Gabe

by M. Malone

  I shake my head. "Enough daydreaming. It's time to get to work."

  * * * * *

  Every weekend, my sisters and I used to attack our house with cleaning rags in hand. It was understood that chores had to be done before we could go outside and play or, once we were older, go out with our friends. Brenna used to complain every single time and even Audra would try to convince Mom that we could save chores for Sunday after church. Neither approach ever worked but it didn't stop them from trying.

  Strange as it sounds, I kind of enjoy cleaning. It's one of the few things you can do in life and see instant results. So saving a few bucks by cleaning the building myself seemed like a no brainer at the time.

  Before I got started.

  I've mopped the floor, cleaned the bathroom and figured I'd give myself a break from chemical fumes by cleaning the thick layer of dust off the bookcases with a damp rag. I'm just getting started when there's a knock at the door. I peel off the rubber gloves I'm wearing as I approach the front door. But when I see who it is, I drop them on the floor and pull the door open with a squeal.

  "Uncle Tommy!"

  "Hey kid. Your Dad told me what you're doing." He pulls me into a hug and then looks around the space. "You're really doing it, huh? I had to come by and see it. I hope you don't mind."

  "Of course not! Come on in." I step back and allow him inside. He pulls off his cap and walks to the middle of the floor.

  “This is a great space.” He points to the small counter on the left side where the previous tenant had a small coffee bar. “It looks like it’s already got a lot of what you need.”

  "Yeah I'm going to use it for concessions."

  His eyes shine as he turns in a circle. "I can't wait to see what you come up with." He looks at the rags and cleaning supplies I've left in a pile on the floor. "But I can see you're busy. I'll get out of the way."

  "I'm so glad you came by. Dad told me you're interested in investing in this place so once I work out the details, I'll let you know. I really want it to feel like the original club. My dad is really excited about this."

  "I am, too. You can't even imagine." He gives me another hug.

  Once I get the stage built and everything is clean, I'll have to make sure he and my dad come down to help me set up. It'll be fun for them to work on it together, the way they would have before if things had been different.

  After Uncle Tommy leaves, I pick up my gloves and rag. I stand, fighting another wave of exhaustion. I should have just stuck with the cleaning service. I think I remember Finn mentioning that his fiancée owns a cleaning agency. Maybe I should have just asked for a friendly discount instead of trying to tackle all this on my own.

  Another sneeze catches me off guard and leaves a burning pain in my chest and throat. I pause with a hand over my chest. The pain settles after a minute but leaves a lingering ache of exhaustion all through my body.

  I move back a little and my foot catches on an uneven floorboard. "Whoa!" My legs buckle and I go down hard on my bottom. The rag I was holding lands with a wet smack next to me. I roll over slightly, moving off the uneven section of the floor. I lean closer to look at the uneven wood and then groan. This place is starting to feel cursed.

  If someone falls in here, they could sue me. I'm sure it's the landlord's responsibility to fix the floors but how long will that take? And if I have to wait for the floors to be redone then all the furniture that's just been delivered will have to be moved.

  I sway as a strong wave of dizziness comes over me. The floor spins beneath my feet as I sit back down and rest my head on my knees. The pain in my chest is back and it's starting to feel like my throat is burning.

  I'll just wait until this passes, I think. But I must have inhaled more of those cleaning fumes than I thought because as soon as I close my eyes, I feel myself falling.

  chapter eight

  GABE

  “Gabriel. I wasn't expecting you today."

  It's something of a shock to see my father answering the door of his own suite. He's using a cane and looking pretty proud of himself. I know he hates to use his wheelchair but the sight of him without it makes me nervous. As conflicted as my feelings are toward Max, I don't want anything to happen to him.

  "I called. I know I usually come on Wednesdays but something came up. I need to talk to you."

  "Of course. Come in. I was just catching up on some correspondence." He steps back so I can enter the suite. It's quiet today. Usually he has Carol or any number of other attendants hovering over him.

  "Where is everyone?"

  Max grunts. "I fired them all. A man can't even walk on his own two feet without everyone causing a ruckus."

  Suddenly I understand. Carol must have tried to tell him to use the wheelchair again. "You know, you can't just keep firing your staff. One day they're going to believe you and not come back."

  Max sinks down into the couch and then rests the cane next to him. There are a few pages of stationery and a pen on the table next to him. He picks them up.

  "Somehow I don't think you came here to talk about the way I treat my staff."

  "No, I didn't."

  He waits patiently for me to get my thoughts together, writing something on the paper while I'm trying to figure out how to approach him.

  In all the time I've been coming to visit, I've never asked him directly why he did what he did. Maybe because I didn't think he'd tell me or maybe because I didn't really want to know. Tank and Finn have both said that he refuses to discuss it anyway. But it's time for me to put my personal feelings aside. The guy following me is clearly connected to my father somehow since he's only shown up since Max came to town.

  “Someone followed me today. A man I've seen hanging around here before. Is it one of your guys?”

  Max suddenly looks more alert. “Followed? Are you sure?”

