Gage

by Jessica Joy

  Chapter 12

  Lexi

  A knock on the door is the first thing to draw my attention away from my chick-flick binge in hours. Yeah, I’m one of those girls. I watch chick flicks when I need a distraction, distractions from days like today where I have hours to kill before my crush shows up. I did convince Leo to go find me a pumpkin spice latte though, fuck what season it is, if the mob can do one thing it’s bring me a PSL out of season. I love me a pumpkin spice latte, and yes, I have Ugg’s too; they’re fuckin’ comfortable and warm so fuck everyone and their judgments. Sure, I get made fun of for being a “basic white bitch,” but I honestly don't care. I am who I am, and I just don’t care enough to change anymore. I’ve spent years trying to make everyone else happy, and now I want to try and make myself happy for once.

  So that's why I’m sitting here watching Love Actually for the five billionth time curled up in bed with my sketch book, to distract myself and kill time. Drawing has always been my one mental release, my escape from the real world. Whenever I get too lost in my own head and need a distraction, I draw. I don’t show people my work, my sketchbooks are my closest guarded secret. I’m just about finished with what must be my hundredth sketch of the day when a knock at the door interrupts me.

  Knowing the offending knock could only be from one of three people, and hoping it’s really only one of them, I throw off the blankets and dash to the bathroom to give myself one last check over before I answer. After coming back from my walk and the run in with Gage at the flower shop I spent entirely too much time primping this afternoon. My hair is curled in soft waves, I have a coat of mascara on my lashes, and I’m wearing a slouchy tee that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of ripped light wash jeans. All in all I’m hoping it comes across as the “Casual, I didn’t put any effort in look” ... that only took two and half hours and five costume changes to achieve.

  The knocking has stopped when I walk back into the main room and my heart seizes. Fuck. Did I miss him? Goddammit! Before I can get too far down my little freak out path the pounding starts again. Reaching to open the door, I pull up short. The knocking is still going, but this time it’s to an odd beat and I can hear the soft hum of a rich tenor through the solid door. He’s singing. A soft smile tugs at my lips as I stand and listen for a moment longer before I take pity on him and open the door.

  Gage is standing in the hall in his sinfully perfectly fit dark denim jeans and a grey Henley that fits like its painted on. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and the buttons at his neck are undone, showing glimpses of his colorful ink. His sandy blonde hair is mussed like he’s been dragging his hands through it all day, the sides freshly buzzed. God, he looks delectable.

  “Gonna let me in, or plannin’ on unhingin’ yer jaw and swallowin’ me whole right here in the doorway?” the cocky bastard teases, shooting me that devastating smirk of his. With an eye roll and an indulgent smile, I step aside and let him in my room. As he passes I can’t resist inhaling deeply, filling my lungs with his fresh clean scent. It’s not the one I’m used to since his normal cologne and soap are back in Minnesota, but there is still that familiar underlying scent, the one that’s all Gage; and fuck me if it doesn’t make me instantly wet. This is gonna be a long night.

  “Umm, lass, I didn’t know ye were into this,” he says, gesturing at the TV which now has Martin Freeman holding Joanna Page’s tits. “Ye started all the fun without me!” Gage whines, eyeing my tv. “I’m hurt Al,” he teases over his shoulder at me.

  “Fuck. No, that’s not why I was watching this…” I stammer out. “It’s a sweet movie, really.”

  “I’m sure it is, Al. And thirteen-year-old me read Playboy for the articles,” he smirks, clearly enjoying catching me off guard. Ignoring him, I attempt to pull myself together.

  I had decided while in the shower earlier, that I would set everything aside tonight, everything in our past, everything that has happened up ‘til now, and just live in this moment with him; to give us this chance to see if we can be an “us” again without anything else looming over our heads. So, with that in mind, I decide to play along. “Regardless it’s not my fault you took so long to get here so I had to do something to entertain myself.”

  “Oh that’s how it is, eh lass?” Gage asks, turning toward me, his eyes glinting with mischief.

