Reforming Gabe

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “I guess you can get your own shop again now.”

  She wrinkled her forehead and nodded. “Maybe. I do have a piece in mind that I want to work on, and I’ll buy the materials for that. But I’m not going to spend everything I made this time. I’ve learned. I need to be more careful, see how the chatelaine project works out. If the design does sell, I might try to do some more of that. But at any rate, I’ll stay at Piece by Piece for now. Noel was so good to take me in that I wouldn’t consider leaving her until the playoffs are over.”

  “Or the Sound gets eliminated.”

  “That won’t happen.” She snapped her fingers and grinned. “You’re a sports guy! Get with the program. Believe!”

  “That’s what I like to hear out of my baby girl,” said a voice from above.

  Gabe and Neyland locked eyes and then slowly raised their faces to the man who was like a god to them. Could he not get a break? First Neyland offered to make his next kiss-off gift and now this.

  “Mama. Daddy,” Neyland said. “I didn’t know you were coming here tonight.”

  Miss Vanessa looked surprised at finding them here together. Coach didn’t, but he’d probably never looked surprised in his life, if he ever had been surprised.

  Gabe became painfully aware that his hand was still on Neyland’s. If he removed it, that might call attention to the situation; if he didn’t, Coach might not notice.

  But wait. He needed to stand. In fact, he’d kept his seat a split second longer than Aunt Amelia would have thought was okay. That solved the hand problem.

  “Miss Vanessa, you’re looking lovely tonight, as always.” He laid his napkin on his chair.

  She smiled. “Thank you, honey.”

  “Why don’t y’all join us?” The only reason Gabe said it was because he had to. There could be no worse hell than that scenario.

  Coach hesitated just long enough to drive a man to drink.

  “No. We’ll leave you kids to your rat killing, and we’ll tend to ours.” He looked at the table where Neyland’s hand still lay. “But, Gabe, if you don’t mind, let’s leave Vanessa and Neyland to visit a minute while we step into the bar. I need to talk a little football with you, and we don’t want to bore the ladies.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was a worse hell than eating dinner at the same table with them. There was no way Coach wanted to talk football. They did that every single day before, during, and after practice. Coach knew Gabe was having sex with his daughter. Just from seeing their hands touching, he probably knew how many times. Coach was probably going to beat the hell out of him—one blow per occurrence, which over eleven days probably amounted to about forty-four to fifty times, give or take—mostly give. Once in the morning. Sometimes twice. Once as soon as Neyland got home from work. Once when they went to bed. At least once during the night. Good cow in the pasture, the times they’d done it in the shower alone … He’d had to sneak off to Nashville for condoms because buying them in any amount from Miss Nell at the Pill Box was out of the question. As for the number he’d needed, the only thing that would have kept her from passing out would have been her determination to get on the phone with the First Methodist Prayer Shawl Ministry women.

  Neyland’s laugh interrupted his thoughts. “When did football talk ever bore Mama? And when would that ever have stopped you?”

  “I’m reforming, honey.” He looked at Gabe. “Gabe?”

  At least he wasn’t calling him Gabriel. That was a good sign. He could have taken Coach, of course—if Gabe were capable of hitting him back. Rather than falling into step with Coach, he followed him. Would they really go to the bar, or would Coach just take him right out to the alley behind the dumpster?

  No, he turned into the bar. So it was only going to be an interrogation and a tongue-lashing. Was there protocol for asking for a beating instead?

  “Two bourbons, neat,” Coach said to the bartender as he slid onto a stool. “My tab. I’ll be eating dinner.”

  So at least Coach was going to medicate him first.

  “Still feels wrong to drink with you,” Coach said. “I never did get over you being fifteen. I’ll never forget that day. You’d been a good little jayvee player but you grew two feet over the summer. I’d never seen anything like your talent on my field, and I figured I never would again. So far, I’ve been right.”

  So Coach was going to praise him first before sticking the knife in. Great.

  “I wasn’t that special. There was another one at home just like me. I always tried to get him to play, but he was all about the bulls.”