  “No, I’m not sure." That's the most frustrating part. I can't be sure if I'm taking this out of context or assuming the guy must be following me just because I've seen him multiple times. "But I've seen this guy more than once. He has a scar that's hard to miss.”

  Max’s hand jerks and the pen leaves a dark trail across the paper. “Scarred? On his face?”

  “Yeah. It's on his cheek.” I put my finger at my cheekbone.

  He’s positively white now and his hand is shaking so hard that I reach over and remove the pen and paper he’s holding. At my touch, he seems to come back to himself. “I apologize, I need to cut this short.”

  I look down at my watch in surprise. The terms of Max’s financial agreement with each of us requires that we participate in hour-long visits each week. For whatever reason, he’s determined to spend time with us and always seems genuinely happy when I show up. He’s never cut a meeting short before or missed one except for when he was hospitalized.

  He knows something. One mention of the scarred guy and suddenly he looks like he's seen a ghost?

  "Whatever you've gotten into, maybe we could help if we knew what was going on."

  Max shakes his head. "No one can help. But I'll take care of this. Don't worry about that man. He won't bother you again."

  "You don't know that. Clearly he wants something or he wouldn't have been trailing me today. I asked around about him. A guy like that sticks out in a small town. He’s been seen coming out of the old meat packing plant on South Trade Street. Maybe I should go ask him what this is about.”

  When I stand, Max turns pale and shakes his head violently. “Stay away from Blade.”

  This is the first bit of information he’s let slip. It doesn’t escape my notice that he must be pretty rattled to make that kind of mistake.

  “Who’s Blade?”

  “Someone I’d hoped you’d never meet.”

  Max looks pained. It's the first time he's looked guilty and it doesn't make me feel any better. His hand lands on the head of his cane, rubbing over the smooth metal surface as if to calm himself down.

  “I’ll take care of th
is, Gabriel. In the meantime, stay away from him. His business is with me but there are people in this world who will hurt those closest to you just to make a point."

  I think about Sasha, alone in her building. That guy was following me but what if he comes back there when she's by herself? What if he hurts her because he thinks she has information about me?

  "What do you know about him? Tell me!" I want to shake him, force the information out of him. He must see the intent in my eyes because he shrinks back into the couch.

  The door leading to the hallway opens. The men who enter are familiar. Max’s security team is always nearby.

  “Everything all right, Mr. Marshall?”

  Max doesn't look at me again. “I’m more tired today than usual. I need to rest. I’ll see you next week, Gabriel.”

  Dismissed, I turn and leave the suite. I need to get to Sasha.

  * * * * *

  I break a multitude of laws as I navigate through the early evening traffic. It's not quite five o'clock but clearly most of the city of Norfolk has gotten off work early so they can get in my way. I dial Sasha's number. It rings several times and then goes to voicemail.

  "Come on, Sasha. Pick up." I dial her number again but this time I leave a message asking her to call me.

  I cut over a lane and take a side street, then gun the engine. I know enough shortcuts to get me to the interstate faster but when I finally pull out onto I-64 West, I curse at the line of cars ahead of me.

  This is going to take forever.

  I glance at the clock on the dashboard. This nagging feeling that something isn't right is getting stronger by the minute. There's a chance that Tank is already in New Haven so I could call him. Ask him to check on Sasha for me. Even as I have the thought, I decide to save that as a last resort. Tank is extremely protective and he considers Sasha a friend just because Emma does. I know my brothers don't judge me but that doesn't mean they want their friends getting involved with a guy like me.

  The traffic inches along until I finally pass an accident on the side of the road. After that the traffic opens up and I fly over the road and take the exit for New Haven.

  The street where Sasha's future club is located seems much more isolated now. When I was here earlier, in the brightest part of the afternoon, it didn't look sinister at all. But it's getting dark earlier and earlier now that we're getting closer to winter. I park and look around at all the shadows between the buildings. There are too many places where someone could hide. Sasha will be leaving the club at night and anyone could be waiting out here, hidden from view.

  I don't like it all.

  I knock on the door and wait. I know she's here because her car is still parked in front of The Rush. There's no sound inside and I don't see anything through the glass. I bang on the door again and then turn the door handle, satisfied when it holds fast. At least she's kept the door locked.

  But where the hell is she?

  I peer through the glass again. Several of the bookshelves look like they've been moved and there are some boxes in the corner that I don't remember being there before. That must be the delivery she was waiting on.

  Then I see it. There. A small lump on the floor. I wouldn't have even noticed it if it hadn't moved.

  "Oh no. Sasha?"

  I glance behind me, left and right. There's no one around so I dash back to my car and pop the trunk. I reach into the small black bag in the trunk and pull out my torque wrench and pick. Hopefully no one will come around the corner in the next few minutes or I'm going to end up having to explain to the cops why I keep lock-picking tools in my trunk.

  I doubt they'll buy the excuse that it's a just-in-case kind of thing, even though it's true.

  Kneeling in front of the door, I insert the torque wrench into the lower part of the keyhole. Since I used Sasha's key to open the door earlier, I already know that the cylinder turns clockwise. I turn the wrench to the right and then insert the pick and press up gently. I feel my way until I find the one pin that doesn't move like the others. I push that one up with a little more force and then set the others. Then I turn the wrench all the way to the right and the door opens with a soft click.