  “Maaaaaaybe,” I tease, drawing the word out as I fold my arms across my chest and quirk my brow at him in challenge; curious to see what he’ll do next.

  He flashes me an evil smile before ducking his head and charging me, catching me in the stomach with his good shoulder and hauling me off my feet. I let out a shriek and laugh as he barrels the few steps forward to my bed and tosses me down on it. I bounce a couple times before settling in an undignified heap in the middle of the giant mattress, laughing and smiling up at him. Before I can roll over and untangle myself from the mess of blankets, he has crawled onto the bed, settling himself back against the headboard.

  I’m in the process of freeing my leg from one of the down comforters when I hear Gage give a hum in thought. Turning to see what he’s up to, I freeze when I see him pull open one of my sketchbooks and start flipping through the pages.

  Fuck me, of course I forgot to stash my sketchbook. Goddammit.

  I’m frozen with the fear of him looking at these drawings, especially these ones. I can’t breathe, my lungs will not take in the air necessary to sustain life as I stare at him and wait for him to say something, anything. He lands on a page and lifts the book, bringing it up for closer inspection. I must let out a terrified little squeak because he looks up at me quickly.

  “This is… is this…” the look in his eyes freezes what little movement and breath I had left, turning them to stone as ice flows through my veins. I know what he sees, I know the questions he must have running through his head, and I have no answers for him. I don’t know which page he is on, but it doesn’t matter. Every single page in that sketchbook is the same.

  Gage. Every page is of him.

  I brace myself for him to get up, to run, to do… something. Instead he looks back down at the drawing and runs his fingers over the worn paper, tracing whatever outline he landed on. His features soften as he studies it and after entirely too long a moment, he looks back up to me, a smile growing on his face.

  That smile. Goddamn this man and the sexy as sin smirk of his. Here I am, dying inside, with my lungs screaming for air, and he’s sitting there looking like the cat that got the fucking cream. That stupid smirk is his “I know something you don’t know” look and its driven me insane from the moment I met the bastard.

  “Lex… Al… aww come ‘ere lass,” he says through his smile, a warm chuckle in his voice as he sees the panic written all over my face. Gage must be able to tell there is no way I’ll be moving anytime soon and laughs again. It’s a sound I’ve missed so damn much, and heard so little since he woke up, it’s like a balm to a wound on my soul I hadn’t even realized was aching.

  Gage shakes his head and adjusts himself on my bed, settling more fully back against the headboard. He fusses with the pillows behind his back and adjusts the blanket over his lower half, making himself at home. Once he finishes futzing around with the bedding, he looks up at me, raising a brow expectantly and pats the spot next to him.

  When I don’t move right away, he groans and tosses the corner of the blanket back, patting the spot again. “Come on lass,” he says softly. Something about the warm caress of his voice finally clicks my brain and body back into motion and I crawl awkwardly up the bed, sliding under the covers next to him. I settle back against the headboard, mirroring his position and look down at the sketchbook on the bed between us.

  The page he landed on is a charcoal pencil sketch of his profile. His overly floppy hair, which is currently in a crazed wave over to one side, is pulled back in the picture into the ‘man bun’ he sometimes wears when the mop starts driving him nuts. The shaved sides of his undercut are on display in the sketc
h, the little four-leaf clover tattoo he has behind his left ear a dark mass amid the smudges of the charcoal. His features are a mix of stark lines and thoughtful smudges, working together to bring the quiet strength of this man to life on the page. He’s looking off to the side and laughing, the laugh lines around his eyes and the dimple in his cheek the only clearly defined details.

  I’ve gone over and over this particular drawing more times than I can count, always going back to make tiny adjustments, never quite convinced I got it perfectly right. It's one of my favorites though. His smile, from the moment he stormed into that damn holding cell and flashed me that goofy grin and told me the ‘luck of the Irish never fails’ and it was ‘time to blow this popsicle stand.’ From that moment on, his smile has always gotten to me, made me putty in his hands whether I like it or not.

