Chapter Eighteen #3
He shakes his head. “It’s just—you have freckles.” His thumb rubs over the top of my knee. “They’re cute.”
“Cute?”
“Mmhmm,” he hums.
I close my eyes again and let his gentle touch soothe the restless tangle of something in the middle of my chest. My magic is still looking for an outlet, and I’m still desperate not to give it one.
“When did you know?” Gabriel asks, and his voice is carefully stripped of anything accusing. I think it might be the kindest thing he’s ever done for me. “When did you know it was Nate?”
I keep my eyes closed. His thumb rubs a neat circle to the top of my calf.
“That day in the back hallway of the bar,” I confess in a whisper. “I knew right away.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because,” I manage, my throat too tight.
“Because you didn’t trust me. Because you wouldn’t have—you wouldn’t have let me help.
If I told you the truth, you would have shut me out.
Chased me out of town. And I wanted a chance to prove that I could be something different.
I needed to do it for myself. Do you understand? ”
The hand on my knee lifts. The warmth at my side disappears.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my bottom lip from wobbling, but there’s no helping the tears that burn behind my closed eyes. They slip from the corner and trail down my cheek, mixing with the bathwater.
I ruined it. I can’t change what I am. It doesn’t matter that I saved a life, I still had to lie and scheme my way there. One good deed doesn’t outweigh the bad and I’m—
“Hush.” Gabriel is behind me now, his fingertips brushing against the back of my neck as he lifts my hair. “It’s done now.”
I blink my eyes open and stare at the stretch of his arm balanced on the lip of the tub. There’s an olive branch tattooed on the inside of his elbow. Angular. A collection of shapes pieced together with thin, delicate ink.
“Is that supposed to be stained glass?” I ask.
Gabriel pulls the elastic off the end of my braid with one hand, then starts to comb his fingers through the long strands. “What?”
“This tattoo.” I tap at the mark. “The lines are so sharp. It almost looks like stained glass.”
“Oh. Yeah, I don’t know. They just show up, Darcy. Whenever I’m done with my work.”
“You’ve never been curious?”
He gathers all my hair in his fist, then eases it into the water. “Sometimes.”
“I’d be curious,” I mumble. “I’d want to know.”
Gabriel stays quiet as he slowly washes my hair. He’s gentle, shielding his palm over my forehead so water doesn’t get in my eyes. Duti-fully untangling every knot and catch. Lathering and then rinsing my long, dark strands.
It’s the most anyone has ever bothered to take care of me. In this life or any other.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, his touch so achingly gentle it almost hurts. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
He sighs, long and slow.
“It’s done now,” he repeats, combing his fingers through my hair until it’s smooth. There are gentle tugs at the base of my scalp as he fusses with the strands, separating it and then starting to braid.
“Yes,” I agree, my voice thick. “It is.”
And that brings a fresh wave of silent tears.
Because if it’s done, then there’s no reason for me to linger. If it’s done, then it means I have to go. All of this, gone.
The flowers.
The town.
The bar.
Gabriel.
My breath hitches in my chest. “I don’t—”
Gabriel hushes me, pulling the elastic from his wrist and tying it over the end of my brand-new plait. “You need to rest.”
He urges me from the water and bundles me in a towel that smells just like him, uncaring that I’m dripping all over his T-shirt and jeans. He lifts me against his chest like the weight of me is inconse-quential, then eases us from the bathroom to the hallway.
Through the windows, the storm has cleared. The sun dances through the red maples outside his window, sending auburn-dappled light against the scuffed hardwood floors.
Gabriel carries me all the way to his bedroom, then sets me in the middle of his unmade bed. He disappears briefly to dig around in his dresser, then returns with a well-loved flannel. Brown and evergreen. The color of the forest in the middle of the night.
When all I do is stare at it, he gently lifts my arms, encouraging them through the sleeves, then pulling the material over my shoulders. He buttons it from the top, his knuckles brushing against my collarbones, the hollow of my chest, the curve of my belly and the band of my underwear.
“M’getting everything wet,” I murmur, my eyes heavy.
“Don’t worry about it,” he whispers back, his lips against my temple. His magic pulses, and I’m completely dry. The underwear I wore in the bath and my brand-new braid, hanging between my shoulders.
“Get some rest,” he says. “We’ll talk about everything else later.”
I nod. My eyes feel waterlogged, and my body feels like—well. My body feels like it was hit by a midsize SUV.
I close my eyes and tip back against his pillows. I curl myself in the smallest ball I can manage.
“You’ll be here?” I ask, already halfway unconscious. “You’ll stay?”
His exhale is soft, his palm a heavy weight against my thigh.
“Yeah, Darcy. I’ll stay.”