If You Leave (Beautifully Broken 2)

When I wake up, the sunlight is streaming through my windows, and Gabriel is gone.

Chapter Twelve

I sit up and stretch, basking like a sated cat in the sunlight pouring across my bed. I’m warm and perfectly comfortable. Except for the fact that Gabriel isn’t here. But that’s no surprise. He told me he couldn’t stay.

There’s shit you don’t know about me.

That may be true, but I’m not going to worry about it right now. I’ve put that away because it doesn’t matter today. Gabriel is gone and last night was amazing.

I stretch and throw the covers back, picking up Gabe’s pillow and holding it to my nose. It smells like man, musky and outdoorsy. Like him. I inhale it, then toss it back in place.

As I move, I realize that I’m a little sore down there. But that’s not a surprise. I haven’t had sex in quite a while—and last night was… er… vigorous. My cheeks flush as I remember Gabriel bending me onto the table outside. I’d better remember to wipe that thing down before I use it next.

I pad into the bathroom and brush my teeth as I wait for the shower to heat up. Staring at the water, I can’t help but remember Gabriel bending me over in the shower as well. I blush harder.

Pretty soon I won’t be able to go anywhere in my house without blushing. If I’m lucky. I have to smile at that, picturing Gabe and me christening every room in the house. It’s an interesting thought and as I daydream about it, I dance around my bathroom singing “I Love Rock and Roll” at the top of my lungs.

I can’t help it. I feel so happy today that dancing like a lunatic seems to be the logical thing to do, sore crotch or not. I feel lighter and happier than I’ve felt in a long time.

He did that.

Just as I’m spinning around by the shower door, I catch a glimpse of someone big and dark in the bathroom doorway. A shadow.

I startle, then freeze as I realize who the shadow belongs to.

Gabe leans casually against the doorjamb, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Good morning,” he says glibly. “I see someone’s in a good mood.”

He’s here.

My heart practically sings, but just as quickly almost dies from embarrassment when I realize that he just witnessed my personal little karaoke/dance party.

My face explodes into a thousand shades of red and I turn so I can spit my toothpaste into the sink.

“What are you doing here?” I stammer. “I thought you weren’t staying.”

He grins again. “I wasn’t going to. Did you know you’re cute when you dance in the bathroom in your underwear? You can’t hold a tune, though.”

I shake my head and grin back. I might as well laugh at myself, right?

“Don’t worry. I won’t quit my day job, I’m just in a good mood.”

Gabe stares at me wryly. “Well, you might not be in a good mood for long,” he tells me. “The road’s flooded. That’s why I’m still here. We can’t get out.”

I stare at him blankly. “What? You’ve gotta be kidding. The last time that road flooded was years ago.”

Gabe shrugs. “I don’t know about that, but it’s flooded today. It’s been raining for two weeks straight. It’s not that big of a shock. But it boils down to the fact that we’re not going anywhere.”

We’re stuck here. Gabe and me.

Together.

As I think of the possibilities, I grin broadly.

“There are worse things,” I announce, thinking about my daydream of christening every room. I smile impishly at him. “I can think of some things to do.”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Judging from that grin, I’m afraid to ask.”

I’m about to respond when a distracting thought suddenly occurs to me that makes me panic.

“Mila. I’ve got to call and see how she’s doing. I won’t be able to get to the hospital.”

I rush to my cell phone and drop onto my bed as I call the hospital, my foot bouncing nervously as I wait.

I had put her out of my mind last night when Gabe and I were… together. I had been so focused on my own pain, my own fear, that I lost myself in him.

How could I have done that? What kind of person am I?

After I’m transferred to Mila’s room, Pax answers the phone on the second ring.

“How’s Mila?” I ask by way of greeting.

“Good morning to you too,” Pax replies. “She’s fine. Calm down, Maddy. I can tell by your voice that you’re freaking out. Mila slept through the night, they gave her fluids and they’re releasing her today. She’s going straight home to bed. And if you see her up at any point, you have my permission to beat her.”

“I don’t need your permission,” I grumble. “I knew her first. But I don’t know if you’ll be able to get home. My road is flooded. I don’t know about yours. I can’t even get out.”

“Ours is fine,” Pax answers. “But I’m sorry that you’re stuck. Don’t sit there and stew about it. There’s nothing you can do about it anyway.”

“I’ll try not to,” I promise, as I eye Gabe. He stands in front of me, his muscled torso at eye level. To be honest, it’s hard to think about anything but his exquisite body for the time being. It’s a little distracting. “Is Mila awake?”

“Yeah, but the nurse is giving her a sponge bath. I’ll have her call you when we get home.”

