Page 29 of Loving Wild
“We’ve been over this, Gabe . . .”
“I thought you were fucking dead. I thought you were bleeding, and I hadn’t told you that I love you, I hadn’t shown you . . .”
“You do, you have, but like you told me earlier, keep going over this is letting him win. We need to move on . . .”
“I think I have, then I catch sight of your bruises, or an image of you laying out on the drive flashes into my head.”
“But it’s done, I’m here. I’m okay, I’m safe, and he’s in prison.” And that’s when I cry. “We’re here, you’re inside me right now, and he’s locked up in a cell.”
I don’t know what else to say. I’ve been so confused by his behaviour today. Since he left me in the bath the other night really. I thought my head was a mess, but Gabe seems to be in an equally bad place.
I move my hands to the sides of his face and hold him like he’s holding me.
“We’ve got this. We’re fucking survivors remember. I don’t care about time frames, I don’t care if we make sense, I just don’t care anymore. Total honesty, Gabe, I love you, I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
And just like that, he was back. That cocky smirk that was almost a sneer, the spark in those dark blue eyes of his, it’s all there looking down at me.
“I knew it. I fucking told you. I knew you loved me.”
“Just shut up. Kiss me, fuck me, whatever, but just shut up.”
He did both.
Chapter 7
Gabe.
I’d lost my shit.Last night, while I was fucking Lauren, I’d lost my shit. Everything I’ve preached to her all week about moving on, getting over things, and not letting that fucker win goes out the window every time I catch sight of the bruises he’s marked her with, or I’m hit with the image of her lying there.
My eyes track the path of my truck’s wipers as they fight to clear the rain that’s hitting my windscreen. Like my attempts at getting my head around everything I’m feeling right now, it’s a battle they’re not winning.
Late July in Melbourne is pretty cold by Australian standards, and today has brought the added joy of heavy rain and strong winds. Exactly like my mood, the afternoon is grey and miserable. The clouds were so low when I drove along the esplanade this morning, my usual view of the city from across the bay was hidden.
I turn the heater a little higher before burying my hands deep inside the pockets of my suit pants and slide down low into my seat. Ava won’t be let out for at least another twenty minutes, and by the time the kid finishes socialising, it’ll likely be forty-five minutes before she makes it to where I’m parked.
I slept like shit last night, so close my eyes in an attempt at grabbing a power nap.
Angus and Julia Stone sing about a big jet plane quietly in the background, and I just begin to feel myself drift off to sleep when my phone connects to the cars Bluetooth, cuts off the music.
Jess’s name is displayed on the screen when I open my eyes, so I hit the green answer button.
“Hey,” I answer, my voice sounding croaky.
“Hey. How are you? How’s Lauren doing?”
I pause for a moment, think about lying, know that Jess will likely hear straight through my lie, so opt for the truth.
“Not good,” I admit. “We’re both struggling to be honest.”
“I had a feeling that might be the case. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on, inyourhead at least?”
“I told Lauren I love her.” I instantly sit up straighter, and suddenly feeling a fuck of a lot warmer, turn the heater down.
I’m met with silence from Jess. Her job as a mental health counsellor means that I know she’ll fully consider her response before giving it.
“And that’s what you’re struggling with?”
“Fuck no. I have no issues with that. I’ve known for a while. I just didn’t know that’s what it was I was feeling. Took me a minute to work it out.”
