Page 4 of Where She Belongs
“I don’t get why you’re not married yet,” I say a few minutes later. “You’d make an amazing husband and a great father—judging by how wonderful you are with kids.”
“That’s different,” Gabe says, stepping back but keeping his hands on my shoulders. His expression shifts to something more guarded. “Being there for other people’s kids is easy. You can spoil them, love them, then send them home at the end of the day.”
I study his face, catching something vulnerable beneath his usual charm. “You’re afraid of failing them.”
“More like knowing my limitations.” He drops his hands and picks up my carry-on. “Come on, you’re going to miss check-in.”
“Gabe.” I grab his wrist, stopping him. “You’re nothing like your father.” The words come out before I can stop them, but I’ve heard enough stories over late-night conversations at my kitchen table, seen his love-hate relationship with the man who, by all accounts, loves his mother yet has another family somewhere else.
Gabe has never really told me exactly where they are, except that he had them with “that white woman,” as he heard his mother yell at his father one night when they thought they were alone.
His jaw tightens. “That’s exactly why I can’t—” He breaks off, running a hand through his hair. “What if I turn out just like him after I settle down?”
“So you don’t plan on ever settling down?” Suddenly the thought of Gabe Vasquez never settling down, never having little Gabriels and Gabrielas running around town somehow leaves me sad. He’s wonderful around children. Or as Tristy would say, “my ovaries just exploded” type of man… or daddy.
He shrugs. “It has to be right, Andie. Really right. Not just the lifestyle compatibility, but—” He gestures vaguely, struggling to explain.
“The heart part,” I finish for him.
“I want the same thing Daniel had with his late wife. The same thing Dax found with Harlow, Sawyer with Alma, Benny and Sarah… the list goes on,” he says quietly. “That kind of certainty that will never let you stray like my father did. I mean he had three kids with her, for crying out loud. If that doesn’t tell you he wasn’t happy with my mother—with us—I don’t know what will.”
“Is that why you keep walking away the moment someone wants more?” I think of Courtney who told him to pack his bags and leave Tenerife after Gabe refused to say the three words she’d wanted from him. Or Stefanie, the realtor who gave him an ultimatum to commit to an exclusive relationship or she’d walk away. “Half of Taos would marry you tomorrow if you’d let them.”
“And they’ll only be disappointed when they find out I can never be faithful to one woman.” He lets out a soft breath, his eyes meeting mine with unexpected vulnerability. “I don’t know, Andie. Maybe I’m just looking for the impossible. Maybe I’m just waiting for something that feels as real as—” He stops, then busies himself with adjusting the strap of my carry-on. “Come on, mi amor. Tristy will have both our heads if we miss this flight.”
The way he deflects makes me wonder what he was about to say, but I let it go.
We all have our reasons for guarding our hearts and Gabe Vasquez is no exception.
TWO
Two drinksinto our official start of vacation—one on the flight to Denver, another during our layover—and Andrea’s finally relaxed enough to flip through the SkyMall catalog. At least, she’s not dwelling on Simon anymore. Not outwardly, anyway.
It kills me to see her like this. The Andrea Martin I’ve known for the last ten years doesn’t do self-pity. But I guess finding out your husband’s been sleeping with his grad student for the last two years of your marriage does that to a person.
I miss the old Andrea with her signature laugh that always made any day better. The one who could whip up Filipino dishes like chicken adobo and lumpia without glancing once at a recipe. The one who believed in me enough to convince me to start my own practice right out of the gate, who showed up with freshly made lumpia and encouragement every time things went sideways those first few years. And when I did weekend night shifts in Albuquerque to make ends meet, the one who insisted I stopped by her house for breakfast and a nap before driving back to Taos.
Of course, the one time I went straight home was the day I fell asleep behind the wheel.
I can still remember waking up to the sight of her at my bedside, her arms folded in front of her, as she announced that she and our colleagues would cover my patient load until I was cleared to work again. I tried talking her out of it, but Andrea was adamant.
That’s what friends are for, Gabe. We show up for each other, she’d said.End of discussion.
And she’s right. From the moment I ended my community health rotation at her clinic and she stopped being my mentor and became a friend, that’s been our thing. There was just something about Andrea that has me lowering my guard, knowing nothing romantic will ever come between us even though she’s one of the most beautiful women I know, inside and out.
Most people see Dr. Andrea Martin, the accomplished physician who runs a nonprofit clinic and publishes research papers on health equality. But I see Andrea—the woman who sneaks homemade meals to residents working night shifts, who tears up watching dog rescue videos, who still buys presents for her ex-husband’s parents because “they’re still family.”
And that’s why it pisses me off to see her so defeated now, avoiding showing up early to her only daughter’s wedding because of Simon.
I should have noticed something was off with the guy—that he was cheating on her—but living three hours away made it easy to miss.
If he was that unhappy, why didn’t he just leave?
But of course, I know why.
Andrea’s standing in the community meant she was around people with money and influence. It meant introducing him to people who could further his budding career as a news commentator on anything involving the market and economics.
And maybe it wasn’t just the career. Maybe it was the comfort and stability she provided, the nice house and the health insurance. Maybe it was the kick of knowing you’re getting away with having it both ways, the thrill of living a double life.
