Beautifully Broken: If You Leave Part 23

Gabe nods as we head into the kitchen. "Yeah. I got turned around a few times. A few minutes ago, I think I found my way into your parents' room."

My gut immediately clenches, a stupid and extreme reaction to something so simple. I keep their door closed for a reason but obviously Gabe didn't mean to intrude.

"No big deal," I tell him airily, pretending to be casual. "No harm done. Did you close the door when you came out?"

Please have closed the door. I don't want to see in there.

Gabriel stares at me, curiosity in his dark eyes, like he can see through me.

"Yeah, I did. Maddy, their room looks like it must've looked the day they died. Your dad's boots are still by the door, caked in mud."

He pauses, staring at me. I stare back. "And?"

Gabe shrugs. "It's not my business. I was just curious. I wasn't judging."

I know he wasn't. Just as I know it's weird that I've left their room untouched. But grief does weird things to a person. So does guilt. I honestly just wanted to close their door and not think about it. Or them.

"I know it's weird," I tell him. "I can't explain it. Even to myself, really."

Even though it's been four years.

Gabe stares at me again, his dark eyes softening. I see sympathy in them. "Want to go for a walk on the beach?" he asks.

I nod. I throw a pair of shorts on and we make our way out my back door and down the path and spill out onto the beach. The air is cool and I can feel the moisture in it-both from the lake and from the flooding around us.

Overhead, sea gulls circle and cry.

In front of us, Lake Michigan crashes hard against the sh.o.r.e, disturbed by the recent storms. I know that if we walked down to the nearest public beach, the red flags would be flying... a symbol that the current is dangerous.

"Why didn't I ever see you in the summers?" I ask Gabe. "Jacey said you didn't come into town because you were shy. But that doesn't seem right."

He shrugs, looking out at the water. "I don't know. I spent a lot of time with our grandfather, fis.h.i.+ng and stuff. Jacey and Gran were the ones who came into town."

"That makes sense," I answer. "But I wish I would've met you back then."

Gabriel laughs. "I think you would've been underwhelmed. I was so dead set on joining the military that it was all I could think about."

And you gave that up for some reason that you won't talk about.

That idea, that notion, makes me crazily sad.

"Well, it's for the best. I was sort of a wild child. You probably wouldn't have liked me anyway."

"I doubt that," he answers, and as he does, he picks up my hand and holds it. That simple little thing sends my heart ricocheting off my rib cage. It seems so intimate.

To keep from saying something stupid about it, I start chattering about my escapades, the way I used to be, the trouble I used to get into with my parents, especially my dad.

When Gabe looks at me seriously, I quickly regret mentioning that last part.

"I can't stand it when a man takes his anger out on a woman," Gabe tells me. "So I'm afraid I don't really have an open mind when I hear about your dad. I'm sorry."

I tense up, then remember that Pax told him about my dad. I don't know how much, but probably enough. I stare at the wet sand as we walk, unable to meet Gabe's gaze.

"I know. But the world isn't always black and white. There's a million different shades of gray. I doubt that's something you've had to deal with in the Rangers. I'm sure everything is either right or wrong for you. But for normal people, there's a whole lot of s.p.a.ce between the two."

"Are you defending your dad?" Gabe raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

The blood rushes into my head and I swallow hard. "No. It's just... you don't understand."

"Then help me to," Gabe implores me. "Seriously. I'd like to wrap my head around your rationale. It's clearly something that has messed you up, even still. Yet you still defend him. You still keep his boots untouched by his bedroom door, almost like you're hoping that he'll come back. I don't mean to be a d.i.c.k and I don't mean to pry. But Jacey does this same s.h.i.+t with our dad. He doesn't hit her, but he disappoints her time and again and she always hopes for more. I don't understand it. If someone has shown you their true colors, chances are they aren't changing. Why do you hope for more? Why do you hold your dad's memory in a sacred place when he f.u.c.ked you up?"

My breath is frozen as I stop in my tracks and stare at Gabriel.

"I don't hold my dad's memory in a sacred place. It's complicated. I loved my parents. And I hated them. And I miss them. And I don't want to think about them. All of that combines into something that I don't know how to deal with."

Gabe stares at me, unflinching. "How you can love someone who hurt you like that?"

I sigh raggedly. It's a question I've wondered about a million times.

"That's complicated too. But my dad was a good person... until he got mad. And when he got mad, he totally lost his s.h.i.+t. Like, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Honestly, it's one of the reasons why it unnerved me so much that first night with you in Chicago. You were like night and day too. Calm and c.o.c.ky, then you lost your s.h.i.+t. I thought you might be like my father."

Gabe looks aghast. "Holy f.u.c.k, Madison. I didn't know your father, but I can guarantee you that I'm nothing like him."

I nod. "I know. But you were so different, like you just flipped a switch that night and then you punched a wall out of nowhere. After growing up with my father, it was terrifying."

Gabe looks uncomfortable, almost embarra.s.sed.

"I'm sorry," he finally says. "I wish I could explain. But it's complicated."

"So you should understand how things aren't always black and white," I answer, feeling a little satisfaction at the conflicted look on his face. He looks unsure now. Unsettled.

"Tell me more about your parents," he replies, redirecting me, avoiding my statement. "Pax told me a little, but not much."

"When you grow up with someone like my father, someone who is wonderful most of the time, but a complete a.s.s a quarter of the time, it messes with your head. You start thinking that it's normal, or that you deserve it, or in our case, sometimes I wondered if my mom deserved it. But deep down, I always knew she didn't. And then I'd get mad at her for staying... even though I loved him at the same time."

