Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Mia
It had been cowardly of me to leave the hospital without waiting to talk with Gabe, to clear the air.
Now, after a long Monday, after my shift, after cooking dinner for Tate, I left without eating with him.
He knew something was wrong but didn’t press me about it.
How could I confess to him my crisis of conscience, how I’d betrayed both Denise, my best friend and Gabe, who I might as well refer to as the love of my life if I was being emotionally honest. A drastic change in attitude.
So as soon as I stepped into my empty apartment, the setting sun streaming through the living room window, I collapsed onto the couch and slipped out my phone.
After pausing for one unsteady heartbeat, I called Denise.
Guilt forced me to wait while I listened to the phone ring three times, made me bite down on my lip, made my stomach knot up.
I had to tell her about the kiss, but even more than that, I had to confess that I’d wanted to kiss him, that it had been more than just a kiss, however brief it was.
It had been symbolic. It had been heart-melting in its tenderness and soul-shattering in its electrifying excitement and I wanted so much more.
“Mia. I wasn’t sure if I would hear from you. Wasn’t sure I wanted to hear from you.” Denise’s voice was as cold as I’d ever heard it, filled with unleashed anger and self-righteous indignation, tight and readying for an assault. I held myself still against the shiver.
“I’m sorry, Denise. So sorry.” My voice was soft and warm but fell short of pleading. The full blame wasn’t mine.
“I can’t believe you told him that I wanted you to kiss him, that I—”
“I can’t believe you asked me to kiss him. You put me in the middle from the beginning.”
“Really? How was I supposed to know that my best friend had a thing for my boyfriend all along? Tell me?”
“I . . . always had a crush on him. But it was only—”
“Spare me, Mia. He was my boyfriend, we were serious. We had four and a half years—” She broke off and I heard the tears in her voice. My chest clenched tight. What had I done?
“I know. I’m so sorry. But it wasn’t me, Denise.
I wanted to kiss him, I admit. I’ve always had a crush, I’ll admit to that too, but you know Gabe and I have nothing.
You know he split up with you because of football, not me.
” It hurt my heart to say the words, to know they were true.
The shuddering pain I felt was for both of us.
I waited with the phone to my ear, listening to the silence, straining to hear a breath or a sob or a word.
I don’t know how many beats of quiet went by before Denise spoke again.
“It kills me to admit you’re right.” There were tears in her words. “Tell me the truth, Mia. Are you in love with him?”
It was the hardest question I’d ever had to answer, one I knew I needed to answer truthfully, for Denise—I owed her that—and for myself.
“Yes.” My voice was definitive, strong yet breathy, sure yet fearful. “Please forgive me.”
Now I heard her sniffling. “How can I, Mia? I loved you like a sister.” She sobbed and I waited, listened to nothing for too long, so long I checked the connection. Then she came back on the phone.
“I still do. Still love you. Still love that bastard Gabriel Wyatt, bless his damn soul.”
I laughed through tears, covered my mouth to stop.
“But I can’t forgive you, Mia. Or him. Not yet.” Her voice was strong and tear-free now, the old tough-as-nuts Denise was back. “I will,” she said. “Sometime. Not now. Not for a long time.”
“I understand.” My heart broke, my voice wobbled.
“Goodbye, Mia.” She ended the call. I sobbed. For a long time.
I spent the next week as if I were in mourning all over again, this time over the loss of my best friend, or at least that’s what it felt like.
Not that I was over grieving for my dad.
In some ways, it didn’t feel like I’d even started.
I was too busy sorting my relationship with Denise in my head, and in my heart.
Too many times I held my phone in my hand and itched to call Gabe.
Each time I stuffed my phone back into the pocket of my scrubs, or into my bag, or tossed it onto my kitchen counter.
By Thursday, I needed to talk to someone, not one of my coworkers who knew nothing of my friend Denise, nothing of my relationship with Gabe. I thought of calling Tate but knew that would be grossly unfair. The last thing I wanted to do was bother my mother with my problems, but I needed her.
Sitting with my knees bent up, huddled on my favorite chair by the window, dressed in old cut-off sweat pants and a tank top, I was ready for bed. But I didn’t want to spend another restless, nearly sleepless night, so I picked up my phone and pressed in her number.
“Mom, I hope it’s not too late.”
“Mia, it’s good to hear your voice any time,” she said. Of course she would say that. I hesitated a beat, not knowing where to start. She lived in New York and I could hear street noises as if she was outside.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I heard the concern in her voice.
“Are you out?”
“Just my nightly stroll with Pepsi.” I smiled, thinking of her little dog. Dad had bought it for her after he got sick, as if he’d known he wouldn’t make it. A wave of longing, a sharp pang, went through me.
“What’s wrong?” she said again.
“Everything.” I told her about Denise, about her tortured relationship with Gabe, about Tate, all of it.
Most importantly, I poured my heart out about Gabe, about our connection, how I felt, about the kiss, about what happened with his mother.
Finally admitting fully to myself and the world how I felt, my hopes and how I dreamed about him, about having something with him.
Anything more than what I had, which seemed to be nothing right now.
“Mia, you deserve to have him, to have whatever you want with him. Give yourself a chance. Don’t leave all those feelings on the table because you’re afraid. I say you should go for it, put it all out there for him to take and see what happens.”
“But what if—”
“What if you get exactly what you want?” she whispered. My chest lifted with a euphoric bubble. What if he loved me back?
“All you need is some courage, Mia, and since you’re one of the bravest people I know, I’m confident you can do it. No matter what happens, sweetheart, I know you’ll be fine.”
