Page 35 of Wings
"I used to catch myself wishing," I admitted, the deepest shame of all. "When he'd pass out drunk, when he'd disappear for days on benders, I'd catch myself wishing it was you in my bed. You holding me. You promising things would get better. How sick is that? Fantasizing about my boyfriend's twin while trying to keep him from destroying himself?"
"Don't." The word came out sharp, pained. "Please don't call yourself sick for wanting something good."
But I needed to finish, needed to purge every secret before they poisoned whatever we were building. "The night before you left for basic, I saw your truck outside our apartment. Two in the morning, just sitting there with the engine off. I stood at the window for an hour, trying to find courage to go down. To say something. Anything. But my feet wouldn't move."
Gabe's whole body went rigid. When he spoke, his voice came out wrecked. "I sat out there trying to find words. Any words. Ran through a hundred speeches about why you should leave him, why you deserved better, why I . . ." He swallowed hard. "But you were his. Whatever else I am, I'm not the guy who steals his brother's girl. So I sat there like a coward, memorizing the light in your window, then drove to the recruiter's office as soon as they opened."
"You weren't a coward," I said fiercely. "You were honorable. Even when it hurt."
"Honor." He laughed, bitter and broken. "I fell for you the day you drew butterflies on my cast sophomore year. Remember? I'd broken my wrist in that stupid bike accident, and you spent twenty minutes turning the plain white into this garden of color. Every time I looked at it for six weeks, I thought about your hands on my skin, how careful you were with the tender parts."
My eyes burned. I remembered that day—Alex complaining I was taking too long, that butterflies were gay, that I was babying his brother. But Gabe had sat perfectly still, watching me work with this expression like I was creating magic instead of just doodling on fiberglass.
"I told myself it would fade," he continued. "Teenage crush, proximity infatuation, whatever. But three years in the desert and I still dreamed about your smile. That little crinkle you get by your eyes when something really amuses you. The way you bite your lip when you're concentrating. How you used to hum while you cooked, like you didn't realize you were doing it."
"I haven't hummed in years," I admitted quietly.
His arms tightened around me. "I know. I noticed yesterday when you were helping with inventory. You used to hum 'Blackbird' when you were content. The silence . . . it's loud, Ki."
That he'd noticed, that he'd cataloged my silence as something missing rather than just accepting who I'd become,broke something open in my chest. Years of careful distance, geographic and emotional, and we'd both still been carrying this thing between us. Butterfly wings in a wallet. A name written in margins. Two people circling each other like binary stars, unable to touch but unable to break free either.
"What a waste," I whispered. "All that time . . ."
"Not wasted," he corrected gently. "We weren't ready then. I had to learn who I was outside of my brother's shadow. You had to get free, find your own strength. Maybe we needed those three years to become who we are now."
"Broken people in a pink princess room?"
"Healing people," he corrected. "In a safe space where you can be all of yourself. Where I can be the man I've always wanted to be for you."
I shifted in his lap, facing him fully now, and watched his pupils dilate as I brought my hands up to frame his face. This close, I could see flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the faint scar through his left eyebrow from a childhood accident Alex had caused.
"Ki," he breathed, but I was already leaning in.
I tasted his lips for the first time.
I’d never been kissed like this before.
The world around us faded into nothingness as the warmth of his mouth against mine sparked a fire deep within me. His hand cradled my face, fingers gentle yet firm, as if he was afraid I might disappear if he held me too tightly.
When I rocked against him, he groaned into my mouth, and I felt the sound everywhere. My whole body had gone hypersensitive, aware of every point of contact between us. The soft carpet under my knees. His solid warmth beneath me. The way his breathing had gone ragged.
"Baby girl," he said against my lips, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. "Are you sure? We don't have to—"
"I've wanted you since I was seventeen," I interrupted, the truth flowing easier than breath. "Even when I couldn't have you. Especially then. Please, Daddy. I need—"
His control cracked visibly. "What do you need, baby? Tell Daddy."
"You." Simple as that. "Just you."
He studied my face for a long moment, must have found what he was looking for because his expression shifted to something fierce and tender all at once. "Can you stand for me, sweetheart?"
I nodded, letting him help me to my feet. My legs felt shaky, but not from crying anymore. This was anticipation, want, the kind of nervous energy that came from stepping off a cliff into something unknown but desperately desired.
He stood more slowly, careful of his prosthetic, then surprised me by scooping me up entirely. I squeaked, arms going around his neck automatically.
"I've got you," he murmured, carrying me the few steps to the princess bed. "Daddy's always got you."
He laid me down on sheets that smelled like lavender and new beginnings. The fairy lights cast everything in soft sparkles, making the moment feel even more unreal. Dream-like. But the solid weight of him settling beside me was real. The way his hands shook slightly as he touched my face was real.
