Chapter 2 Gabe #2
All the deployments. All the missed moments. All the times he’d chosen missions over being home, chosen danger over safety, chosen everything except being the father she deserved.
The guilt crashed over him the way it always did. She’d lost her mother at six years old. Lost the parent who’d been constant and present. She was left with the parent who was always leaving, always choosing something else over her.
But also the fierce love that would burn the world down to keep her safe. The knowledge that this child, this amazing, resilient, beautiful child, was the most important thing in his life. That he’d do anything for her. Be anything she needed.
Gabe watched her sleep for a long moment, making promises he hoped he could keep.
“I’m here now,” he whispered. “I’m trying to be better. I promise I’m trying.”
He carefully closed the door, letting her sleep.
Gabe knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Not after the nightmare, not with his mind racing about Simon and Terry and the threat to the inn. His usual routine would be to go for a run, do his full exercise routine, and push his body until his mind quieted.
But the cast on his leg made that impossible. It made everything impossible. He was trapped in this useless body that couldn’t even run away from its own thoughts.
Frustrating didn’t begin to cover it.
But he could walk. The boardwalk would be flat, safe, and manageable even on crutches.
Gabe fought to get dressed, and despite his frustration, he had to laugh at himself. Six weeks ago, he could have suited up for a combat mission in under three minutes. Now it was taking him fifteen minutes to get into sweatpants.
His SEAL training did help. He had exceptional balance, which meant he could stand on one leg while wrestling the sweatpants up with his hands. He hopped around the room trying to get his good leg through without falling over.
He nearly fell putting his shoe on his good foot, but caught himself against the wall.
“Still got it,” he muttered sarcastically to himself.
The crutches were the worst part. He hated them with a passion. They made him slow, clumsy, dependent. Everything he’d spent his life training not to be.
But they were necessary if he wanted to move around without further damaging his leg.
Gabe grabbed his phone and wallet, tucked them in his pockets, and quietly left his room. The inn was silent at this hour, as it was barely six AM. He should be able to get out without running into anyone.
He was wrong.
His mother was in the lobby, dressed for a run in fitted leggings and a lightweight jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she looked younger somehow, more like the woman he remembered from before his father’s betrayal had aged her.
She startled when she saw him. “Gabe, sweetheart! You’re up.”
Gabe smiled despite everything. “Could say the same about you.”
Holly looked better than she had last night. The shock from seeing Simon and Terry had worn off, replaced by something steadier. Determination, maybe. His mother had always been strong. She was his rock.
Gabe couldn’t help teasing her a little, trying to lighten both their moods. “So... you and Jack seem to have gotten pretty close. In the space of a week.”
Holly’s cheeks colored slightly. “Jack is a good man. It’s nice to be helping him save the inn.” She paused, then added softly, “It’s a great Christmas cause.”
But the smile in her eyes said so much more than her careful words. She was happy. Genuinely happy in a way Gabe hadn’t seen in years.
That made his heart lighter despite everything that had happened yesterday.
His mother deserved happiness. She deserved someone who would treat her with respect and kindness and the knowledge that she was precious.
Holly’s parental concern kicked in, pulling her attention to his crutches and cast. “Where are you off to?”
“Just a walk,” Gabe assured her. “Don’t worry, I’m not going on the sand. I’m staying on the boardwalk where it’s flat.”
Holly’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Take it easy, please. Don’t push yourself.”
She stepped forward and kissed his cheek in that mom way she’d done since he was a baby. Some things never changed, even when your kid was a thirty-two-year-old Navy SEAL.
“I’m fine, Mom. Go run.” He smiled at her.
Holly squeezed his arm once more, then headed toward the door that led to the beach path. Gabe watched her go, grateful she was starting to heal, and terrified that his father’s presence would undo all that progress.
He continued toward the boardwalk exit, navigating the crutches with growing efficiency if not grace.
The morning air was cool and crisp, that particular December chill that felt refreshing rather than cold. The boardwalk stretched out before him, mostly empty at this early hour. Sunrise was just beginning to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold.
