Page 50 of Wings
"Three years of wondering if you were okay. If you were happy. If you ever thought about me." His hand squeezed my knee gently. "Having you here now, knowing you're mine—worth every second."
My eyes burned. "I thought about you all the time. Especially when things were bad. I'd remember how careful you were with everything—fixing my bike that time, teaching me to change oil. How you never raised your voice, even when Alex was being impossible."
"Couldn't raise my voice around you," he admitted. "Too busy trying not to stare. Do you know how many times I had to excuse myself from family dinners because watching you was physically painful?"
"Gabe—"
"The way you'd bite your lip when you were concentrating on something. How you'd tuck your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. The little humming thing when you were content." He shook his head. "Drove me crazy."
The wine arrived, along with a basket of bread that smelled like heaven. Everything felt dreamlike—the soft lighting, the gentle touch of his hand, the way he looked at me like I was precious. For the first time in years, I felt like a normal woman on a normal date. No running, no hiding, no constantly checking over my shoulder.
"Tell me about the Army," I said, buttering a piece of bread. "Your messages were always so vague."
"Operational security," he said with a slight smile. "Couldn't say much. But mostly it was . . ." He paused, searching for words. "Clarifying. Realized what mattered. What I was fighting for."
"Democracy? Freedom?"
"You." The simple word hit like a physical thing. "Every mission, every close call, I thought about coming home to you. Even knowing you were with him, just the idea that you existed in the world made it worth surviving."
I abandoned the bread, appetite gone. "I'm sorry. For choosing him. For not seeing—"
"Hey." He turned my face to his with gentle fingers. "No apologies. We weren't ready then. Had to become who we are now."
The waiter appeared to take our orders. Gabe ordered for both of us—normally that would spike my anxiety, but he chose exactly what I'd been eyeing, proving he'd been paying attention to where my gaze lingered on the menu. When we were alone again, I leaned into his side, letting his warmth seep through me.
"This is nice," I said softly. "Being normal."
"We're never going to be normal, baby girl," he said with a soft laugh. "Normal people don't have nurseries and rules and collars. But we can be us, openly. That's better than normal."
He was right.
The couple at the next table probably didn't have a dynamic like ours. The businessman at the bar definitely didn't understand the safety of surrender. But that was okay. We'd found what worked for us, even if it wasn't conventional.
Our food arrived—pasta that tasted like clouds, sauce that made me moan indecently, bread that definitely violated my nutrition rules but Gabe encouraged me to eat anyway. "Special occasions don't count," he said, watching me savor each bite with satisfaction that bordered on proprietary.
I was laughing at a story about Thor trying to teach Dex to ride when I saw him.
The man at the bar, nursing a whiskey, profile sharp in the mirror behind the bottles. My blood turned to ice water, stomach clenching hard enough to hurt. I knew that face. The scar through his eyebrow. The way he held his shoulders. The snake tattoo creeping up his neck.
Connor. Alex's enforcer from the Iron Serpents. The one who'd helped him terrorize me, who'd laughed when Alex had shoved me into that glass table. Who'd offered to "break me in right" if Alex ever got tired of me.
"Baby girl? What's wrong?"
Gabe's voice came from very far away. My hands were shaking, pulse hammering so hard I was sure everyone could hear it. Connor was here. In our restaurant. On what was supposed to be our perfect night.
"Kiara." Sharper now, Daddy voice cutting through the panic. "Look at me."
I dragged my gaze to his, saw the concern there, the ready protection. All I had to do was tell him. Point out Connor. Let him handle it. That was the rule—honesty, always.
But if I told him, our perfect night would be over. There'd be violence or police or running. I'd ruin everything with my broken past, prove I was too damaged for normal dates and public happiness. The old voices crowded in—you're not worth protecting, you bring chaos everywhere, you destroy good things.
"Nothing, Daddy," I forced out, made my lips curve in what might pass for a smile. "Just tired."
The lie tasted like acid. His eyes narrowed slightly, reading me, and I knew he wasn't fully buying it. But before he could push, I pressed closer to his side, hand finding his thigh under the table.
"The pasta is amazing," I said, taking another bite I couldn't taste. "Thank you for bringing me here."
He studied me for another long moment, then let it go. But his body had shifted into alert mode, scanning the restaurant with the kind of casual surveillance that spoke of military training. I kept my eyes firmly on my plate, praying Connor would leave without seeing us.
