Page 35 of Gonzo's Grudge
I’d thought I’d feel small. I didn’t.
I felt strong. Alive. Like I’d shed a skin I didn’t know I’d outgrown.
I tilted my head to look at him. Even asleep, he looked fierce—brow furrowed, jaw tight, as if he was ready to fight even in dreams. But his arm tightened around me when I shifted, pulling me closer unconsciously, like his body already knew I belonged there.
Something in me clicked into place.
I didn’t know exactly who I was yet. But I knew one thing for certain.
With him, I wasn’t lost.
With him, I was safe.
Chapter 12
Gonzo
Two weeks.
Two weeks of her in my bed every night. Two weeks of her skin against mine, soft where the world was rough. Two weeks of waking up with her tangled in my arms like she’d been born to fit there.
And I still couldn’t believe it.
I’d had women before. Easy, quick, forgettable. The kind who came with the party and left with the dawn. But this whatever it was, well it wasn’t that. Not even close.
I’d lie there in the dark, the weight of her pressed against me, her breath against my chest, and I’d feel something I hadn’t ever had before. Something dangerous. Something I didn’t deserve.
I told myself it was guilt. And it should consume me. Guilt because I knew this wouldn’t last. Guilt because I knew one day she’d see what I really was—the monster under the cut—and she’d run screaming. Guilt because my son was rotting in Avery Mitchell, and here I was finding comfort in the arms of the enemy.
But every time she looked at me, I forgot all the reasons I should keep my distance.
She was the one who brought it up. We were sprawled on the couch in my cabin, her legs across my lap, a blanket tangled around us. She was working on a paper, her laptop balanced on her knees, while I nursed a beer and pretended not to watch her bite her lip when she was concentrating.
“Gabriel?” she asked without looking up.
“Yeah, baby?”
“My parents want to have you over for dinner.”
The words hit harder than they should’ve. I stared at her. “Your parents?”
She glanced up, nervous now. “Yeah. My mom’s been asking who I’m seeing. I didn’t tell her everything—I just said there was someone. And she said she wants to meet you. Both of them do.”
I set the bottle down slow. “IvaLeigh…”
“I know,” she rushed. “I know it’s a lot. And if you don’t want to, I’ll tell them you’re busy. But I want them to meet you.”
I should’ve said no. I should’ve told her I wasn’t the kind of man you brought home to mom and dad, that we didn’t have a future where she was going to want them to know me.
But the look in her eyes—the hope there—made the word stick in my throat.
“All right,” I conceded finally. “Dinner.” While this wasn’t how I wanted to show my hand just yet, I figured the opportunity presented itself so I would take it and see if I had any pull over the judge already.
Her parents’ house was everything my cabin wasn’t. White siding, green shutters, flower boxes under the windows. It looked like the kind of place where nothing bad ever happened.
She fussed over me before we walked in, smoothing my shirt, straightening my cut. “You don’t have to look so scary,” she teased.
I arched a brow. “You want me to put on a tie?”
