Page 36 of Six of Hearts
As I drove back to my office, I felt something settle in my chest. A sense of rightness, of pieces clicking into place. I'd wanted her first, and now I'd had her, and it was everything I'd hoped for and more.
But more than that, she'd cared for me. She'd brought me lunch, worried about me, thought about me.
She'd seen past the organised exterior to the man underneath who needed someone to care for him too.
I'd spent six years being the caretaker, the planner, the foundation everyone else built on. And now, maybe, I'd found someone who could be my foundation too.
Mark looked up when I walked back into the office, and whatever he saw on my face made him smile.
"Good lunch?" he asked.
"The best," I said, and meant it.
I sat back down at my desk, and this time when I looked at the blueprints, I could focus. The lines made sense again. The structure was clear.
Everything was falling into place, exactly as it should.
Twelve
Gabriel
The guys and I were gathered at Noah's for our weekly poker night, and the conversation had inevitably turned to Aria. It always did these days.
"So she stayed over Tuesday," Ronan was saying, dealing the cards with practised ease. "Finn woke up looking for me, and when I got home, she was curled up with him in his bed.”
Something twisted in my chest. Not quite jealousy—I was too old for that shit—but something close to it. Longing, maybe.
"That's good," I said, studying my cards without really seeing them. "Kid needs that."
"We all need that," Ethan said quietly, and I glanced up to find him watching me. He knew. They all probably knew.
"She brought me lunch yesterday," Noah added, organising his chips with characteristic precision. "Showed up at my office because she was worried I hadn't eaten."
"When's the last time someone did that for any of us?" Julian asked, and the question hung in the air.
I thought about my ex-wife, about the last few years of our marriage when we'd barely spoken. When I'd come home to an empty house more often than not, even before she left. When caring had become a chore instead of a choice.
"It's different with her," Liam said, and there was something in his voice—wonder, maybe, or disbelief. "She actually wants to be here. With all of us."
"Not all of us," I muttered before I could stop myself.
The table went quiet. I felt five pairs of eyes on me and wanted to take it back, but it was too late.
"Gab—" Ethan started.
"I'm not—" I set my cards down, rubbing a hand over my face. "Look, I'm not trying to be an asshole about this. I know we're taking it slow with her, making sure she's comfortable. I get it. I respect it."
"But?" Ronan prompted.
"But I come home every night and she's there with Caleb, and she's so fucking good with him, and I—" I stopped, surprised by the tightness in my throat. "I haven't had that in a long time. Someone who gives a damn whether I make it home or not."
The admission cost me something. I wasn't good at this—the vulnerability, the honesty. My ex had thrown that in my face often enough.
"She asks about you," Noah said quietly. "Wants to know if you're okay, if the job is getting to you."
"She does?”
"All the time," Liam confirmed. "She cares about you, man. About all of us. She's just waiting for you to make a move."
