Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Gabbi
The storm raged outside, pounding against the cabin with relentless force, the wind howling through the cracks in the wood like a wounded animal.
Rain lashed against the roof in chaotic bursts, the sound mixing with the distant rumble of thunder.
The air inside was thick—with heat, with tension, with something heavier than either of us wanted to name.
I sat near the fireplace, arms wrapped around my knees, watching the flames flicker against the crumbling stone.
The fire was weak, barely enough to keep the cold at bay, but it was all we had.
All we had was this moment, this night, this tiny bubble of isolation before reality came crashing back in.
Bobby sat across from me, his broad shoulders illuminated in the low glow of the fire.
His jaw was tight, his hands clasped together, his fingers flexing slightly, like he was still gripping onto something too painful to let go of.
He was always like this—coiled, restrained, trying so goddamn hard to keep everything locked inside.
I wanted to shake him. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to fix it.
Instead, I whispered, “Talk to me.”
His gaze flicked to mine, sharp, unreadable. “About what?”
I exhaled slowly, resting my chin on my knee. “About Liam. About what this has done to you.”
His jaw ticked, his fingers tightening. “You already know.”
“No, I don’t.” My voice was steady, but something in my chest ached. “Not really. I know what it did to me. I know what it took from me. But I don’t know what it took from you, Bobby. You never let me in.”
His throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze dropping to the fire. “What’s the point, Gabbi?” His voice was low, hoarse. “Talking about it doesn’t change anything.”
I shifted forward slightly, the distance between us shrinking. “Maybe not. But it’s still inside you, isn’t it?” I watched his face carefully, every flicker of emotion he tried to suppress. “You’ve been carrying this alone for so long. Aren’t you tired?”
Something cracked in his expression, just for a second.
Then he let out a breath, shaking his head.
“Losing him… it broke me. And you want to know the worst part?” His voice dipped lower, rougher.
“It wasn’t just losing him that destroyed me.
It was what came after. The silence. The way everything just…
stopped. I stopped being his brother, stopped being a person, stopped being anything but the guy who lost someone.
And no one knew what to say. No one knew how to look at me. Not even you.”
My breath hitched. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” He finally met my gaze again, his green eyes dark, haunted. “Every time you looked at me, Gabbi, I saw it. Guilt. Like you couldn’t even stand to be around me without remembering what happened.”
My heart twisted painfully. “Because I hated myself for it, Bobby. I still do.”
His brows furrowed slightly, his hands clenching into fists. “I never blamed you.”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “Maybe not with words. But you didn’t have to. I blamed myself enough for both of us.”
Silence settled between us, thick and suffocating, the weight of six years pressing down on every breath. The fire crackled, casting shadows along the walls, illuminating every raw, broken thing between us.
Bobby exhaled heavily, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “I don’t know how to let this go,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to stop feeling like I failed him.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my jeans. “I don’t think we ever will. But we don’t have to do it alone.”
His gaze held mine, something unreadable shifting there. Then, slowly, he reached out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear, his fingertips grazing my skin just barely.
“You still drive me crazy,” he murmured.
My breath caught.
I didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was me, maybe it was him, maybe it was inevitable. But suddenly, his mouth was on mine.
It started slow—hesitant, careful, like testing the weight of something fragile. But then Bobby groaned against my lips, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, and the hesitation disappeared.
The kiss turned hungry, desperate, years of frustration and longing and pain colliding all at once. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything.
Bobby moved faster than I could think, shifting us both until I was straddling his lap, my knees pressing into the wooden floor on either side of him.
His hands skimmed up my thighs, gripping my hips, holding me like he’d never let go.
His mouth was hot, demanding, unrelenting, stealing every breath I had left.
I gasped against his lips as he pulled me tighter against him, his body solid and warm beneath me. My nails dug into his shoulders, and he groaned, his fingers digging into my waist in response.
"Gabbi," he murmured against my throat, his voice rough, edged with something close to a plea.
Heat spread through my body like fire, igniting every nerve, every inch of me. This was Bobby—the man who had wrecked me, the man I had never stopped wanting, never stopped missing. And right now, there was no grief, no pain, no past clawing at the edges.
Just this.
Just us.
His lips found mine again, his hands sliding beneath my shirt, his touch sending a shiver straight down my spine. My head tilted back as he kissed his way down my throat, his breath hot against my skin. My body pressed into his, needing more, needing all of him.
Bobby pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath uneven. "Tell me this is real," he whispered.
My chest tightened, a lump forming in my throat. "It is," I murmured. "Right now, it is."
And that was all it took.
His lips were on mine again, his hands gripping me tighter, pulling me impossibly closer, and nothing else mattered.
The storm outside raged on, the wind screaming, the rain hammering against the roof. But inside, in the flickering glow of the fire, there was only heat.
And this time, Bobby didn’t pull away.