I turned my eyes to him, to roam over him.
Time to get some answers then, if what he said was the truth.
"Was it you that told Carmi that I begged you to fuck me?"
I felt the air in the truck change completely with my question, caught the look that he gave me before he answered. The oh-fuck kind of look.
"Yeah, Kess. It was me," he admitted with a sigh. "But I regretted it the second it came out of my mouth. She was giving me a hard time, saying that I thought I was all that and it just popped out of my mouth."
"If you regretted it, then why'd you tell her that I was like your sister?"
I watched as Gabe dragged his hand through his hair, adding a new level of tousled to his already messy hair.
"I think it was my standard answer. Anytime anybody asked me about you, like when they'd see us together during the summer and stuff," he finally replied. "I'm so sorry, Kitten. I know it hurt you."
We traveled more than a few miles before either one of said anything again.
"Do you remember the Christmas, the last Christmas when Daddy was alive?" For me, this was gonna be even a harder conversation that the previous one.
"Yeah, kind of," he said and I could see his eyebrows coming together.
"You brought that girl, uhm, what's her name?"
"Linda? Oh, fuck. I forgot I brought her with me. Geesh, I haven't thought about her in years! She ended up marrying one of my drinking buddies from the garage."
"I overheard her asking you who I was and if we had ever been a couple," I told him.
"Yeah, so?" he shot me a glance, and I could tell he didn't remember.
"You told her that I was just someone that tagged along with you family, that I was like a spare part that gets left over when you've tried to fix something. That I was somebody that you all just put up with, like a little sister. Always underfoot and in your shit."
He was quiet.
"I don't think I ever said that," he said slowly, but his tone was unsure.
"Yep, Gabe, that's what you said," I breathed, still feeling the hurt of those words. "It wouldn't have been so bad…"
Oh, man. I had the lump in my throat and prickles in my nose telling me I was gonna cry and I damn well didn't want to.
I coughed to try and clear it, to stop it before the water in my eyes spilled over.
"It wouldn't have been so bad, if you hadn't said it the day after you snuck in my bedroom."
Gabe reached for my hand and I let him hold it.
"I remember that night, Kitten," he said softly. "I couldn't stay away from you and needed to be with you like we used to be. Sharing a pillow, catching up, trying to get you to kiss me."
"That night I really had begged you to be with me," I continued on. "And, you told me we shouldn't. That it wouldn't be fair to her."
He thought for a few miles before saying anything.
"So was that why you wouldn't come with me after your dad died?" he asked softly.
"Yeah, Gabe."
"Why you got so pissed off and ripped me a new asshole?"
"Yeah, Gabe," I repeated. "I wasn't going anywhere with someone who treated me like that, who talked about me like that."
"Shit, Crys," he said on a sad sigh. "I don't blame you."
It was after Daddy's funeral and everyone that had come to the house had left. I'd been putting the last of the food in storage containers or freezer bags when Gabe had come into the kitchen. There had been a shit-load of food that, to me, was a testament to my dad and how much he was loved. How much he was gonna be missed.
Gabe had come up behind me, his hands on his hips.
"You packed yet?" he'd asked.
"Packed?"
"You're coming with me, Crys," he'd announced, planting his feet and crossing his arms.
I remember my confusion. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
"News to me, Gabe," I mumbled turning back to wipe down the counters, feeling his eyes on me as I moved.
"You've got no one anymore. So you're coming with me, Kitten," he'd announced.
What a dick, I remember thinking.
And, on the heels of that thought, I'd felt a surge of anger like none I'd ever known.
"Who the fuck do you think you are? Huh? You treat me like shit for years and then, because my dad's gone, I'm just supposed to up sticks and trot after you like some goddamn puppy?"
The look of shock on his face at my words, my tone, my freaking volume had been classic.
"I have plans, stupid! And none of those plans include you in any way, shape or form!"
I'd been practically screaming at him from across the room.
"You're calling me stupid, Crys? How are you going to live? Christ! How are you going to survive without having help? Huh?" he'd yelled back.
I'd gotten all up in his grille at his questions. Face to face and nose to nose.
"Seems to me I've done just fine without your ass for the last couple of years! Go save someone else. Why don't you save yourself if you need to save someone, you stupid fuck?" I'd screamed, chest heaving, body shaking like a live wire.
"You need to leave, Gabe," I'd said, my teeth clenched so hard they hurt. "Get outta my house."
"But, Crys…" he'd began.
"Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. House," I'd told him, and my tone had been deadly.
He'd thrown me a glance before moving towards the door.
"You know where to find me when you're knee-deep in the shit that's going to pile up," he said quietly.
"Out!" I'd screamed again, pointing my finger towards the door. "Now!"
My body had tensed with just the memory of that fight, the worst we'd ever had. And Gabe must have caught onto it, because he brought my hand to his lips and kissed it softly.
I felt the truck begin to slow down and watched him move over onto the emergency lane. Shifting into park and putting on his hazard lights, he reached over and undid my seatbelt so he could pull me close.
"I am so sorry," he said, his voice breaking. He put a hand under my chin so he could look into my eyes. "How could you ever forgive me?"
