Page 187 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

He calls every day.

Reality crashes back. Three weeks since Kazakhstan. Three weeks since I moved in with Hank and Gabe. Three weeks of working on my thesis and preparing for my defense.

Three weeks of my father’s increasingly concerned messages.

I take a breath and answer. “Hey, Dad.”

“Allycat.” Relief colors his voice, like he wasn’t sure I’d pick up. “How are you doing?”

The concern in his voice is achingly familiar—the same tone he used when I was seven and fell from the apple tree in our backyard. The same concern when I was fifteen and had my first heartbreak. The same love when he wrapped me in his arms after my rescue from Kazakhstan.

“I’m okay.” I sit, pulling the sheet around me as Gabe emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips.

The sight of him catches my breath, and I momentarily forget why I’m on the phone.

Gabe’s body is a masterpiece, chiseled to perfection. Water droplets cling to his skin, trickling down the defined muscles of his chest and abs, drawing my gaze like a magnet. Each droplet takes a lazy, tantalizing path downward, following the sculpted lines of his body.

I can’t help but stare, my mouth watering at the sight of him. He’s not just sexy—he’s dangerously seductive, a walking fantasy that shouldn’t be legal. He raises an eyebrow in question, and I mouth “Dad” silently, trying to focus on the conversation but failing miserably.

Gabe smirks, clearly aware of the effect he has on me. He moves, prowling towards the bed, his eyes locked onto mine. I swallow hard, trying to maintain my composure as I struggle to focus on my dad’s words.

“Ally?” My father’s voice intrudes on my appreciation of Gabe’s physique.

“Yeah, Dad, I’m still here.” The words rasp from my throat, breathless, barely coherent—choked by the sight of Gabe closing in, every slow, predatory step scattering my thoughts like leaves in the wind.

Gabe leans down, planting a soft kiss on my shoulder. He gently tugs at the sheet that separates us. I bite my lip, stifling a gasp as his touch sends a jolt of electricity through me.

He trails his fingers along my arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. My heart hammers, my body responding to his touch in ways that make it impossible to concentrate on anything but him.

“Are you ready to come home yet?” My father asks the question he’s been circling in every conversation. “When is your thesis defense?”

Gabe sits beside me on the bed, close enough that I can feel his warmth. Despite his teasing, he gives me space for thisconversation with my father. I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the call, even as Gabe’s proximity sends my senses into overdrive.

“Dad, I’m not—” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Allycat, I’m worried about you. It’s been three weeks. Three weeks of… whateverthisis.” The accusation in his voice speaks volumes about what he thinks “this” might be. “You’re throwing away years of hard work. Your thesis?—”

Frustration and concern sharpen his voice, and guilt twists in my gut. He doesn’t understand, and I’m unsure how to explain it.

“Dad, I’m not throwing away anything.” I keep my voice steady. “I’m just taking a break, trying to figure things out.” Gabe’s hand rests gently on my back, a show of support. His touch grounds me and gives me the strength to face my father’s disapproval. “I just need time.”

“To play house withtwomen you barely know? To hide from what happened instead of facing it? What do you need to figure out?” Dad scoffs. “You’re notfiguringanything out by shacking up with two men. I raised you to be smarter than that. What about your future? Your career?”

I flinch at his words, but Gabe’s hand presses firmer against my back, reminding me I’m not alone.

“Dad, it’s not like that.” I struggle to keep my voice firm. “This isn’t just some…fling. It’s serious. They care about me, and I care about them.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and I can almost see my dad’s face, the disbelief and disappointment etched into his features.

“Ally,” he sighs, his voice softening into that patronizing tone I’ve heard since childhood—the one that saysI know better than you do. “I don’t want you to make a mistake you can’t take back. You’ve been through hell, sweetheart, and I know you think this—” he pauses, voice tightening, “this situationis what you need right now. That these men arehelpingyou. But you don’t see it, do you?”

My grip tightens on the phone, knuckles white. “See what?”

“That you’re running.”

A sharp exhale on the other end. I picture him pacing his office, rubbing a hand over his face, frustration bleeding into every breath.

“You’ve been lost since everything happened. Since he—” He stops, correcting himself before saying the name. “And now, instead of facing it, instead of healing, you’ve latched onto two men like they can fix you.” His voice drops to a lower register, softer, like he’s trying to coax me back from some imagined edge. “This isn’t love, Allycat. It’sescape. And one day, when you wake up and realize that, it’s going to hurt like hell.”

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