  “Al I…” he starts, but I cut him off, not sure I can handle hearing what he has to say right now.

  “Don’t. Please. Just...” I fumble for words, not sure what I want to say, but I know I can’t bear to hear him reject me again. Not right now. I just want this moment, this one moment to pretend the man I love is still in there somewhere.

  “Come ‘ere Al. Watch a movie with me,” he says, reaching his arm around my shoulders and tugging me into him. My body goes rigid and I fall awkwardly against his side, my head connecting with his armpit first and then sliding down his chest a little way until I have a mouthful of his cotton covered nipple.

  Well done Lex. So very smooth. As if this moment wasn’t awkward enough with your stalker drawings, now you’re acting like a mental patient.

  Gage’s full on laugh vibrates through his chest and against my cheek. I can’t help but close my eyes and soak it in. Gage continues to laugh and pulls his arm tighter around my shoulders, hugging me to him for a long moment before relaxing his hold and helping me adjust into a more comfortable position. I end up curled against his side, my head on his shoulder with my hands folded against his side and his hand settles on my waist. It’s comfortable. It’s a position we’ve been in many times… many times he doesn’t remember.

  I shake my head of that thought and try to stay in this moment with him and I fumble for the remote, racking my brain for a good movie choice that he might like when he yanks it out of my hand. “Nu uh. I get to pick,” he says teasingly. Oh well, I guess Die Hard will have to do, though I had hoped for something a little more intimate. “How about this one?” he says, starting up You’ve Got Mail.

  “Mmmm, perfect,” I mumble into his chest, surprised by his choice as I settle in to get comfortable. At some point I must start to doze off, but I can feel, in that hazy space between sleep and awake, his lips press gently against my forehead and his arm tightens ever so slightly around me. With a smile on my lips I let myself drift off, enjoying the peace of his presence while it lasts.

  Chapter 13

  Gage

  Any man who can't admit Tom Hanks has serious game in You’ve Got Mail deserves to have his man card taken away. Seriously, that man can bring me flowers and make me tea anytime… for as long as we both shall live.

  I’m thankful for the distraction of the movie while I sit here with Lexi curled up and sleeping against my chest. Between her little sleep noises and the movie, I’ve managed thus far to keep my mind from running amuck like it did this afternoon. Just like that damn kiss yesterday, this feels… right. Like it's something we’ve done a hundred times before, including the increasing wet spot on my shirt from her oh so adorable drool. My body may remember doing this before, but it may as well be the first time for my mind; shame, this should be something I remember.

  Jesus fuckin’ Christ, if I could do anything, give anything, to get back what I lost, I would in a heartbeat. I can’t handle this fucked up mess, the turmoil I see in her eyes, the knowledge that I am missing something that is just out of reach. It’s all right there. I know it is, I can feel it. It is almost as if I’m reaching for the jar that holds my memories, but the shelf is just too high. And it's not only with Lexi, it’s with the Club, with King. I know I saw something that night, deep in my gut I know there’s something there that could snap everything into place, but I just can't find it. Its fuckin’ infuriating. And now I’m laid up with a bum leg, a busted arm, an empty head, and no Club if what Tinker says is true.

  How the fuck did things go sideways so fast?

  As the tension and frustration rise within me, I feel Lexi shift against me and let out a little grumble in her sleep. She must be able to feel the turmoil that’s no doubt rolling off me in lovely little pissed off waves. I take a deep breath, trying to focus on calming down again, not wanting to wake her up and let her out of my hold just yet.

  Thinking back over the night, trying to let my thoughts go anywhere other than the shit show that is my current situation, I snag on something she said.

  “I know your mom grew them when you were young. They’re your favorite.”

  Fuck me. Have I done this already? Have I told her about me Mam and her flowers? I must’ve for her to know about it; there is no way in hell anyone else knows those stories. Thinking back over all of our interactions recently, I catch on other instances of her knowing things I don’t remember telling her or doing with her… like Legend. How the bloody hell did she know Legend is my go-to and I only watch the shit American version when I’m properly scuttered. For the life of me I can’t remember telling her that. Or did we watch it together? We must’ve if she knew enough to groan at the clearly subpar Tangerine Dream soundtrack.