Gabe found a rhythm with the crutches, the repetitive motion almost meditative.
Left, right, swing. Left, right, swing. His shoulders would be sore later from the unusual exertion, but it felt good to move, to be outside, to do something other than lie in bed being haunted by nightmares or sit around all day.
He’d made it about halfway down the boardwalk when he spotted someone at the end of it. An easel was set up, and someone was standing before it with a paintbrush in hand.
As Gabe got closer, he recognized Jane from behind. She was completely absorbed in her work, her hand moving across the canvas with confident strokes.
The painting was taking shape. It was a sunrise over the ocean, the colors vivid and beautiful. Oranges bleeding into pinks, purples at the edges where night still clung to the sky.
Gabe approached quietly, not wanting to startle Jane but also not wanting to interrupt if she was in the middle of something important.
But crutches on wooden planks weren’t exactly silent. Jane heard him coming and turned, paintbrush still in hand, a smudge of orange paint on her cheek she didn’t seem to know was there.
“Mind if I sit?” Gabe asked, gesturing to the bench beside her easel.
Jane hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. “No. Sure.”
Gabe navigated his crutches carefully, grateful to take the weight off his good leg. The bench offered a perfect view of the sunrise Jane was capturing on her canvas.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Jane returning to her painting while Gabe watched the real sunrise compete with the one she was creating.
“You’re really good at that,” he said finally.
Jane glanced at him, a small smile playing at her lips. “Thanks. I’ve been doing it a while.”
There was something peaceful about her presence at the moment. Jane wasn’t as withdrawn or on guard as she usually was.
“Are you an artist by trade?” Gabe asked.
Jane laughed, and the sound startled him. It transformed her whole face, making her look younger, softer, and more beautiful than he’d realized. The cool professional polish she usually wore fell away, revealing something warm underneath.
“No,” Jane said, still smiling. “I was a research scientist at Lockheed Martin in the West Palm Beach facility.”
Gabe was legitimately impressed. “Lockheed? That’s serious work.”
“It was,” Jane agreed. “But that was my past.”
“Is being an artist in your future?” Gabe asked.
“I started painting about two and a half years ago,” Jane said, her voice changing slightly.
Tightening with something that sounded like old pain.
“It helped me...” Jane trailed off, looking at her canvas instead of at him.
She gave a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Through some rough times.”
She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t offer details. And Gabe didn’t ask for them. He understood that, too. Some pain was too private to share, even in the sharing.
“I get that too,” he said quietly. “Only my art is…”
“Rushing into danger under the guise of saving the world?” Jane guessed. Her eyes filled with understanding.
Gabe stared at her in shock for a few minutes and knew she recognized in him what he had in her—deep grief, pain, and devastating loss.
They fell into comfortable silence again, both watching the sunrise paint the sky in increasingly brilliant colors. Jane’s brush moved across the canvas, capturing the light in ways Gabe didn’t quite understand but found beautiful anyway.
After several minutes, Jane made a sudden decision as she turned to him. “Want to give it a try?” She was already moving, pulling a second easel from her bag before Gabe could respond. “I always bring a spare in case I want to do two paintings,” she explained, setting it up beside hers.
Gabe surprised himself by not immediately refusing. “I’m not good at art. Not good at all, actually.”
Jane handed him a palette with already mixed paints and a selection of brushes. “It’s easy. I’ll show you.”
Her smile was encouraging, without a trace of judgment or expectation as he picked up a brush. “Okay.”
“Just feel it,” she instructed. “Don’t think too hard. Let your hand follow what your eyes see.”
Gabe took the palette dubiously. His hands were trained for weapons, for precision instruments, for the careful choreography of combat. Not for art.
But Jane was patient, coaching him through the basics. How to mix colors to get different shades. How to hold the brush for different types of strokes. Where to start. That was with the sky, and then work your way down.
Jane took time to show him how to blend colors while they were still wet, creating that seamless transition between shades.
Her voice was calm and encouraging. When his strokes were clumsy, she just offered gentle guidance. “Try less pressure there. Let the brush do the work.”