it’s just the two of us, and Gabe seems relaxed and in a good mood. There’s a question I’ve wanted to ask since I saw him at the precinct, but haven’t had the courage to do so. And it’s been killing me not being able to communicate, to be inside his mind.
“What…” I start, my heart beating a little faster than usual. “What were you thinking when…” I can’t quite drag the words out. I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing, talking about this.
He looks up at me, waiting for me to finish my thought. I’ve already set this conversation in motion and now I need to finish it.
“Why did you go see Weston at his office that day? What were you thinking?”
He stares down at the kitten faces. I don’t need to say more. He knows exactly what I’m talking about.
He doesn’t say a thing for the longest time, just rubs at his forehead like he’s trying to work out an explanation, a justification for his behavior. But I know sometimes, there is no rationale for our behaviors. They’re driven by impulse, whether it be greed, lust, wrath or any other of the seven deadly sins. In this case, I know it was anger. But I want to know the thoughts going through his mind at the time. I need to know in order to understand him, to forgive him.
“I was so pissed,” he finally manages, not quite looking at me. “I wanted to hear his side of the story. I’m not sure what I wanted to hear.” His head is still down as he carries on. “It was like there was someone else in my body driving to Chicago, someone else barging into his office.”
“What did you say when you first saw him?” I want to know what went on that day. The only information I have is Kathryn’s side of the story, and she was on the other side of the door.
He looks off in the distance. “I’m not quite sure. It was something like, ‘Hanson, you fuckin’ bastard.’ All I remember was the look on his face. He was scared shitless, but just for a second. He stood up from his desk, and buttoned up his suit jacket like he was in a fucking meeting or something and that drove me even madder.”
I can almost see it as he describes the scene to me. Weston in his crisp suit, standing behind his perfectly ordered desk, with that measured air he always seems to have.
“What did he say?”
Gabe laughs, a sardonic hard chuckle. “He cleared his throat and said ‘Did we have a meeting. I don’t recall…’”
“Yes,” I say. “That does sound like Weston. What did you say next?”
“I walked up to his desk and I said something like, ‘You wanted to get under her skin, Hanson. And well, looks like you got what you wanted. You’re under her skin all right. You’re inside her now.’”
I swallow hard, wanting to know more. “What did he say about that?”
“He looked confused as hell. He wasn’t following. He was looking at me like I was crazy. Which, let’s face it…I was.”
“Then what?” I ask, wanting him to hurry up, to tell me the story faster.
“I told him you were pregnant,” he says, staring down at the abandoned puzzle. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t my place to say, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”
I reach for his hand. “It’s okay.”
“He was shocked, Ella. He fell into his chair and buried his face in his hands.”
I study him. He looks so wrecked, telling me his story. I know he regrets that day more than anything else in his life. But he still hasn’t answered my question. “What made you lose your shit, Gabe?” I ask, knowing something must have set him off. Weston must have said something.
“Well, it was what he said next. He stood and walked around his desk, all business-like and said in his prissy way…he said, ‘Well, I realize how inconvenient this situation must be for you, Gabe, and I can fully understand your anger. I’m sure arrangements can be made to rectify this issue. We just need to all sit together and go over the details.’”
My stomach drops at his words and I feel sick. That does sound exactly like Weston. And I believe every word Gabe is telling me, but that doesn’t make them any easier to swallow. I can’t believe Weston would be so cold.