Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Bobby
The rooftop had always been my place to think.
On nights when sleep wouldn’t come, when the weight of the past sat too heavily on my chest, I’d come up here, let the city lights blur my thoughts, and pretend for a few minutes that I wasn’t stuck between the past and the present. But tonight, I wasn’t alone.
Gabbi sat next to me, her legs tucked under her, her hoodie pulled tight around her small frame.
The wind lifted strands of her hair, brushing them across her cheek, and she made no move to fix it.
The whiskey bottle sat between us, half-empty, warming our skin even though the night air was cool.
We hadn’t said much since we came up here, just passed the bottle back and forth, watching the city stretch out below us.
"You ever think about what it would’ve been like if none of this had happened?" Gabbi’s voice was quiet, almost lost in the breeze, but I caught every word.
I exhaled slowly, rolling the glass between my fingers before setting it down beside me. "Every damn day."
She turned her head to look at me, waiting, but I wasn’t sure I had anything else to say.
I had spent years avoiding this conversation, years shoving it all down because talking about it meant remembering, and remembering hurt like hell.
But now, with her sitting next to me, close enough that our shoulders brushed, there was no escaping it.
"I hated you for years," I admitted, my voice rough. "Not because you took Liam to that park. But because I couldn’t stop loving you, even when I tried."
Gabbi inhaled sharply, but she didn’t look away. I could see her fingers curling into the fabric of her hoodie, gripping it tight, like she was bracing herself for something that had already happened.
"I told myself that if I could blame you enough, I’d stop feeling like this," I continued. "If I could be angry enough, I’d stop missing you every time I saw something that reminded me of us. But it didn’t work. No matter what I did, no matter how much I tried to move on, you were still there."
Gabbi reached for the whiskey bottle, took a slow sip, then set it down again. "I never moved on," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I tried. But no one else ever came close. Every relationship after you felt empty, like I was just waiting for something that would never come."
I clenched my jaw, staring at the ground, trying to push down the ache in my chest.
"I kept chasing stories that led to Victor’s men," she continued. "Not just because I wanted justice, but because I felt like I had to make things right. Like if I could find something—anything—it would somehow erase what happened. But it never did."
I turned to her then, my chest tightening. "It was never your fault, Gabbi."
She let out a hollow laugh. "Doesn’t mean I didn’t carry it like it was."
The silence between us stretched, heavy with everything we had never said. The wind brushed against my skin, carrying the distant hum of the city, but all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat, steady and loud in my ears.
"I don’t know how to do this," I admitted, voice rough. "I don’t know how to love you without being afraid you’ll disappear again."
Gabbi swallowed hard, looking down at her hands. "I’m scared too," she whispered. "Because I never stopped belonging to you. And I don’t know if I ever will."
Her words hit me hard, knocked the breath right out of me.
I reached out then, hesitantly, my fingers brushing against hers. She didn’t pull away.
For a long moment, we just sat there, hands barely touching, hearts wide open, wounds still raw. We had spent six years apart. Six years trying to forget, trying to heal in all the wrong ways, trying to live without each other.
And yet, here we were.
Gabbi sighed and leaned into me, resting her head against my shoulder. I felt her breath against my skin, warm and steady, and I let my chin rest lightly on the top of her head. Her fingers curled around my forearm, not holding too tightly, just enough to let me know she was really there.
"I missed this," she murmured.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, my free hand moving to her back, rubbing small circles absentmindedly. "Yeah," I admitted. "Me too."
The wind picked up slightly, making her shiver, and without thinking, I shifted so that my arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer. She melted against me like she had been waiting for it, like she had been needing it as badly as I had.
"I kept telling myself I hated you," I whispered. "But I was lying."
She exhaled, her fingers tightening on my sleeve. "I kept telling myself I deserved that hate."
I tilted my head slightly, pressing my lips to her temple in a soft, lingering kiss. "You didn’t," I murmured. "You never did."
Gabbi let out a shaky breath, burying her face against my shoulder. I felt her relax, felt the way her body molded against mine, the way she let herself just be.
We stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, neither of us speaking, neither of us needing to. My fingers traced lazy patterns against her back, her breath warm against my collarbone. There was nothing rushed about this, nothing desperate. Just quiet understanding. Just us.
Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look up at me, her dark eyes searching mine. "Where do we go from here?" she asked softly.
I ran my fingers along her jaw, letting my thumb brush over her cheek. "Wherever we want," I said. "But together this time."
Her lips parted slightly, something vulnerable flickering across her expression before she sighed and rested her forehead against mine. "Together," she echoed.
I closed my eyes for a second, just breathing her in, letting the moment settle between us.
The past wasn’t erased. The wounds weren’t magically gone. But for the first time in six years, I wasn’t afraid of what came next.
I had her.
And that was enough.