Page 107 of Ours to Lose
I sought Gabe’s eyes, no clue what I would see there. Between the tournament, his shoulder, the coaching offer, and last night—so much had happened in so short a time, I wouldn’t blame him for shutting down completely.
But he hadn’t. His gaze shone clearly with warmth, fear, and above all, determination. The kind he wore into a fight, ready to withstand any swing that came his way.
I reached for his left hand with my right and Evan’s right with my left, connecting us in a circle. They clasped my hands back, grounding us together in a way that felt like if we could just hold on, everything would be okay.
I poured every ounce of love, strength, and hope I had into those bonds. Then all we could do was wait.
An hour later,Evan was passed out on Gabe’s right shoulder, and I had taken the seat on Gabe’s left. Still no word on their dad. None of us had said anything since we’d joined hands earlier, finding a strange comfort in the silence, but it was taking everything in me not to break that silence now.
Normally, I had no problem not talking, especially when things were intense. But sitting next to Gabe, all I could think was how I probably wouldn’t have many more opportunities to spend with him in person, and I didn’t want to waste it.
I also didn’t want to throw him off ifhepreferred the silence. He saved me from having to guess.
“I’ve been trying to decide what my mom would be doing if she were here,” he said quietly, his focus directed out at the room. “I’ve narrowed it down to yoga by the window or holding that woman’s hands and telling her everything will be okay.”
I followed the shift of his gaze to the family in the row of chairs perpendicular to ours, a woman in probably her late sixties holding a fist to her mouth while tears wet her cheeks. Three younger adults—her kids, I guessed—sat shell-shocked around her.
Immediately, my brain filled in the image of Mrs. Hardt kneeling in front of her, holding the woman’s hands between hers, murmuring words of encouragement. To hold on to hope. That doctors could do miracles these days. That her husband or mother or sister—whoever it was—would pull through and be bitching about the hospital food in no time. It was in her nature to put others at ease and prop them up when they were ready to fall down—like a dowel propped up a plant whose leaves had grown too heavy for its stem.
“She was always solid in a crisis,” I said. My lips rose. “Remember when Evan flipped his bike and broke his arm, and I went screaming down the street to call nine-one-one?”
Gabe broke into a grin. “Didn’t you actually scream nine-nine-one?”
I laughed, remembering. “Yeah. Your mom came outside, calmly jogged to Evan, moved his bike onto the lawn, and carried him to the car. I was melting down because I thought his arm was going to need to be cut off, and she didn’t even blink.”
She’d been my superhero. And when she got sick, she’d been stronger than all of us.
I tried to carry some of her strength now. Gabe seemed to be doing the same. Maybe between the two of us, we could offer a fraction of her comfort to each other.
My phone buzzed in my bag, and I dug it out to find a message from Jillian.
Jillian:Looks like a keeper.
Two photos were attached to her message: one of a spotless prep kitchen and one of Mack’s completed paperwork.
Me:She cleaned the kitchen?
I figured she’d just leave, and if I was lucky, she might come back.
Jillian:Was mopping the floor when Luis got there. I added the time to her payroll.
My shoulders sagged in relief.
Me:Thank you
Jillian:Go be with your family.
I didn’t have to tell her that was what the Hardts were to me.
“Everything okay with work?” Gabe asked. “You didn’t leave an event, did you?”
“No.” I showed him the pictures. “I finally have the start to my team.”
It brought back the buzz of excitement I’d had when plans for the catering division were first underway. I’d missed that buzz. Missed looking forward to being in the kitchen.
Allowing myself to open up to Jillian had helped. It made me feel like she really was on my team, a partner, even though I technically worked for her. She and Jase had that sort of dynamic at Ardena, but it had taken this long for me to embrace that I got to have it now too. Almost like I’d been stuck in my sous-chef mentality and had finally stepped into the role of head chef for real.
I looked at Gabe. “Thank you for helping me with all this. You really kept me going.”