We hang up and I turn to Gabe. “I’ve just got to make a couple more calls and then we can figure out what we’re going to do. I wonder how long the road will be closed?”

Gabe shrugs. “It’s hard to say. Do you have anything to eat?”

“I have a year’s supply of frozen burritos,” I tell him. “And maybe some rice.”

“So we won’t starve,” Gabe points out. “We’ll be fine. I’m going to go call Jacey while you make your calls. I’ll need to get Brand to stay with her while I’m stuck here.”

He ducks out of the room and I call Tony. His part of town wasn’t flooded at all, so he’ll be able to get to the Hill.

“And I saw on the news that it’s only on your side,” Tony tells me. “So the Hill will be fine. I’ll call you if we need anything, not that you’ll be able to do anything about it.”

“Haha,” I grumble. He chuckles, then hangs up.

I throw some clothes on, a T-shirt and shorts, and find Gabriel in the kitchen, looking through the fridge.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says. “You practically do have a year’s supply of frozen burritos.”

“I told you.” I shrug. “I already know the irony of owning a restaurant and not being able to cook. You don’t have to tell me.”

“OK, I won’t,” he chuckles as he turns around. “I’m making some coffee. I figure you might need it. It took you forever to fall asleep last night.”

I sniff at the freshly brewed coffee smell and glance at Gabe in appreciation.

“If I didn’t love you before, I do now,” I tell him jokingly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that his knuckles just turned white as he gripped his coffee cup harder. But that can’t be right. I was just joking. Surely he knows that. I snatch a coffee cup from the rack and pour myself a cup.

“What should we do?” I ask dubiously. “We’re going to get awfully bored if we’re stuck here long.”

Gabriel lifts an eyebrow. “Seriously? We’re in a nice house on the edge of Lake Michigan. We’ll find something to do.”

I look around doubtfully. “You think this house is nice?” In my head I picture Pax and Mila’s palatial beach-side mansion. This place is a shack compared to theirs.

“Of course,” Gabriel answers. “You don’t?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It was my parents’. I guess I haven’t given it much thought. When they died, Mila and I inherited it. Mila didn’t want it because she had a little apartment over her shop, so she let me have the house. I keep thinking that I need to renovate or something, to make it mine, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“You’ll get there,” Gabriel tells me knowingly. “When you’re ready.”

If that ever happens. It’s been four years.

But I don’t want to think about that.

“I want to go outside and look at the flooding,” I tell him as I push away from the table. “How close is it to the house?”

“Not very, at least not right now. Have you ever seen it get close?” Gabe asks as we walk out the front door. I nod.

“Once. Years ago. I think we still have those sandbags stacked in the basement.”

I suck in my breath as I step out on the front porch and take in the scene in front of me. There’s water everywhere.

Fast-moving water has completely covered my road, the kind you can’t drive through or it will carry your car away. The murky water is also lapping at the front edge of my lawn, watery fingers that are even now trying to grab at more ground, moving quickly toward absorbing everything between the road and my house.

“Holy shit,” I breathe.

“Where did you say those sandbags were?” Gabe looks down at me. “We’re gonna need them. That water has moved at least three feet toward your yard since I looked at it fifteen minutes ago.”

“The basement,” I tell him as I spin on my heel and dart toward the basement door. I jog down the steps and find everything just as my parents left it in my dad’s dark underground workshop. The sandbags line the very back wall, at least twenty rows of them.

“There was a bad flood ten years ago or so,” I tell Gabe as I grab one and haul it back toward the stairs. It’s heavy—probably fifty pounds, but Gabe grabs four of them easily. “Dad kept the sandbags in case we ever needed them again. They were a pain in the butt to fill up the first time. He figured we didn’t need to do it twice.”

“Smart.” Gabe nods. He acts like lugging two hundred pounds up the stairs is no problem at all. As we burst out the front door again, Gabe heads farther out than I would have expected.

Glancing over his shoulder, he tells me, “We’ve got to stack them a ways out. If we don’t and the water seeps through, it can actually cause more damage to your house by trapping the water.”

“That makes sense. How did you know that?” I ask curiously as I follow him, dropping the sandbag into place on the ground, starting a line. He shakes his head.

“I know stuff,” he answers wryly, as he lines his bags up with mine. “I’m smart like that.”

I don’t comment on that. Instead I wonder about what kinds of things he must’ve done when he was a Ranger as we head back into the basement for more bags.

We end up making more trips than I can count. With each trip the stairs seem a little steeper and the yard seems just a little farther from the house.

By the time we carry the last bags out and stack them around the perimeter, the wall of bags is four feet high. The water has crept forward by another two feet, and my arms and legs are shaking like leaves.