23. Hendricks
HENDRICKS
“You’re jealous,” Mandy says, surprise threading through the words. The satisfaction comes a second later. “You’re jealous of Gabriel.”
I don’t answer. Silence usually works for me. People fill it. Retreat from it. Reveal things they shouldn’t.
Mandy just smiles, because she already has her answer.
She’s right—I’m jealous.
The realization settles somewhere behind my ribs, foreign and unwelcome. I’ve spent five weeks controlling every response to this woman. Maintaining distance. Keeping the lines clear. Then she says another man’s name and apparently all that discipline goes to shit.
Gabriel Reyes.
The man who found her. Freed her. The man she trusts enough to call when she needs something. The man she thinks of calling when I’m sitting right fucking here.
That one bothers me more than it should.
Considerably more.
I turn away because looking at her while experiencing an emotion I don’t entirely understand seems strategically unwise. I brace my hands against the counter and stare out the window.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t have to.”
No, apparently I didn’t.
The jealousy doesn’t disappear now that I’ve identified it. If anything, putting a name to it makes the situation worse.
Jealousy implies possession, and I have absolutely no claim on Mandy Reed.
The fact that I want one is a real problem.