Fallen (Seven Deadly Sins #2)(59)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Gabriel had at least stopped trying to tug away from her, but now he looked puzzled. He wasn’t actually looking at her, but over her shoulder. “I find that really disturbing,” he said.

Somehow it was the right thing to say, yet the completely wrong thing she needed to hear. At the same time she wanted him to admit and acknowledge that it was weird, beyond coincidence, scary, she didn’t want him to. Because Gabriel had his own baggage. Adding hers to his created a set too heavy to haul around. It might be the very thing that would make him definitively pull away from her. Literally and figuratively.

“I know. And I can’t bear the thought of anyone knowing, of dealing with the fallout from that. Do you understand that?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I get that. But this changes everything.”

“What does it change?” she asked, a sick churning in her gut kicking into overdrive. She relaxed her hold on him. She couldn’t bind him to her by pure desperation and want. That would make her no different than Rochelle. Seeing, forcing what wasn’t there. If he wanted to pull back, she had to let him.

Even if she had fallen in love with him, which she suspected she had.

That knowledge hit her harder than she would have expected. Hadn’t she known she was in love with him? Maybe she had, and she’d chosen to ignore it, pretend that it was lust, attraction, interest brought about from their circumstances, their close proximity. Because maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe she was like Rochelle, having feelings that were false, spinning fantasies about loving him and being loved in return.

But she didn’t believe that. She knew what she felt, knew it was real, knew that she loved him clearly and poignantly for the man he was, whether he would ever return those feelings or not.

It wasn’t wise to love him, not at all self-protective, fraught with the danger of getting her heart trampled, her feelings lacerated, but God knew she couldn’t control it. That was what the last year of her life had taught her—control was elusive. She couldn’t manipulate or change certain events in her life, but she could choose to accept and live the best she possibly could. The search for control, for answers, had landed her in rehab. Sometimes there were no answers.

She had to live with that.

And if Gabriel wanted to walk, she would gather herself and move on. If anything, she had learned she was a survivor.

“This changes the respect I had for you. I thought you were lovely before, Sara, but now I think you’re truly the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”

It almost made her cry. Suddenly and without warning, they were there, tears in her eyes, from relief and gratitude and modesty. God, she didn’t feel amazing, but she wanted Gabriel to think she was. It felt so freeing to have someone look at her and think that she had it together, that she wasn’t a wreck, a mess, a woman on the verge of a breakdown. She didn’t think she was. She had skirted the edge a few times, but never entirely fallen off, and she was tired of everyone assuming a crash was inevitable.

“Thank you,” she said, blinking hard. “I appreciate you saying that. And we can do whatever you want with my DNA for comparison.”

“We can do whatever you want, Sara. Only whatever you’re comfortable with.” He pulled away, but only to turn fully to her and take her cheeks in his hands. His eyes searched her, for what she wasn’t sure. “I’ve been selfish. I know how difficult all of this must be for you, and I haven’t been sensitive enough to that.”

Ironically, she felt the same way about him. “I don’t think you’ve been selfish at all. We’re just trying to wade through ugly stuff . . . It’s hard. It’s emotional. I actually think we’re doing a pretty damn good job of holding it together. Especially since we had the incident with poor Rochelle.”

He looked away and sighed, his hands falling away from her face. “I want you to take everything Alex says with a grain of salt, okay? Alex is charming, but he’s also a liar.”

Sara raised an eyebrow, not sure how he’d jumped back to Alex. “Okay. But why would he want to lie to me? I don’t even know him.”

“He lies just for the fun of hurting people.”

“So why are you friends with him?”

“I’m not. We’ve just known each other a long time.”

“So he probably brought the absinthe then?” That actually reassured her in a weird way. It was better to know how it had gotten there than to imagine something worse. That someone had been watching them, mocking her.

“Probably.”

“You drank absinthe, didn’t you? When you were having your drinking problem.” She was positive that’s what Alex had meant by his comments.

Gabriel nodded briefly, leaning down and scooping up Angel with one hand as the kitten walked past him. He settled her against his chest and scratched behind her ears. “Yeah. It was appealing because you don’t feel drunk. You feel very in control, very intelligent.”

“I understand.” And had the burning cheeks to prove it. She had felt utterly in control peeling her clothes off and touching herself in front of him. Which they had yet to discuss or even mention.

“But that’s all in the past. I don’t drink anymore at all.”

“I know.” Why did it seem like he was telling her something else? Reassuring her, yes, but himself also. And there was something lingering, waiting, hovering between them . . . like everything had been said and yet nothing.

Or maybe she was just tired and needed sleep. It had been almost two days since she’d slept, and she had gotten drunk in the interim. That wasn’t good for her body, or her state of mind. She was exhausted and hypersensitive.

Which might explain why she said randomly, “Your mistakes shouldn’t supersede your gifts.”

He brought Angel up to his face and nuzzled the fur on the back of her neck with his chin. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that your drinking problem shouldn’t prevent you from drawing and playing the piano. You have extreme talent . . . those are gifts that you can’t deny. They need to be shared.”

She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t protest, didn’t agree, didn’t scoff, just put Angel down on the couch and looked at Sara. His poignant looks destroyed her, because they said everything, yet nothing. They were cries for help, tosses of defiance, pleas for understanding, hints at love, yet a barrier that warned the world off. He broke her heart with those looks, made her yearn for solidarity, togetherness, for the comfort of leaning on another person, for the pleasure of being that shoulder in return. To take care of and be cared for. To love and be loved.