  Coach shook his head. “Rafe was never like you. I don’t know that I ever knew a sweeter boy, but he didn’t have the leadership ability or the killer instinct you did. He needed a solitary sport. Thank you,” he said to the bartender who set their drinks down.

  “Sure thing, Coach.”

  “I didn’t really come in here to talk football,” Coach said.

  And here it comes.

  “No?”

  “Not directly, anyway. I want to talk about the stadium.”

  What in the holy hell?

  “Stadium? What about it?”

  “I just came from a meeting. They are all whipped up about having the dedication in the fall when it’s done. But you’ll be gone then.”

  True. He’d be gone. The question was, where? Not San Antonio. He hadn’t thought about where. Just not here.

  “In fact,” Coach went on. “I know you’re planning on leaving pretty soon. So I’ve asked that it be done before you go. They’re set on having Jackson there.” He gave Gabe a knowing look. “But I’m more interested in having you there.”

  Damn. He knew Gabe had paid for it. That shouldn’t have been a surprise, though Gabe knew Neyland hadn’t told him. But Coach always knew everything.

  Gabe didn’t say anything. He just took a sip of his bourbon and nodded.

  “But since they’re determined to have Jackson there and he’s gone, I’d like to ask you to extend your stay until they get back from Hawaii.”

  Oh, hell. He’d had no intention of being anywhere near that dedication. But there was only one answer he could give, and he didn’t like it worth a damn. Except, he did. A little. It meant a few more days with Neyland, which was good news and bad news. He twisted a napkin into a tight rope. Did everything have to be so complicated?

  “All right,” Gabe said. “Of course. I’ve got nowhere to be anyway.”

  “Thank you, son.”

  “But there is one thing. I am only willing to be a face in the crowd. I won’t speak or sit on the stage.” Or do anything else to draw attention to himself.

  Coach nodded. “Understood. We won’t allude to this again.” Coach rose and picked up his drink. “There are women waiting.”

  “Maybe,” Gabe said. “They might be on the lam.”

  Coach narrowed his eyes and slammed them into Gabe’s.

  “Gabriel.”

  The hair on the back of Gabe’s neck stood up.

  “You be careful of my girl.” And he set his face in the way he always did when he didn’t want any back talk, excuses, or discussion.

  Gabe followed him out of the bar.

  • • •

  “So,” Vanessa MacKenzie said. “Gabe.”

  “What about him?” Neyland said.

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “I always did like Gabe.”

  Neyland’s heart rate picked up. I didn’t. But I do now. Too much.

  “Most do,” Neyland said nonchalantly. “He’s charming, except when he’s not.”

  “He’s a good boy.”

  “He hasn’t been a boy in a while. And he’s a womanizer who buys his exes off with jewelry. And he loves himself. Have you noticed how much he loves himself?”

  “If you have such a low opinion of him, why are you out with him?”

  “I’m not out with him—not like that.” People having flings didn’t go on dates. “He came by Piece by Piece to see Nickolai. He was still hangin
g around at closing time. We were hungry, so we came here. That’s all.”

  “I see.” Vanessa looked smug. “A woman takes a risk every time she accepts a drink, a cup of coffee, or a meal from a man.”

  “Or a dance?”

  Vanessa nodded. “Or a dance. Have you been dancing with Gabe?”

  Dancing was not precisely what Vanessa meant, and they both knew it.

  “I get the impression you’d be as pleased as a QB-One with a National Championship ring if I were.”

  Vanessa laughed. “I only want you to be happy, Neyland. And you seem happy lately. And I think it’s more than the success you’ve been having with your jewelry.”

  “No, Mama. It isn’t more than that. Gabe has given me some business advice. That’s all. Though I suppose I would finally please Daddy if I were able to give him the son he’s always wanted.”

  Vanessa wrinkled her brow and spoke quietly. “That’s not fair, Neyland. He has the son he’s always wanted—Todd. And he has the daughter he wants. Don’t resent his love for Gabe. There’s enough to go around. James Beauford was Conrad’s best friend. When Gabe started playing varsity football, he was like a little lost puppy. He needed attention and your father gave it to him. Was that so wrong?”

