10. Gabe

TEN

Gabe

Even though I'd told her she didn't have to pay me, Kat kept trying.

She would leave cash all over the place—stuffed into the pockets of my clean laundry, wedged in the door handle on my truck, under the windshield wipers. She'd even taken to coming into my bedroom while I was out, leaving cash like the damn tooth fairy.

It was somewhat of a game now—she would leave money for me, I would return it to her in whatever clever way I could find. I'd put a stash of money in the junk drawer in the kitchen, or I would put it in her purse. Sometimes I placed it in her bathroom…or I gave it to Livy, who "promised she'd give it back." I wasn't sure if that was true, but it didn't matter.

I wasn't going to let her pay me.

No matter how much sass she gave me, I owed her.

For the most part, we avoided each other outside of work. I woke up early, she stayed up late. I took my dinner alone; she ate with Livy. Every so often I came out to spend time with Livy and Bandit, but if Kat was home, there was no way in hell.

Except today.

I stepped out of Ben's room, the morning sun already climbing a bit too high for my liking. I'd overslept—a rare slip from my usual military precision—and I felt off-kilter. With any luck, Kat would still be asleep and I'd find Livy drawing at the kitchen table as usual…

But there they both were.

Livy facing me, Kat with her back to me, Bandit staring me down with his tail going a mile a minute.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath, intending to make a quiet escape back to my room. But as I turned on my heel, Livy spotted me.

"Hey, Gabe! Want some waffles?"

I winced.

Yeah, I could go for waffles…but I didn't think Kat wanted me there.

We hadn't talked about what had happened while we were working with Shadow, that near-kiss enough to ruin whatever we'd built between us. I didn't want to push her; she didn't want to get to know me. I could help her even if she didn't like me.

But sharing the same air as her was still a special kind of torture.

"Sure," I called back, not wanting to disappoint the kid. I braced myself as I entered the kitchen.

Kat was there, her attention fixed on her phone as she half-heartedly forked at her breakfast. She glanced up just long enough to shoot me a look that could've curdled milk before returning to whatever was so fascinating on her screen.

I didn't know what I'd done, but it certainly didn't feel fair. We'd been doing okay…we'd almost kissed, and ever since then, she'd transformed into the ice queen.

Maybe that was why.

She couldn't stand the idea of kissing a man like me.

I slid into a seat as far away from her as possible and Bandit came bounding over, his tail wagging a mile a minute. He shoved his wet snout against my knee, searching for affection. I reached down and gave him a good scratch behind the ears.

"Need breakfast, buddy?" I asked, looking around for his bowl.

Kat didn't bother lifting her head from her phone as she answered crisply, "He's been fed, thank you very much."

"Right," I said, retracting my hand from Bandit's head.

I risked a glance over at Kat. She was still scrolling through her phone, oblivious to my observation—or so I thought. The morning light caught in her hair, strands of gold flickering like fire. Despite everything, despite the bickering and the tension, I couldn't help but notice—she was beautiful.

Then her eyes darted up toward mine, more amber than brown.

I froze.

"Something wrong with you?" Her voice, sharp and sudden, snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Nothing," I shot back defensively, feeling caught. "I'm just not hungry." I pushed back from the table, blanching slightly when I heard the toaster pop. "I'm heading out to work."

Livy looked disappointed, but she didn't protest. Kat, on the other hand, didn't even acknowledge my departure.

She just kept scrolling through her damn phone.

I walked out without another word or backward glance, despite the tightness in my chest that seemed to grow heavier with every step. The morning air was a slap in the face, sobering me up from whatever spell I'd been under at that breakfast table.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath as I strode toward the barn. The space between the house and the barn stretched longer than usual, as if the earth itself could sense my need to escape.

"Stupid to think this would be easy," I grumbled, kicking at a stray stone. "Maybe I should just head back to the cabin. Get some peace and quiet."

The cabin…it was nice there. No awkward breakfasts, no sidelong glances, no silent accusations from a pair of amber eyes that saw too much. I grabbed a pitchfork as I thought of those amber eyes, discarding my flannel only to remember how Kat had looked at me a few days ago—how she'd touched me, how we'd almost?—

Damn it.

I needed to get a hold of myself.

