“My mom. She seems all sweet and docile—and she is. Except when she’s taking care of those she cares about, then she turns into a bossy beast. Growing up, there wasn’t a time when I had a sniffle she didn’t baby me to an extreme. Seeing as you’re banged up she’s gonna baby and boss you. She won’t care you’re a grown man or that it’s your house. She’ll order you to the couch and she’ll wait on you hand and foot. She feels it’s her duty and she takes it to an extreme. It’s annoying and if you fight it she becomes more annoying. So I apologize in advance and I’ll do what I can to divert her attention. But not even Dad can escape this behavior so while I’ll try, I know I’ll fail.”
Gabe was silent for a beat and a look of sadness washed over his battered and bruised features. Four days after the beating, his face was multicolored. Yellows, greens, and purples covered his forehead, cheeks, eyes, and jaw. Not to mention he had stitches holding the gash on his forehead closed. I didn’t need stitches to close mine, just a few steri-strips, and I was lucky there was only a tiny bruise from hitting the dashboard in the initial accident. But Gabe looked a fright.
“Everything will be fine,” he said, but by the way he said it I knew it wouldn’t be.
“I’ll ask my dad to talk to her.”
“Never had a mom take care of me.”
Oh. shit.
“Gabe,” I whispered a pain-fueled plea for him not to continue.
“Never had it but I reckon even though you were annoyed it still felt good. Stop worrying. Everything will be fine.”
Since Gabe spoke the truth, it had felt good more than it’d felt annoying, and since he never had a mom who had the opportunity to dote on him, likely because she was working herself to the bone, I nodded my agreement and dropped the subject.
I spent the rest of the drive lost in my head. Images of a younger Gabe sleeping in the back of his mother’s car plagued my mind. I also couldn’t stop thinking about why he made no mention of me meeting his mother. Conversation flowed between Zane and Gabe, mostly about Delilah’s last known location. I didn’t participate in this and for once my innate nosiness didn’t rear its head. I’d learned my lesson. Gabe and Zane said they had the situation under control. I believed them. I also believed that if they wanted or needed my opinion they’d ask, if they didn’t I was not getting involved.
Besides, I had other things to worry about, like my parents taking up residence in Gabe’s home.
Holy sweet mother of all things holy.
Gabe’s house wasn’t amazing it was ah-maze-ing.
Floor-to-ceiling windows in the great room gave an unobstructed view of the river and dock. A kitchen that was not a chef’s dream—it was simply a dream. The entire house was straight out of Architectural Digest. It was splendid but somehow still felt cozy. It was very obviously decorated by a designer and bent toward masculine but not bachelor.
I loved it. It was great, beautiful really, but something felt off. That was, until Gabe finished the tour I’d begged him not to take me on—but he wouldn’t hear of sitting on the couch and not showing me around. He’d walked me around the first floor—great room, formal living and dining, kitchen, and study. Then the second floor—loft and three bedrooms. Then up to the third floor and that was when I understood the appeal.
The master suite encompassed the entire top level. In all of the conversations I had with my mom regarding the house, she failed to mention this and I was glad she did. I was not prepared for what I saw, therefore my reaction was honest when I gasped at the panoramic view.
“I could stay in this room all day and be happy,” I sighed and took in the beauty all around.
Not just the furnishings. Plain, simple, clean. White walls, white comforter, solid well-made furniture. The only color in the room was navy blue accents. I loved it. It somehow screamed Gabe. But beyond the room was the view. There was no artwork on the walls—just three walls-worth of windows.
“This room is why I bought this house.”
“I can see why.”
“Every morning I wake up with the sun pouring in and I feel free.”