Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
His fists connected with the black bag. Deep thudding hits again and again. He was in the gym, the only place he had been since she left. The punching bag groaned on its chain as it took hit after hit, silently absorbing his fury.
For the first time in his life, Gavin felt truly and utterly lost. She wasn't just gone, she had said she was done with him and she had meant it.
The week that had led up to the sudden trip, Ebony hardly looked at him much less said a word to him.
Nothing he said or did would break her wall of silence.
He tried to apologize; he tried to corner her, forcing her to speak or just react, but she responded with nothing.
He had even planned to beg on his goddamn knees but she was already walking to the waiting car that would take them to the airport—without him.
Did he really just lose her for good?
He slammed his fist back into the bag just as his phone chimed. It wasn't her, he knew it from the sound. Years ago, he had given her profile a soft melody unique just to her, the only contact in his phone with a customized setting.
Annoyed, he picked up his phone and scowled at the message.
Unknown number: Holy shit you fucked up big time. Am I seriously looking at a picture on Cameron's socials of him and Ebony cozied up on some sort of boat? This is Beryl btw…currently laughing at you.
How the fuck did she get his number? His grip tightened until his phone cracked in his hand.
He forced himself to relax. He stared off, picturing himself pulling up to the garage and shaving Beryl bald and seeing if she still wanted to laugh.
Only the image of Ebony’s face, disappointed and furious, kept him where he was.
He was about to put his phone down when a call flashed on his screen. His father. Anger surged through him as he stared at the icon. The bastard had betrayed him on every level when he took her away from him but he poured acid into the wound when he took Cameron with them.
Taking a deep breath, he answered the video call.
His father appeared before him, his stern face lit up by the bright sun. Behind him, Gavin could see the back of a lounger and hear the cries of sea gulls in the background.
"You still sulking?" Grant asked, his narrow eyes searching.
Gavin already knew what he saw. He hadn't bothered wearing a shirt or doing shit with his hair. He was sweaty, tired, and mad. He no doubt looked like he belonged in a cage.
Gavin didn’t bother looking at the screen, he just stared straight ahead at the punching bag. "Did you need something?"
"Watch your tone," Grant ordered and Gavin had no choice but to look at the screen. His father’s eyes crackled with irritation as he stared at him. "I don’t give a shit how mad you are. Trust and believe I can get madder."
Gavin inhaled, willing himself not to hang up on the man.
"Son," Grant exhaled. He sounded tired, which was rare. "I know what you're doing. I know why you started all of this shit in the first place."
Gavin snorted. He could never know. He could never know how she was the first thought on his mind when he opened his eyes each morning. That she was the reason for every smile he had ever had. And that without her he really saw no point of going on.
Gavin's heart stuttered midbeat and his thoughts stopped when his father continued, "I know you love her."
Grant smirked, knowing he finally got his full attention.
"Your mother knows you love her. Hell, everyone in town knows you love Ebony.
The only person who doesn't is Ebony," he laughed.
"Which is why I never said anything. It was an issue that governed itself.
It was amusing really, until you had to go and fuck it up. "
Gavin didn’t know what to say. He just stood there frozen, holding his phone. Was he hearing him correctly?
Reading his stunned expression, Grant smirked and leaned closer to the phone. "Son, I know what you want and I know you were trying to do what you thought was right. As long as Ebony is happy and you are happy, I'll never hate you."
Relief curled in his gut like a fist, tight and aching. It washed over him in waves, threatening to take his knees out from under him.
"But at the rate you’re going,” Grant continued, his tone serious. “I may be forced to call Cameron son."
He was still riding the heady surge of euphoria when he glanced back at his father, a renewed determination igniting within him. “Call him whatever you want. He won’t be around long enough to answer to it.”