Page 110 of The Billionaires' Gamble
“What do you want, Alex?”
“I don’t want you to be mad at me, for starters.” Deep in the back of my mind, I worry he’ll shut me out. That he’ll hold something against me with the same ferocity he held against the Chanlers.
“I don’t think I ever was. I don’t think I ever have been,” he amends, resting his hands on his hips. Looking me in the eye again, he asks, “What else?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” A furrow forms between his brows, and I have the oddest urge to reach up and smooth it away.
Instead, I lift my hands helplessly. “Just that I don’t know. Things feel… off, and I don’t like it. I don’t like that we fought. I hate that you’ve been sleeping who the hell knows where this week.”
“Don’t give me that. Tadhg updates you on my whereabouts by the hour.”
“I don’t like the silence. And I never thought I’d say this, but I haven’t loved being alone.”
“She’s coming back, you know. Their date has to end sometime.”
Now it’s my turn to walk away, pondering. “Does it? Maybe they’ll decide to run away and live on his sailboat.”
Not that I actually think that’d happen. But the mind likes to play games in the dark of night. Mine adores the master level version of Worst Case Scenario.
Besides, none of my current turmoil has to do with Katherine’s absence. It’s Gabe I’ve been missing. Katie Bird and I have been in contact plenty since she left. It’s a good thing I’m not charged by the text.
“So we’d move in with them.”
Trust Gabe to make it sound that easy. Why does that bother me?
“We’ll just uproot our lives and go live on a sailboat a half world away?”
“I’d do it. For her. For them. Wouldn’t you?”
I turn and look at him. Really look.
Everything from his hair to the purse of his lips is the same man I’ve known half my life, but something is different. A softening, maybe? I can’t put my finger on it.
“You need some sleep,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say. It feels like we’re just circling each other. Like boxers in the ring. Round and round. Talking in half sentences, avoiding the truth.
Gabe rolls his eyes and turns toward the wall of glass. “I’ll sleep when they get home.”
“So you’ve patched things up with Katherine?” She hadn’t mentioned it during our numerous phone calls and texts.
“Not yet. But soon.” His spine straightens a bit, and his chest expands with a deep breath. I can almost see the wheels in his brain turning. Then, after a long pause, he continues, “I’m seeing Doctor Morales.”
I search my memory for the name and come up blank. “Should I know who that is?”
Let’s be honest, I’m going to have a five-page report about this person on my desk by nightfall. It’s instinct to reach for my phone and start typing out the request to my team as we speak.
“She’s a therapist.”
Wow. That’s big. I saw someone after Courtney’s death at the request of my parents. To be honest, I’m too stubborn to ever seek out that help on my own. Or at least, I was when I was younger.
“Since when?”
He knows me well enough to understand I’m asking how long he’s been seeing this person, rather than how long she’s been a therapist.
“Monday.”
“Is it helping?”