  I’ve known since the moment I woke up that there was something there, something that was there before shit hit the fan. Hell, the woman kissed me within 30 seconds of me waking up from a bloody coma. Yeah this isn't a new revelation but after today, after how good she feels in my arms right now, how right that kiss felt earlier… I need to get it back. I need to get it all back. And if I’m going to get it all back I need to not jump the gun. I’m not sure I trust myself to spend the night in her bed after this afternoon’s mental fantasy.

  Even though it is the last thing I want to do, I slowly drag myself out of the bed, being careful to settle her against the pillows as best I can before covering her with the blanket, turning off the TV and lights, and leaving her room.

  * * *

  A couple days later, things have settled into a tenuous peace between Lexi and me. Our little movie and cuddle sessions have become a nightly occurrence and are the best part of my day. As much as I can enjoy a good chick flick, I instituted an every other rule, trading off who picks the movie each night. Apparently this was also previously instituted as I received a, “What took you so long.” from my ridiculous teasing girl.

  Last night was my turn and I picked the instant classic, Gone in 60 Seconds. Lex, God bless her soul, had never seen it and actually stayed awake for the entire movie. It was the first time since our little date nights started that she has made it all the way through a movie, and my shirt stayed dry. I now rate my movies on a zero to five inch scale, the smaller the puddle, the better the choice. She and that little puppy she calls a bodyguard, Leo, are off cavorting around the city somewhere for the afternoon, and I am perfectly fine with that situation. Yep, doesn’t bother me at all that the prepubescent whelp gets to spend so much time with her damn near every day. Nope, doesn’t bother me at all.

  Fuck. Okay fine, it is driving me bloody insane. I may not remember everything we were, but I know without a doubt what we are, and what I want us to be. I want to be the one to spend the days here with her. Regardless of anything else, we’re friends. She is the person I feel most comfortable around, the one I want to spend my time with.

  In an attempt to keep myself busy this afternoon since I have the day off of PT, I convinced Sawyer it’s time to check in with Tink and see how things are going back home. Truthfully I just want something else to think about, and maybe Tinker will have another piece of the puzzle for us.

  Sawyer and I are sitting on the couch again with t
he phone from DiMarco propped up on the coffee table as we try to connect with Tink. I texted him this morning to set up a time and he said he needed a few hours to get “to a secure location”. The phone finally connects and Tinker’s face fills the screen.

  “Fuck Brother, ye look like shit.” I blurt out. He looks like he hasn’t slept since we talked to him last week, his eyes are all sunken and bloodshot. His usual baby face actually has a solid dusting of facial hair growing along his jaw; I didn’t know he had it in him.

  “Gee, thanks Gage, you always say the sweetest things,” he grumbles. “It’s been a long couple days over here.”

  “What’d ya find out?” Sawyer asks, cutting to the chase.

  “Aw, you said “what” and not “did”! You have so much faith in me!” Tinker goads, trying to get a rise out of Sawyer.

  “You and I both know there is never a question of if but when, when it comes to you,” Sawyer concedes.

  “Hold the phone, did Spartan just give me a compliment?!” Tinker gasps in mock surprise.

  “You make it sound like I’m some horrible broody asshole!” Sawyer says incredulously.

  “Ye are a horrible broody arsehole,” I say as Tinker and I share a look through the phone and start laughing.

  “Assholes. Both of you,” Sawyer grumbles.

  “Ah come on, just havin’ a little fun with ya Brother. But okay, down to business. I’ve done some digging and found a lot, but unfortunately, I have more questions than answers now. I wanted to run what I found past you guys before I stuck my neck out any further on this end,” Tink explains.

  “Alright, lay it out for us,” I say, leaning back against the cushions to get comfortable.