Page 34 of Wings
Gabe's arms tightened, a low growl rumbling through his chest. "You're not sick. You're not twisted. You're perfect exactly as you are."
"I threw them away," I confessed, the memory still sharp. "Burned the coloring books I'd hidden. Tried to kill that part of myself because if Alex was right, if I was broken—"
"He wasn't right." Gabe's voice went firm, definitive. "He was a scared, addicted asshole who couldn't handle anything that wasn't about him. Your needs, your wants—they're valid. Beautiful. Part of what makes you who you are."
I turned in his lap to see his face better. "When did you know? About being a . . ."
"A Daddy?" He smiled slightly. "Military crystallized it, but looking back, it was always there. That need to protect, to guide, to take care of people. In high school, I was always the designated driver, the one making sure everyone got home safe. In the Army, they called me Mother Hen until I made them stop."
His expression went distant, remembering. "First time someone actually called me Daddy was at a munch in Germany. This little—she was probably forty, but in her headspace she was small—she'd been having a panic attack. I got her juice, talked her through breathing exercises, just basic care stuff. When she calmed down, she hugged me and said 'Thank you, Daddy' in this tiny voice."
He focused back on me. "Wasn't romantic or sexual. Just this moment of recognition. Like finding a piece of yourself you didn't know was missing. I went back to base and researched for hours. Protocols, dynamics, the psychology behind it. Everything clicked. The way I'd always wanted to create structure for people, make rules that kept them safe, reward good behavior and redirect bad. It wasn't about control—it was about care."
"That's exactly it," I breathed, amazed at being understood. "The structure. The safety. Knowing someone's watching out for you, making sure you eat and sleep and don't spiral into anxiety."
"Is that what you need?" he asked softly. "Structure and care and someone to make sure you're okay?"
I nodded against his chest, feeling smaller and safer with each word. "I’m good at taking care of other people, but I'mreallybad at taking care of myself. Forget to eat, stay up too late, push myself too hard. Having someone notice, someone who cares enough to set boundaries . . ."
"I can do that," he promised. "Want to do that, if you'll let me."
The certainty in his voice undid something in my chest. Three years of being alone, of white-knuckling my way through each day, and here was someone offering to help carry the weight. Not because I was weak, but because humans weren't meant to do everything alone.
"I'd like that," I whispered, then added even softer, "Daddy."
His whole body relaxed like I'd given him a gift. Maybe I had. Maybe this thing between us was exactly that—a gift we gave each other, permission to be exactly who we were beneath the armor life had forced us to build.
“Can I confess something to you?” I asked, feeling a spike of vulnerability.
“Confess?”
“Mmhmm. Something I’ve been wanting to tell you for years.”
“Of course you can.”
"I knew," I whispered, the words barely audible.
Gabe's hand stilled in my hair. "Knew what?"
"Before you left. How you felt about me." I pressed my face against his chest, unable to look at him while stripping us both so bare. "I'm sorry. I should have said something, done something, but I was with Alex and you were his brother and everything was so complicated—"
"Ki." Just my name, but weighted with so much emotion I had to look up. His eyes held pain and wonder in equal measure. "How did you know?"
A laugh escaped, brittle as old paint. "You weren't exactly subtle. The way you looked at me when you thought no one was watching. Like I was a puzzle you were trying to solve or a song you were trying to memorize. How you always found excuses to be wherever I was—suddenly needing to borrow tools when Alex and I studied at the garage, showing up at the diner where I worked even though it was twenty minutes from your apartment."
His neck flushed red, but I wasn't done. The truth demanded its due after three years of silence.
"That butterfly you kept? The monarch with the wrong colors?" My fingers found the spot over his heart where I imagined he'd carried it. "I drew that the night I realized I was falling for the wrong brother. Purple and blue because I couldn'tstand to make it normal when everything I felt was anything but normal."
"Jesus, Ki."
"I used to write 'Kiara Moreno' in my notebooks," I confessed, each word scraping my throat raw. "But not for Alex. Never that, even when we were supposedly happy. Just . . . yours. Like my subconscious knew before my brain caught up. I'd fill entire margins with it during lectures, then tear out the pages and burn them in the dorm bathroom sink because evidence of wanting you felt like betrayal."
Something shattered in his expression. He cupped my face with shaking hands, thumbs brushing my cheekbones like he was trying to memorize the bone structure underneath.
"I was with Alex," I continued, needing him to understand. "I'd made a commitment. Even when things got bad, even when he started using, I couldn't just jump to his brother. What kind of person would that make me?"
"The kind who deserved better than what he was giving you," Gabe said roughly.
