fabric. One hand grips the phone while the other gestures in the air as he speaks. “That’s unacceptable. I don’t care about the complications. Get me the information.”
The floorboard creaks beneath my foot, and Gabriel turns, his attention snapping to me. The instant our eyes meet, the hard lines in his face soften.
“I expect results within the day,” he says into the phone and ends the call with a tap of his thumb.
The contrast between the Gabriel who touched me with reverent hands, who asked permission before examining my bruises, who let me see glimpses of his own wounds, and this Gabriel, who speaks in commands and dismisses complications with cold efficiency is striking.
Both versions exist within the same man, layers sliding over each other, revealing and concealing different faces with practiced ease.
The phone disappears into his pocket, and Gabriel offers a smile. His posture relaxes into a casual stance, the transition so smooth I might have missed it if I wasn’t staring right at him.
“Sorry.” The business tone vanishes, replaced with the intimate cadence I’ve grown accustomed to. “Work never stops.”
Questions rise to my lips. Who called? What needs handling? What aren’t you telling me? But I swallow them down.
I’m not entitled to his business. Gabriel owes me no explanations for calls taken in my living room. But the ease with which he shifts between versions of himself, from businessman back to lover without a hitch in his breathing, causes an uncertainty in me that I can’t quite explain.
Which version is real? The man who touched me with such tenderness, or the one who just commanded someone to deliver results with such coldness.
Maybe both. Maybe neither.
I file the feeling away, tucking it into the growing collection of observations about Gabriel that don’t quite fit together. The puzzle of him expands with each hour we spend together, pieces connecting and disconnecting in patterns I can’t yet discern.
“You want coffee?” I ask instead of the questions burning for answers.
After all, who am I to judge? For years, I’ve lived three different lives before Gabriel came crashing into all of them.
Relief flashes before he stifles it. “Please.”
I move toward the kitchen, his eyes on my back as I prep the coffee maker. The familiar ritual grounds me in the mundane while my mind races.
Gabriel follows, leaning on the counter as the coffee begins to drip, filling the small space with its rich aroma. His fingers drum a restless pattern on his thigh, betraying an agitation he tries to hide.
“Your clothes fit pretty well,” he offers, gesturing down at the borrowed outfit.
“Lucky for you,” I say, playing along with his desire for normalcy. “Would’ve been awkward sending you home in just a towel.”
His laugh comes quick and genuine. “The press would have a field day. Rockford Spare Spotted Half-Naked in Seedy Neighborhood.”
The joke lands flat with the reminder of the gulf between our worlds. Gabriel belongs to mansions and board rooms and media coverage, while I exist in the shadows of back alleys and underground clubs.
Is it even possible for our worlds to co-exist?
Do I want them to, if it means we’re both keeping secrets?