"I don't think I really did until just now," I whispered.
He lowered his face to mine and kissed me in our special way, holding me tightly.
"I pull that kind of shit again, baby, make you feel that bad again, you gotta tell me right then. Right at the fucking time, alright?" His voice was tight with feeling.
"Yeah, Gabe," I agreed.
It took awhile for us to get back on the road, but when we did, my heart was a hundred pounds lighter.
We made stops, for bathroom breaks, food and gas.
But mostly it was just the two of us captured in that old cab of the truck that Gabe had restored.
Luckily we were pointed away from where the sun rose as we were making our way into Eugene.
It seemed to be a sprawling city to my untrained townie kind of eye. Lots of green, lots of cars, lots of houses.
Gabe's apartment, though, wasn't anything to write home about. Smallish with nondescript furniture and a postage stamp sized patio.
He moved through it quickly and then suggested I take a shower as he pulled a worn towel out of the cupboard in the hall.
I had stayed awake as long as he did, though, and I could only muster an inkling of enthusiasm for standing up. I needed to burrow down in something soft so I could rest both my body and my mind. Too many things to think about and my body was hurting from being in basically the same position for twenty-two hours.
And then there were the row of sticky notes which adorned Gabe's front door when he maneuvered me through it.
I was only able to read the first two as he hustled us inside.
'Gabe,' I read from the note at eye-level, 'Call me. We need to talk. (heart) Trisha.'
Shit.
In the time he'd been in Grantham it seemed like he'd totally forgotten about Trish, his on again, off again kind of girlfriend. At least the scratch to his
itch when he was in Oregon.
'Gabe,' the second note read. 'If you don't want to see me, let me know. (heart) Trisha.'
Hearts don't equal a passion based on anger, not that I got the whole passion anger thingie.
Fuck.
I attempted to ponder these notes while I was in the shower.
You're probably not surprised to know that I couldn't.
My last thought before rolling to my side beneath Gabe's well worn sheets was that I didn't like the them; the notes or the thoughts.
And I couldn't help but wonder how Gabe would take seeing Niko's notes on my front door.
Hey, fair play, right?
*.*.*.*.*
According to the digital clock blinking against my eyes it was some kind of twelve, time wise anyway.
I reached a hand up and snagged my cell that was recharging on his cheap-ass nightstand.
One thirty.
I blinked trying to figure out if that was a.m. or p.m.
Okay, p.m.
Whatev.
I heard clanking in the kitchen and worked myself to the edge of the mattress thinking to make my way to the bathroom.
But, I heard a banging on the door. Probably the noise that had made me wake up.
Shit, noise really carries in apartments.
Who knew?
I wrapped myself in the sheet and kind of stumbled into the hall.
"Gabe?" I kind of called, my voice really raspy with sleep.
I saw him poke his head around the wall that separated the kitchen, from the rest of the rooms.
"Door?" I asked, abbreviating my original question. Such as, 'Who is at the fucking door, ass-wipe?'
He shrugged and waved the plastic spatula in his hand.
What the fuck did that mean?
Actually, my bladder said it was no big deal and I trundled myself into the tiny bit of space that passed for a bathroom here in Eugene.
The pounding had stopped and I saw Gabe shoveling food into his mouth as I finally made my way into the kitchen.
*.*.*.*.*
Crys looked gorgeous, her eyes and mouth still swollen with sleep as she stumbled out of the short hall and into the kitchen.
"Breakfast?" she breathed leaning over the pan that had held the omelets he'd made before the bitch started banging on his door.
Fuck.
He didn't want to open the door and allow the shrew to spill her diseased guts to Crys and the world at large.
Fuckin' Trish.
The beloved daughter of Theodore Sampson, also known as Ted, and sister to four, count 'em four, older brothers that thought the sun rose and set on her copper-colored head. The princess in the used car and automotive repair empire known as Sampson Motors.
She was toxic, though. At least, for Gabe, she was.
He'd tried numerous times to break it off with her, knowing that what they had together was polluted, just this side of sick. But she would never go away and stay away.
Crys sat next to him, deliberately bumping against his shoulder, before she picked up her fork and begin to dig into her omelet.
He couldn't help his arm that reached out and rubbed her back.
"Sleep good, Kitten?" he asked, his mouth at her temple.
"Yeah," she breathed. "I'm liking the breakfast waiting thingie."
"For you," he said, dropping his mouth to capture hers in a good morning kiss.
"What up with the freaking door banging, though?" she asked when he finally pulled his mouth away from hers.
Fuck.
"Trish," he admitted with a sigh.
"Oh? The ex?" she said between bites.
"Uh, kind of," he admitted.
He saw Crys's fork pause mid-air.
"Kind of?" she asked, her eyes zeroing in on him.
He left it there, hoping that Crys wouldn't press and he didn't have to own up.
"Ah, yeah," he said, moving to scrape off his plate and load it in the dishwasher.
"Is she like an alien or something?" she asked.
"More than ever, wish I could say 'yes' to that, Kitten," he said and felt his cheeks heat. "She's a bit…"
He stopped, letting his explanation hang.
"Of a trouble maker, a bitch, what?" Crys asked, forking another bit into her mouth.
