29. Gabe
GABE
“Are you going to hide out here all day?” King’s voice carries across the backyard.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the bottom of my t-shirt and turn to face him. He’s the picture of Hamptons preppy, from the shorts and the loafers to the polo. My heart lifts at the sight of all that happy, golden perfection.
And then it plummets.
I’m at my beach house for a reason. To be away from him and Alex and Katherine. The distance hurts like hell, but so does everything else.
When I don’t say anything, he frowns, glancing at the pile of weeds to my left. “What’s going on, Gabriel?”
Shit. My full given name makes me stand up a little straighter.
“Just taking some time to get my head together.” Like Alex wanted. Hell, like I wanted.
My frustration last night was mostly aimed at myself.
When someone points out the thing that’s already bothering you, it makes said thing feel ten times worse.
And I’d already promised myself that I was going to get my shit together and become a man Katherine could love and depend on.
And then my best friend, who should know me better than anyone, gave me a dressing down.
I’m still stinging from it.
And that’s probably what he wanted.
Alex isn’t cruel. He’s calculating.
“Fair,” King says.
He’s not going to let this go, so all the overgrown bushes and unruly weeds will have to wait. He’s so sweetly stubborn.
I drop the old loppers on a chair and circle the pool. When I was young and had too much energy, my mom would send me outside to pull weeds. Let’s just say she had the tidiest flower beds for miles.
I brush my hands on my jeans. “Did he send you?”
“I sent myself. What’s going on, man?”
He follows me into the house. “You got furniture.”
“I did.” Where there was a pile of lumber and a five-gallon bucket two weeks ago, now there’s a low sectional in a soft fabric with a plush rug beneath.
“When did this happen?” He pulls the chain on one of the new lamps adorning matching end tables.
“This morning.”
He stands up straight, realizing that I must have set this all in motion last night, and then turns toward me.
Why do I feel so guilty?
Because he was so interested in this project, you jackass.
To be fair, I took every thought he had and filed it away.
These are the exact pieces he suggested.
I mean, he didn’t give me brands so much as colors and styles.
I just relayed all that to the designer, who was only too happy to run around in the middle of the night.
Apparently, the furniture warehouses were equally thrilled with the words ‘blank check.’
“You’re running away,” King says, sort of soft, like the truth is dawning on him.
“It’s just furniture.”
He’s too smart for that, though. “Why?”
“Why did I buy furniture?”
He pokes my chest. “Why are you fighting with Alex? Why are you over here when Katherine’s over there?—”
“You’re here!” I fire back.
“To bring you back?—”
“No—”
“Why are you buying furniture for a house that has holes in the walls?” He waves at the offending holes, exacerbation dripping from every pore. His eyes sparkle with wildness, like a cheetah chasing its prey. This isn’t solely about the furniture, and we both know it.
But I chicken out. “Because I wanted a place to sit.”
“Because you’re hiding out over here when you could be over there.” He points to the front door and beyond. To Delores Lane and a short drive to the Montgomery estate.
“I’m thinking.” My voice is higher. Louder.
I try to breathe through the pressure in my chest and calm down, but it’s so hard. He reminds me of Katherine in how easily they get under my skin.
“Well,” he says, spinning, then settles on the sofa, arm stretched across the back. “What are you thinking about? Let’s noodle it together.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for several heartbeats. He’s like a puppy. Friendly, earnest, energetic. And for some strange reason, I feel the need to stay away from that wholesome energy. I really am messed in the head.
At the same time, I’m drawn to him, to the empty spot next to him on the couch. It’s like there are tiny threads connected to every cell in my body, tugging me toward him, connecting me to him. The sensation is wild. My limbs are heavy, my brain woozy.
I really should have eaten something before deciding a little manic physical labor was a good idea.
“I mean, no pressure, but maybe?—”
“It’s my fault.” The words burst from my lips, and I wave a hand in the general direction of the ocean. Of where Katherine was held on that stupid yacht.
King stares up at me, eyes wide, brows lifted, waiting.
My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. “If I hadn’t put the balls in motion to buy out Cort, Lucinda wouldn’t have had any reason to—She wouldn’t have pressed so hard. She wouldn’t have?—”
I wipe a hand over my eyes. I didn’t sleep well last night. Or at all, really.
“Let’s back the train up so I can get on,” King says, his voice even softer now, like he’s approaching a skittish colt. “You’re the one buying out Cort?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It used to be a dream to take over the thing that Henry found most sacred. And then the opportunity presented itself.”
“So you think because you started nosing around, Lucinda found out and got desperate?”
Fuck, it sounds worse when he says it out loud.
“Isn’t that what happened?”
“Yeah.” He nods.
The word hits like a blow to the chest.
Trust King to not pull his punches. Hello brutal honesty.
He sits forward, elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers. Fuck. Why can’t we go back to when those fingers were learning how I like to be touched? When he kissed and teased my skin, making me feel alive and at home at the same time?
“Lying to you won’t do any good,” he says.
“So yes, from the outside, it looks like your move started the craziness. But Gabe, step back and look at the whole chessboard. Your decision to buy Cort was one move. One pawn moving forward a square. There were so many other moves across those black-and-white tiles. We know now Lucinda’s not sane.
There’s something messed up in her head that none of us realized. ”
I blow out a side and sink into one of the club chairs across from the couch. “Yeah.” She’s definitely got marbles loose. Screws. Whatever. “Add to that her ruthlessness.”
“Right. She was Henry’s daughter in every way. Trained by him. Molded into his image. And when he died, he left a ghost she’ll be fighting ’til the end of her life.”
“That doesn’t excuse what she did.”
He shoves to his feet, all furious, glorious energy. “Of course not! There’s no excuse for what she did. The point is, you aren’t responsible.”
“Feels like it.”
“There were dozens of other plays leading up to what happened yesterday. You didn’t hire those men. You didn’t charter that yacht. You are not to blame here. That rests squarely on Lucinda’s shoulders.” He squares off in front of me. “Why is this eating at you so hard?”
I shrug.
Hell if I know. Is this what the upside down feels like?
Who knew guilt was a living, breathing thing? An invisible dragon just waiting to barbecue your ass.
He stares at me with that same open curiosity I noticed that first day. “You know what I think?”
I cross my arms over my chest, and his gaze follows the movement. Yeah, it’s a barrier between us. No, I don’t like it. But it’s comforting too. Maybe I’m pouting like a toddler. Sue me.
I drop my hands to my hips. “What?”
“You’re in love with her. And I don’t think you’ve ever been in love before. The deep, heartbreaking kind. It’s killing you to believe that you had any part in what happened. And even scarier, what she’ll say when she finds out the truth.”