Page 109 of Your Soul to Keep

I held my palms up as I stared off into a future where we both got our dreams. “No, listen. I know it’s hard, but the chief wouldn’t put you up for the job if he didn’t believe in you—”

“Shae—”

I smiled widely. “I know you can do it—”

“Shae,” he barked. “Stop fucking talking. Fuck!” He lurched to his feet, both hands going to his hair.

I leapt to my feet as I sucked in a breath, finally realizing the hornet’s nest I’d poked. Regret burned a hole through my stomach. My face fell. I reached out a hand. “Gabe, I’m –”

He spun on his heel and stalked toward me, jaw ground tight, blue eyes flashing fire, until we stood toe to toe.

I braced myself.

But not hard enough.

Dipping his head, he narrowed his gaze on mine. “You’re just like every-fucking-body else.”

His words sliced through me like a hot knife. I gasped, my eyes wide on his as his dagger struck home. I pressed the heel of my palm against the rapidly swelling ball of distress in my chest.

Regret flashed in his eyes almost instantly. He winced and closed his eyes, then shook his head like an angry bull as he backed away. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he spun away with a frustrated growl. “Fuck.”

My gaze fell to the floor. I took a deep breath, pressed the pain down deep, and looked for the words to apologize.

A moment later, the front door slammed.

I fell back into my chair, my hands shaking.

I will not cry.

I will not cry.

I squeezed my eyes shut but the tears seeped from beneath my closed lids. The sudden weight of silence bound me, forcing me to listen to my thoughts.

I would never be enough.

Everybody leaves.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

But I couldn’t leave. Dylan was asleep in her little bed, and Gabe had walked out.

I sat with my hands clasped in my lap, working to calm my racing heart. Calling Maeve to come sit with Dylan until Gabe got home was out of the question. This was between us. At least, it would be whenever he came home.

After an hour, the room finally shrouded in darkness, I began to worry when that might be.

I went over our conversation in my head, remembered the women who came before me, and realized where I’d gone so very wrong.

After two hours, I began to wonder if he was coming home that night at all.

I called his cell phone to no avail. Left a message he didn’t return and sent a text he didn’t read.

After three hours, I locked down my emotions and went to bed, curled up in a ball as close as possible to the edge of what I had considered my side.

The shifting of the mattress and Gabe’s warm hands reaching for me under the covers woke me.

Hot anger bubbled up and boiled over as I struggled to get away from him, breathing fire, but he held firm.

“Shh, baby, shh.” He pressed his mouth against the side of my face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pained. “It was all me, all my fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

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