  “No. I’m sorry.” Then it hit her. Somewhere along the way things had changed. She didn’t resent her father’s love for Gabe. She was jealous because Gabe loved her father—and he didn’t love her.

  That left her on the shakiest ground she’d ever stood on.

  Vanessa rose. “Here they come.” She kissed Neyland’s cheek. “Enjoy your evening.”

  Neyland tried to hang on to the niceties flying around her—good to see you, have a nice dinner, see you at practice—and find some balance. She failed.

  But if she’d been unbalanced before, what happened next sent her into an F5 tornado.

  Gabe settled himself in his seat and said, “Think you can stand me for another few days?”

  She ought to stop this, end it now, and get started picking up the pieces of what was left of her heart.

  But her eyes landed on the cleft in his chin. The memory of how it felt to swirl her tongue there, and how he responded, overwhelmed her. No. She wouldn’t run, didn’t have it in her.

  She had to keep in perspective what this was. Fun. A fling. Expendable.

  But what if he took her up on her stupid offer to make his next kiss-off gift?

  She might have to close her eyes while she worked—like he did when he tried to catch a football.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gabe took Neyland’s hand to guide her through the crowd at the Bridgestone Arena in Nashville. The funk of a few days ago had lifted. Her tactic of enjoying what she had and not worrying about what she didn’t seemed to be working.

  And right now she had a lot. Aphrodite had sold, and she’d sent the chatelaine prototype charms away. She was already at work on Carmen, but that was the only important piece she intended to make right now. Unlike when she sold Catherine, Neyland didn’t feel that she needed to go into a frenzied state to produce multiple pieces to prove her worth. Now, she was sure of herself, knew she was talented, knew she would succeed. No. Was succeeding. Noel and Heath had been right. Selling the right piece at the right time was key. The rest would follow. At last, she felt worthy to be among the Beauford artisans.

  And tonight, Nickolai was going to be back on the ice, and Gabe had rented a box suite. Gwen, Dirk, Sammy, Christian, and Abby were meeting them for the game. Noel was sitting in her usual spot with the wives and girlfriends. Something about needing to be at a particular place, at a particular time, to send Nickolai a text message.

  Gabe squeezed Neyland’s hand. She loved the feeling of their fingers woven together and their palms touching. There was something intimate about handholding that went even beyond lovemaking. Handholding was about closeness and care taking, not a burst of pleasure. Not that she would give up that burst of pleasure, not until she had to. Their nights together had been a little tricky since Dirk and Gwen had returned, but, with all the hiding and sneaking, it had been fun, too, and there had been a lot of laughter.

  A lot of laughter, a lot of fun, a lot of sublime sex. What was missing? From her perspective, not a thing. And how had she gotten here? From disdain for Gabe to loving him?

  And like it or not, that’s what it was. Though she couldn’t have said for sure when it had happened, she’d fallen in love with him.

  Fighting their way through the crowd was quite the adventure. They stopped five times for people requesting Gabe’s autograph, and everyone wanted to speak to him.

  They were almost in the door, when a reporter from ESPN stuck a mic in Gabe’s face.

  “So, Gabe Beauford. You’re here to see your friend Nickolai Glazov play hockey?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah, guess so.” He removed his Nashville Sound cap and put it on again. “I came here hoping for some kind of ballet deal, but all that’s going on is some hockey game, so I guess we’ll go to that.”

  When Neyland would have stepped behind him out of the way, he put an arm around her and drew her in—as if they were a real couple on a real date.

  “So what about you, Gabe? Rumor has it that the San Antonio Wranglers have offered you a five-year contract extension with a combined pay increase and signing bonus of twenty-three million dollars—but you haven’t signed. What do you say to that?”

  Oh, hell. Gabe’s face went white and he briefly closed his eyes. Though she didn’t know how, Neyland knew he was reliving the memory of his little sister sailing toward him and falling to the ground. She wanted to grab that reporter’s mic and beat the hell out of her with it.