I laughed because she was convincing. Maybe I wasn’t a fool to think I could have Gabe Wyatt, to think he might want me . . . more than football.
“You might be right, Mom—I mean about Gabe being worth taking a chance on.”
“I’m right about you being worth it. You deserve to be happy.
Don’t be afraid to take your shot, Mia. I’ll be here for you.
” I heard the silent words in case it doesn’t work out.
But that didn’t discourage me. I was too distracted by the notion that it might work out, and that I wanted to know one way or another, to go for broke. My mother was right.
Because if I didn’t go for broke with Gabe, who else would be worth it? He was my one. And I think I’d known that ever since that first night over four years ago when we first met, the way we connected.
“Thanks, Mom.” We said our goodbyes. That call was not going to help me sleep tonight because I was too excited, hopped up on nervous energy, anticipating what I’d do next, about seeing Gabe. Anticipation about throwing myself at him shamelessly.
Two days went by and it was late Saturday night, by the time I got up the nerve.
Past eleven. The Militia had another home game coming up on Sunday night, week four, so I knew Gabe would be around, knew he’d be back from dinner at Louie’s by now.
After dressing and undressing, changing my outfit four times, I finally stiffened my spine in spite of my bubbling nerves and got in my car and drove.
It was time to talk to him. Time to do more than talk.
Guilt battered at my conscience. Confessing that I’d wanted to kiss Gabe to Denise probably hadn’t been the wisest thing to do.
Now I felt worse, knowing I’d done it to ease my guilt rather than for any constructive reason, certainly not for Denise.
It only made her feel worse, made her withdraw.
And I couldn’t blame her. She’d found out that I told Gabe she put me up to it, and that had made my confession worse.
It had been a true betrayal. I’d chosen Gabe over her.
Confessing hadn’t been worth losing a friend over. And yet, I couldn’t stay friends with that secret between us. Especially not if that kiss, such a small thing really, only lasting a few seconds, but with such a big impact on my soul, was, well, the start of something.
That was my real problem. I wanted to start something. But I had no idea if Gabe felt the same way, not really. I hadn’t heard from him all week. Fear speared me, sending spikes of misery that he’d abolished me from his life and his heart.
I turned onto Gabe’s street and slowed the car, feeling unsure and nervous. He was the only man in the world who’d ever made me feel nervous, like he had something I needed. And I wasn’t sure he would give it, wasn’t sure I even deserved it in spite of my mother’s pep talk.
When I knocked, he opened the door without a word. One of those endless breathless moments passed, the kind of suspension between calm and panic, passed while we looked at each other, standing still.
Then he stepped back and motioned for me to come inside.
Taking that step over the threshold felt like I was crossing a magic line, but I told my nerves to calm down.
He was a man. I was a woman. We had an attraction.
I needed to keep it simple or my chest might explode.
Needed to take a baby step without looking at all the complications down the road or I’d run screaming.
I needed to think of it like triage in the emergency room.
Step one had to come first. Make the right first step and then worry about the next one.
And I was certain this was right, for me to be here, for me to be in his bed.
“I needed to see you,” I said.
He nodded. I felt the tension coming off him, unsure whether it was sexual tension or life or maybe it was me that made him nervous.
“How’s your mom?” I asked.
He took a deep breath. “Thank you. For saving her, Mia.” His eyes went glassy then and he reached an arm out.
And just like that, before I knew what was happening, I found myself in his arms, his ridiculously strong reassuring arms, pressed up against his hard body, hot and sizzling.
He raked his fingers through my hair, my head resting against his chest, his other arm banded around me, keeping me close, and I breathed. We breathed.
I listened to his heart beat strong, hard, and fast. My own heart raced as I slipped my arms around him and pressed my hips into him, feeling him, needing to test his excitement, not sure if I wanted his cock to be erect for me or not.
As soon as our hips ground together and I felt the hard length of him against me, heard him groan, felt the tremor in his hand in my hair, I looked up at him.
“Mia, don’t—”
I stepped back, out of his arms, but I took his hand in mine and pulled him, leading him.
“Don’t what, Gabe? Don’t want you? Don’t love you?
” I watched his face as I spoke, as I brought him to his bedroom.
He looked pained and I wasn’t sure why, there were so many possibilities.
His mother, Denise, his all-important football.
Anger at me and my betrayal. But I couldn’t sort through or figure any of that out now.
This night was about one thing and one thing only.
I wanted to make love to him, to give him everything I had, to bare my heart and soul to him.
I wanted to keep going until we were both in his bed, but I stopped just inside the door and he put his hands on my hips, holding me intimately but keeping a small space between us.
“What are you doing, Mia?” His voice was soft, but I heard the vibration of tension, still unsure what the source was, whether it meant he wanted me or not.
“I’m giving myself to you, Gabe.” It was the truth and I needed to be nothing less than a hundred percent honest and transparent. About time I was.
His breath hitched, sending a thrill through me.
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
“No words necessary.” I closed the gap between us, put my hands on his chest, felt the heat through his white T-shirt, then moved my hands up around the back of his neck, threading my fingers through the silky short waves of his hair.
I loved his hair. Loved the feel of his hot body up against mine.
When I pressed my hips against his again, this time he didn’t resist, didn’t push me away.
I would have gone on my toes to kiss him, but I didn’t have to. He lowered his head, bringing his mouth a whisper away from mine, so that I took in the minty taste of his breath as it mingled with mine, making me dizzy with the need for this man.
The need to make love to him dominated my mind, heart, and soul.