"Uhm, yeah. Both," Gabe admitted, pulling the pan into the sink and scrubbing it out, trying to buy time. "Maybe even all three."
The room became very silent and Gabe shot her a glance over his shoulder. She was still eating, but had her eyes trained on the small patio that was showing against the sliding glass door.
He put his head down and scrubbed that small skillet for all he was worth.
The thuds on the door started again.
Chapter Twenty One
Gabe, wiping the skillet dry, shot his eyes to Crys and saw her roll her eyes before heaving herself off the stool and stepping to the door.
"What?" she yelled as she opened the door, causing him to jump at her loudness.
"Is Gabe here?" he heard Trish ask.
"Are you Trish?" Crys asked.
"Well, yeah," Trish replied in her, 'no, duh,' voice.
"He says he's done with you," Crys announced and moved to close the door.
Trish wedged her boot in the gap, preventing Crys from closing the door on her.
Gabe caught a glimpse of Trish's face in the small gap Crys had left. It was mottled and purple and very determined.
Shit.
Crys threw open the door and swept her hand, pointing towards Gabe.
"Have at him, then," she mumbled as Trish moved across the threshold. "But I don't think he finished reading the short story you left on the door."
Trish looked over her shoulder at Crys before dragging her gaze to Gabe.
Fuck.
"What the fuck, Gabriel?" Trish screeched.
Gabe put his hands over his ears and slid his eyes towards Crys who was blithely moving down the hall, a small smile playing against her lips.
Vixen.
"Is what that bitch said true?" Trisha had a set of lungs on her and was not afraid of using them.
"Yeah, Trish, it's true. I didn't read the notes on the door," Gabe admitted, his arms braced against the sink behind him.
"I fucking meant about you being done with me!"
He nodded and folded his arms against his chest, waiting for it, because Trish could never just walk away. Nope, it was always a huge fucking emotional drama that sometimes dragged out for a couple of hours.
"Fuck you, asshole!" Trish screamed.
Gabe just looked at her, hoping beyond hope, that she would be somewhat civilized as he scraped her off for the final time. He'd thought he'd made it clear when he left that they were over, but he hadn't been sure she was listening. One thing he'd learned in his time with her, was Trish was one of those women with selective hearing.
They glared at each other, gun-metal gray eyes to overly green frost due to contacts. Gabe knew that her real eye color was brown.
Gabe sighed.
"Go away, Trish," he advised softly. "Don't wanna make you mad but I will come unglued if you try to fuck this up."
"And I'm guessing that she's the hillbilly girl, the one you told me couldn't read until she was in middle school."
Jay-sus, he'd said too much in the late night talks when he and Trish and been in the 'getting to know you' phase of their relationship.
Gabe heard a snort from down the hall.
"The one I love, Trish," he said with narrowed eyes. "That I've always loved."
He watched as Trish went forward, towards him, and he moved himself to lean against the stove in the tiny kitchen.
"Stop!" he yelled. He wanted, no, he needed her to stop.
"I don't love you, I've never loved you," he said, gentling his voice. "But, I do love her."
He made sure that Trisha's eyes were on him as he continued.
"I've always loved her. I don't want anyone but her, Trish," he said, his tone
letting her know that he had no use for her now or going forward.
"So, I'm history," she muttered, stopping just within the small square of linoleum that delineated the apartment's kitchen.
"No, Trish," Gabe said, softly, gently. "You never even had a place in my life. And please know and understand, Crys is my life."
The silence stretched long and hard between them.
"Go away, Trish," Gabe advised quietly, his hips still leaning against the stove, his arms re-crossed over his chest.
She looked away from him and he saw her chin quiver.
Oh, fuck, no.
No crying. He didn't think Trish even had tear ducts.
"I'm pregnant," she said, her voice shaky and much softer than it had been.
"What?" Gabe asked, not believing he had heard right, but his heart must have heard it, because it started beating something fierce.
Oh, fuck, no.
"I'm pregnant," Trish said again. "You're gonna be a dad, Gabe."
He heard another snort from down the hall.
No. Not now. Not when things were finally coming together, when he finally had a future instead of just existing day to day.
He stared at her, not sure if it was true or another one of Trish's elaborate lies to keep him in her clutches. He could feel his eyes narrow as he thought it through. No contraceptive is a hundred percent safe, but she'd told him she was on the pill.
Or was this just another one of her ruses to keep him around her?
Last time he'd tried to get rid of her, she had called two days later really upset because someone had broken into her house. But, when he brought it up at the next dinner he'd shared with her family, no one knew anything about it.
Her red face had given her whole game away.
Then there was the time that she called just after another one of their splits because her little dog had been hit and killed by a car. But, her brother, Gabe's boss, complained that the damn dog Trish had dropped off at his house was destroying his shit.
Trish was devious and would lie to any and all to get whatever it was that she wanted.
Gabe was not going to be fooled again.
"I'll want proof of that, Trish, proof of the pregnancy," Gabe finally said. "And I'll want a DNA test done to prove I'm the father. But, even so, I will not be with you just because you're pregnant. I'll be a Dad, if you can prove to me that…that it's real and it's mine."
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