  Just like riding a bike, I think.

  Sasha is sitting up now, staring at me. The light coming in from the open door spills across her, illuminating the room. "Gabe, what are you doing?"

  I slip the pick and wrench into the inner pocket of my jacket and kneel next to her on the floor. There's dust all over her face and in her hair. "I saw you passed out on the floor."

  "How did you get in here?"

  I extend my hand and help her stand. She sways against me. When she buries her face against my shoulder, the heat coming from her skin shocks me. I put a hand to her forehead. Her skin is burning up.

  "Sasha, we need to get you to a doctor. You're sick."

  A soft sigh escapes. "Did you pick the lock on the door? I saw you but I couldn't tell what you were doing."

  Shit. I'd hoped she was too out of it to see that part. But I'll never lie to her. "Yes, I did. I told you I'm a very bad influence."

  "Can you teach me to do that?" She grins up at me but her eyes are slightly unfocused. She doesn't look good at all.

  "No, I'm not going to teach you how to do illegal things. Come on. I'm taking you to the hospital."

  "Okay, okay but that sounds way more boring than learning to pick a lock."

  * * * * *

  Sasha refuses to go to the hospital but agrees to go to the clinic at a pharmacy near her house. I roam the store while she's seen by the nurse practitioner on call. Twenty minutes later she comes out looking miserable.

  "It's just a bad cold so they can't give me anything for it."

  "Well, then I'll have to give you my own personal remedy for colds. Wait here."

  She sits in one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room at the pharmacy while I dash around the store collecting items.

  Ten minutes later we're leaving with over-the-counter cold medicine, a carton of orange juice, a small jar of honey and the magazine I didn't get to finish reading.

  Sasha gives me directions to her house but by the time I pull up in her driveway, she's asleep. She doesn't even stir when I stop the car. It's obvious she's exhausted and not just because of her crazy cleaning spree today. The dark shadows under her eyes were there even at the party on Friday night.

  What drives her so hard?

  Guilt creeps in. I could see that she was exhausted this afternoon at lunch but I still mauled her as soon as I got her alone. Instead of giving in to my libido, I should have stayed and helped her. My advice to trim expenses was never intended to be used as a reason for her to exhaust herself by trying to clean that entire space alone. Add on top of that the fact that she's obviously been sick and still thinks she can do it all by herself. I have to wonder about her life that she's so determined to prove herself that she won't accept help even when she obviously needs it.

  I touch her arm and her eyelashes flutter against her cheek. "Gabe? Where are we?"

  "Home. Come on, let's get you inside." I come around to her side of the car and she leans on me heavily as we walk up to the house. It's a nice place, a duplex. The windows on the right side are lit up. "Your neighbor must be home."

  "Mrs. Hanes. My landlady. She had the house converted to a duplex after her husband died so she could rent out the other side. I don't want her to see you."

  "Are you ashamed of me?"

  Even sick, she manages to give me a quelling look. "This is a small town. The last thing I want is everyone gossiping about who I have coming and going."

  "I'll make sure to sneak out later if that makes you feel better, okay?"

  She smiles and pulls out her keys. Once we're in, I look around her place curiously. Most of the outfits I've seen her in have been eye-catching. Bright colors and figure hugging. It doesn't surprise me to find that her place looks the same. Her vibrant spirit invades every corner of the house from the bright red paint
color on the walls to the colorful Aztec print rugs on the wood floor. I can tell the home is older but it's been well taken care of.

  "Okay, I'm here. I'm going to take some of that cold medicine and go to bed. You've done your good deed for the day so you can go." Sasha's words dissolve into a coughing fit that ends with a wet, hacking sound. Just listening to her is painful.

  "Not a chance. Come on."

  When she doesn't move, I pick her up and start walking. She swats at my shoulder weakly.

  "If this is how you sweep a girl off her feet, your technique needs work." Her head falls against my shoulder as if she's too tired to hold it upright anymore.

  "Dammit, stop trying to be so strong and just let me take care of you." The first room off the hall is mainly empty except for the bed so I figure that's a guest room. I continue to the next room and push the door open with my foot. Angling my shoulders, I turn so I can fit us through the doorway without bumping Sasha's head.

  Now this really looks like her. The bed is covered with a ruffly purple comforter and there's a mountain of pillows covering the bed. I set her down gently and ease her back. She sighs deeply and then turns her face into her pillow.

  "I'll be back with your medicine in just a second."

  Before I can leave, her hand reaches out and snags my sleeve. "You really don't have to stay. I can call someone."

  "Okay, who are you going to call? Your friend Kay?"

  Her eyes don't meet mine. "You aren't planning to call anyone, are you? Well, I'm not leaving you here alone."

  "I can't call Kay," she whispers miserably. "She'd come running but she has a fiancé, a baby and a bun in the oven. She loves me and would do anything for me but I can't do that to her."

  "What about your sisters?" I know that if anything ever happened to me, Zack would be right there.