The work was routine, the kind that lets your mind wander but keeps your hands busy. Mucking out the stables turned to feeding the horses, then to letting them out to graze, then onward to other tasks. I threw myself into it, fixing fences and checking water troughs, trying not to think about anything more complicated than how many nails it takes to patch up a hole. It was better this way—me alone, without Kat to stir up a storm inside me.

But even as I worked, there was a strange sort of relief that she wasn't here. The tension that had been winding tighter around my chest loosened, thread by frayed thread, until I could breathe again.

I didn't want to admit it, but her absence was like pressure easing off an old wound.

I heard the crunch of gravel and I straightened up, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. There she went, driving down the driveway, leaving a trail of dust behind her. I watched the truck disappear, a part of me wishing she'd stay gone longer.

"Figures," I muttered, shaking my head. "Can't live with her, can't work without wondering where she's at."

As the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, painting everything in shades of gold and orange, I took a break. Perched on a bale of hay outside the barn, I fished out my phone just as it started ringing.

"Hey, Dad," I answered with a grunt, not really in the mood for chit-chat.

"Hey, son," he said. "Haven't heard from you in a while—I was starting to think Katrina Martin had made good on her threats."

"Almost," I said, half-laughing. "Turns out, I'm still breathing. No thanks to you sending me into the lioness' den without warning."

"Ah, figured a guy like you could handle it. I…"

Bandit had been following me around all day and he hopped up on the hay-bale with me, his tongue lolling. I lost track of what my dad was saying when Bandit's head snapped toward the driveway and I heard an engine approaching. Looking up, I saw Kat's truck rolling back into the driveway. She got out, grabbed her groceries from the back, slamming the tailgate shut with more force than necessary, and stormed into the house with only a brief glance around.

Even if I'd calmed down, she clearly hadn't. Apparently Bandit was on the same page, because he stayed put.

"Gabriel?" Dad said. "You still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I replied, eyes still fixed on the house. "Kat's back."

"Well, I was just saying it's good to hear she didn't run you off yet. She's tough as nails, that one—just like her mom," Dad added with a hint of nostalgia. "It's a damn shame you couldn't have been closer with the Martin kids. And Ben…I always wished you two had time to make amends."

A heavy weight settled in my chest at the mention of Ben. The past clawed its way up my throat, and I swallowed hard against the emotion. "I know," I said, my voice rough around the edges. "I should've been a better son, a better friend."

"That's not what I mean," he sighed.

It wasn't like that helped. He'd told me I was a disappointment a million times before; before the Marines, before his stroke, before Ben and Kat's parents died.

Silence settled on the line. I wrestled with the weight of my dad's disapproval, with the fact that no matter what I did, it was never enough to erase the past.

"Gabriel," my dad finally broke through the quiet. "In my book, you've proven yourself. If Katrina hasn't accepted you as you are…that's alright. I'm proud of you, son. You're not a failure."

"Feels like I am," I muttered.

"You okay?" Dad probed, his voice laced with concern. It felt like a weight on my chest. I didn't want him to worry.

"I'm fine," I lied, because what else could I say? The truth? That I was sitting out here wrestling with ghosts and guilt while trying not to think about how close I'd come to kissing Kat, and how that would've been the biggest mistake of my life?

"Son—"

"I have to go," I cut him off, because if I didn't end this call now, I might just spill everything.

And then what? He couldn't fix this for me. No one could.

"Alright. Take care of yourself, Gabe," Dad said, a hint of resignation in his voice.

"Yeah, I will," I replied, thumb hovering over the end call button.

Then the whole world seemed to stop.

Because someone in the house was screaming.

My heart pounded, my body moving on instinct. The scream was muffled—then it was followed by Bandit's frantic barking as he shot off toward the house. Adrenaline kicked in, every muscle tensing as years of training snapped me into high alert.

"Shit," I muttered, ending the call without another word. The phone was back in my pocket before I was fully standing, instinct propelling me towards the house.

"Kat! Livy!" I called out, voice rough with fear and urgency.

Bandit's barks turned to howls, a desperate soundtrack to my sprint. The dog was smart; if he was going nuts, something was definitely wrong.

"Damn it," I grunted, closing the distance, ready to face whatever was going down.

Whatever it was, I'd be damned if I let any harm come to Kat or Livy.

Not on my watch.