  Gabe recovered, though his laugh was uneasy. “I have two things to say. First off, rumor exaggerates, which is usually the case. Second, it’s a long time until football season. Tonight, we’ve got something pretty special going on in Nashville. Our own Sound is playing the Boston Bruins in the Stanley Cup playoffs. I think that’s what deserves our attention.”

  The woman laughed. “I had to try, didn’t I? Will you at least tell us who this is on your arm tonight?”

  “That, I’ll do.” He tipped Neyland’s chin up. “This is one Neyland MacKenzie of Beauford, Tennessee. And if you think she’s pretty, you ought to see the jewelry she makes. She’s an artist of the first degree.”

  “I’ll have to check that out.”

  “You should, Karen. You really should.” And with his arm still around her shoulders and some of his color returning, Gabe steered Neyland inside and remained silent until they reached their box.

  Before entering, Neyland laid a hand on Gabe’s arm. “Are you all right, baby?”

  He slowly turned and met her eyes. “I think I am now.” When he pulled her to him, she melded against him, into him, wanting to chase away the pain.

  He put his lips against her ear. “Call me baby again.”

  “Baby.”

  When he released her, he had his old smile back. “Let’s go watch some hockey.”

  • • •

  Not so long ago, standing in Nickolai’s hospital room after his injury, Noel had said to Gabe, “When you find her—the one—don’t let things that don’t matter get in the way. And nothing matters but that you’ve found her.”

  Noel and Nickolai had broken up, and it had taken Nickolai’s blood on the ice to bring Noel to her senses. After she’d said that to him that night, Gabe had made some glib remark, something about how one woman was as good as the next.

  But now, back at Beauford Bend, with Neyland lying asleep with her head on his chest, he wondered. The Sound had beaten the Bruins 4-3 in sudden death overtime, and Neyland, who knew nothing—absolutely nothing—about hockey had gotten excited, jumped up and down, and kissed him full on the mouth in front of their friends. Then she had jumped back and put her hand over her mouth like she’d told a secret she didn’t mean to tell. She had looked so beautiful, her cheeks pink with exhilaration, and her
brown eyes shining.

  There had been some curious, amused glances exchanged—though Dirk didn’t look surprised. The Beauford Bend head of security didn’t miss much, and Gabe had no doubt the comings and goings between the carriage house and the family wing hadn’t gotten by Dirk in the four days he’d been back.

  Oddly, Gabe found he didn’t mind that their secret fling was out. Did that mean it was more than a fling? And if so, did he want it to be? He’d always assumed he’d get married one day to a woman of his choosing, at a time of his choosing. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He used to be in control—of his career, his love life, his emotions.

  But now he was as out of control as the storm moving in outside.

  There could not have possibly been a worse time for this. He had no career, no direction, and no sense.

  But yet … leaving her seemed as impossible as going back on a football field. Maybe he’d stay through the summer. Maybe longer. Maybe he’d tell her they should—date? Was that the right word? That’s what he’d done in high school and college. Movie. Hamburger. If he was lucky—and he usually was—some loving in a backseat or a dorm room bed.

  Except, it wasn’t loving. It was raging hormones and lust—just like it had been that first time with Neyland in the Beauford Bend pantry. Probably the second, fifth, and fifteenth time, too. But something had changed.

  He was a mess. She deserved better. In her best interest, he ought to run.

  But he wouldn’t. He was way too selfish for that.

  It thundered and lightning flashed, lighting up the room like day. Neyland stirred, shivered, and wrapped a leg around him.

  “Cold,” she muttered, half asleep.

  He reached to the floor for his oxford cloth button-down, where she’d thrown it when she’d taken it off him.

  “Here, sweetheart.” He slipped her arms into the shirt and pulled her closer. “I’ve got you.”

  But she never heard him. She was sleeping again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dear Neyland, the email said. We are pleased to inform you that we are very interested in acquiring the chatelaine necklace design …