Page 32 of Angel Eyes

The thing about the ending of a relationship is it rarely happens all at once. It’s easy to believe the narrative of Hollywood, that breakups can be summed up in a two-minute scene where an unsuspecting guy or girl gets dumped at a restaurant or in the on-call room of a hospital, and they never saw it coming. But in real life, breakups happen a little at a time. One misunderstanding left unaddressed turns into an ocean of unsaid things. Two people realizing they aren’t as compatible as they once thought but are too afraid to let go. Three weeks of silence uncovering years of truths that hovered just beneath the surface of fake smiles and tepid complacency. And, sometimes, by the time all the little cracks and fissures are exposed, it’s too late to stop the whole thing from coming apart and shattering into a thousand pieces.

I exhaled a shaky breath. “It’s over, Kyle. We’re done.”

“Jules—”

“I’ll call Ember in the morning and have her arrange packing my things from the apartment. She has a spare key, so—”

“The fuck you will.” The sound of a door slamming shocked me into silence. “Enough of this. You do not get to abandon your responsibilities to go chase some bullshit fantasy. And you certainly do not get to walk out on me. I’ve tried to be patient with you, but I see that was a mistake. I want you back in New York. Playtime is over.”

I gripped the sides of the sink to stop my hands from shaking. “No, I’m not leaving.”

“Juliet, I swear, you had better get your ass on a plane or—”

“Or what, Kyle? I’m not your property.”

“I am not fucking around with you.” He was shouting now, his voice ricocheting off the bathroom walls. “Do not test me. You think just because you’ve spent a few weeks having your ego pumped by some limp-dick professor you can challenge me? Well, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re not that special. And this—New York, your career—this is your reality. Now, I want you on the next flight home, or so help me—”

The door to the bathroom flew open, banging against the wall, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Gabriel thundering across the room like an angel of death, his face a mask of fury. Without looking at me, he snatched the phone off the counter.

“Hey, asshole, want to threaten someone your own size?”

“What—who the hell are you?”

“The guy who’s going to put you in the fucking ground if I ever hear you speak to her that way again.” Gabriel disconnected the call, tossing the phone down.

A moment passed, possibly two, and then he closed the distance between us, cradling my face in his hands and tilting my head up to meet his gaze. His cobalt eyes were a sea of emotions, anger warring with concern as he traced his thumbs over my damp cheeks. The tenderness of the gesture shook something loose inside me. As long as I could remember, I’d always had to be the strong one. For Ember, for my grandparents, for the people who relied on me at work. But just now, looking at him, I didn’t have to be.

My face crumpled as the tears that had dried up fell again, and he pulled me into his arms.

“Hey, it’s all right,” he whispered against my hair. “I’ve got you.”

He extracted the paper towels bunched in my hand and gently wiped my face, taking care not to ruin my likely already ruined makeup.

“What are you doing here?”

He grinned. “I was invited, remember?”

I released a watery laugh. “No, I mean, what are you doing here, in the ladies’ room?”

“Oh, that. I found your friends at their table. The tall one in the green dress told me you had gone to the restroom, so I came to find you.” Finished with the paper towels, he tossed them into the wastepaper basket. “There you are. Right as rain, ma chérie.”

I tentatively touched my flushed cheeks before fumbling through my purse for my compact powder. Hazarding a glance in the mirror, I blew out a sigh of relief when I saw my face wasn’t a total wreck. Thank goodness for waterproof mascara.

As I set about reapplying my concealer, I glimpsed Gabriel in the mirror and froze. His eyelids had fallen to half-mast, his expression unreadable as his gaze dragged slowly over me. Finally, his eyes lifted again, locking on mine.

“You look …”

I turned to him, taking in his tailored blazer, gray T-shirt, and dark wash jeans, his usual mess of dark curls slicked back, exposing the strong cut of his jaw. I wet my lips, and goosebumps spread over my flesh when he tracked the motion with his eyes. Hesitantly, he brushed a lock of hair away from my face, his hand lingering, gently tracing the shell of my ear. I sucked in a shallow breath, my eyes fluttering closed as a shiver worked its way up my spine.

“We should go,” he said, his voice rough, “before your friends wonder what’s become of you.”

I nodded absently, wondering the same thing.

Gabriel held my hand as he shouldered through the crowd, charting a path toward the archways at the other end of the foyer. Stepping through one archway, we entered a large, open area bathed in muted purple lighting, the scent of alcohol and warm bodies filling the air. I scanned the cushioned VIP booths lining the wall and caught sight of a splash of neon green at the booth nearest the dance floor. Simone waved at our approach.

“Hey, babe, I thought I’d lost you. Thank goodness Gabriel went to find you.” Her eyes dropped to our interlaced fingers before she shot me a wide-eyed stare, her face splitting into a grin. Evading the question in her eyes, I looked around at the group assembled at the table.

Beside Simone sat Carter, his arm slung over her shoulders as he chatted with someone I didn’t recognize. At the other end of the booth was Emile, his hulking form taking up at least two seats with the width of his manspread; next to him was Karin, a slender brunette from Sweden; and Dean, the only other New Yorker in our program. At the center of them all was Marlena, sitting in a little black barely there number, laughing and holding a glass of champagne.

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