a human being we were talking about here, not some bad business move he could just throw in the shredder and sum up to capital loss.”
I remind myself to try to understand Weston. It’s the way he handles uncomfortable social situations; with a measured tone, a stiff stance and calculated words. I don’t believe he was purposely being heartless. He was just being Weston. Unfortunately, Gabe doesn’t know him as well as I do.
“What did you say?”
“I grabbed him by the collar and told him that the fucking baby wasn’t going anywhere, and that I would kill him if he ever hurt you.”
“God, Gabe.”
“Then,” he says, shaking his head. “He had the gall to tell me that he would never hurt you…that he loves you.”
I don’t say a thing for a beat or two and then after what seems like forever, I finally manage to ask, “That’s when you lost it?”
He shakes his head again and stares at the wall, not quite able to face me.
I desperately want him to tell me how Weston got to him. “What made you lose it, Gabe?”
“I lost it when…” he starts, but can’t seem to go on.
Whatever it was, I know it was something very hurtful. I need to know. “When what, Gabe?” I ask. “Please tell me…”
He turns to me, his eyes dark. “When he told me that you loved him too.”
I close my eyes, not able to look at him anymore. Do I love Weston? The truth is, I don’t even really know myself. “You could have killed him.”
He shakes his head again, a little frantic. “I know I could have killed him, Ella. I wanted to. And I knew exactly how to.”
“I know,” I say softly. With his training, I know Gabe could kill a man with his bare hands.
“But your face flashed through my mind, and the girls. I knew I’d be no good to you in prison. So I purposely did not kill him. Just banged him up a little to teach him a lesson.”
“Banged him up a little? You sent the man to the hospital, unconscious, in an ambulance.”
He looks down again, knowing very well he took things too far.
I don’t say a word. I can understand him a little better now. I know he was trying to defend me. I know he loves me. “You’re still lucky you’re not in prison.”
He nods, not looking at me. He knows he owes Bridget a huge debt.
“You’re lucky Weston is not a vengeful man. And you’re lucky Bridget cares for you so much.” I don’t need to ask about Bridget anymore. He’s here with me. And that’s all that counts.
He nods, biting his bottom lip — a tell-tale sign he’s holding back the tears. His voice cracks when he says, “And…and I’m lucky you’re still by my side.”
I don’t know what to say. I feel for him, watching him, his face buried in his hands, not able to look at his own wife. I can see the remorse in every inch of him. But I’m the one responsible. It’s all my fault.
“Can you ever forgive me?” he asks.
My eyes fill with tears and a lump in my throat threatens to take my words. I look up at him. “Can you ever forgive me?”
As soon as Gwen sees me, she throws her arms around me. The platter of goat cheese covered crostini I’m holding makes an actual hug impossible. “How are you, sweetie?”
I haven’t seen Gwen in a few days. She and Greg have been at their beach property, their house sitting empty. Thankfully, we are their official house-sitters and that gives us privileges to the pool. Every time we drive in her neighborhood, past the brick house with the oval window and the red door, my heart skips a beat.
My house.
It could have been my house. But I’m glad it isn’t.
She walks over to the cooler, wearing a stylish gold accented tunic and matching flip-flops. “Can I get you something? I have pomtini coolers and margarita mix.”
I smile. I can drink. I can get drunk if I want. “I’ll take a pomtini cooler please.”
“Atta girl,” she says as she pops the cap off with a silver bottle opener.
It’s nice and cold and tastes so good.
Greg and Gabe chat by the barbecue. They get along relatively well, but they are so different. Greg is as straight as they come, and Gabe is a free-spirit. Greg would never understand what Gabe and I were involved in. I’ve sworn Gwen to secrecy.