"It sounds like it really messed with your head," Gabe says quietly. "But you always knew it wasn't your fault, right?"

I step over a piece of driftwood and then stare out at the water, thinking about the one time that I didn't. "Usually," I answer. "Except for once. The one time he hit me."

"Let's sit," Gabe suggests, guiding me by the elbow to a big piece of driftwood. "I'd like to hear this. What made a grown man hit a kid?"

My eyes start to burn as I think about it and I swallow hard. Blurry memories start coming back to me, memories that I've purposely not thought about in years.

"I wasn't a kid," I correct him. "I was seventeen. My dad came home from the Hill p.i.s.sed off about something from work and my mom wasn't home. I had no idea where she was but my dad thought I was lying for her. When he got mad like that, there was no reasoning with him.

"He asked me over and over where she was and I told him over and over that I didn't know. And then he just backhanded me. Hard. I went flying backward onto the couch. It felt like my entire face had exploded, it hurt that much. But that really wasn't the worst of it."

I pause, and wipe away a tear that has broken rank and fallen down my cheek.

Gabe's hand has clenched tightly around my own, tightly enough that his knuckles are white.

"What was the worst of it?" he asks.

His voice is grave and I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes. I'm afraid the expression I find there will send me over the edge and I'll break down again.

"He stood over me, screaming that I was a worthless wh.o.r.e like my mom. That I was lying for her because I was just like her. That I'd never be anything but a wh.o.r.e."

Gabe sucks in his breath and holds it. "And you thought that was your fault?"

I finally bring myself to look up at him. "Not exactly. But it's why I left for New York at the first opportunity. To get away. And that's my fault. I've felt guilty about that ever since. I left Mila and I left my mom... I left both of them here to deal with his s.h.i.+t."

"Mila was at college, though, right?" Gabe asks quietly. "And your mom chose to stay. That was her decision, not yours. You had to look out for yourself."

"Mila went to a college just an hour away. She drove back and forth. She still lived at home."

I'm silent now, staring at my feet, staring at the water, staring at the sky. Finally Gabe takes his finger and turns my face toward him.

"There's nothing to feel guilty about, Maddy. You didn't do anything wrong. He did."

"I feel guilty for everything," I blurt out. "I feel guilty for hating him, I feel guilty for loving him. I feel guilty for hating my mom for staying. I feel guilty for leaving her. I feel like nothing I will ever do will make up for any of it."

I take a deep shaky breath and Gabe stares at me.

"That's why you're here now," he says quietly, his thumb stroking mine. "You gave up your life in New York to make up for it, didn't you?"

It's something that I've never consciously admitted, but I know he's right. It's a thought that p.i.s.ses me off. Everything about it p.i.s.ses me off. And it p.i.s.ses me off that he pointed it out.

"What does everyone want from me?" I demand suddenly, anger clouding my vision. "You, Ethan, Mila, Jacey... everyone is always telling me how unhappy I should be. How I act old, how I act boring, how I'm not myself. Of course I'm not myself. I had to give up everything to come back here and live my parents' life! Do you think I wanted this?"

I can feel my pulse beating in my temples as furious waves pa.s.s through me over and over.

Gabe stares at me, but not in surprise. It's like he's been expecting me to get p.i.s.sed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask again, my voice shrill. "What do you want from me?"

Gabriel shakes his head, still calm. "I don't want anything from you. I just realized that you gave everything up. And I can relate to that. That's all. I know how you feel."

I suck in a breath, thinking about that. He did give everything up, but his situation was different.

"You don't know how I feel," I tell him. "You don't."

He stares at me silently, taking that in. "Maybe I don't know exactly how you feel. But I know what it's like to live a life you don't want. Do you trust me?"

I look at him, startled. Where did that come from?

"Yes," I answer uncertainly.

He smiles, a gentle, beautiful smile. "Good. Because I want you to hear me out without getting p.i.s.sed and defensive."

The way he says that puts me on edge, because I'm sure I'm not going to like it. I can just tell from his tone of voice.

But before I can say that, he continues.

"We did some scary s.h.i.+t in the Rangers, and because of that, I know what fear looks like. You're afraid, Maddy. You're afraid to tackle your demons. And until you do, you're always going to be hung up in the past.

"The good news is that fear is a choice. You can stand in front of it, punch it in the face and get on with life."

I stare at him sharply. "You mean like you have? No offense, Gabe. But you shouldn't really be preaching at me about dealing with my s.h.i.+t. Not when you haven't dealt with your own."

He stares at me, his eyes hardening, then softening. As if he caught himself getting p.i.s.sed and stopped it.

"You and I are two different people with two different issues. And we're talking about you right now. I'm trying to help you. Do you want my help or not?"

I don't know.

I stare at him uncertainly, my thoughts wavering. He stares back, unafraid of speaking his mind, unafraid of p.i.s.sing me off, unafraid of everything.

"I don't know," I finally answer honestly. "I just don't know."

Gabe smiles patiently as he slides off the driftwood and pulls me to my feet.

"Trust me, you do."

As I stare at him, at his strong hands, his chiseled jaw, his wide shoulders, I know that he knows what he's talking about. He knows what it's like to be terrified of something, but to do it anyway. Just because he's got one thing that he can't deal with doesn't mean that he didn't face fear a million other times in the Rangers. And I do trust him.

"OK," I murmur. "What do you have in mind?"

We walk back to the house and down the hallway to the bedrooms, Gabriel's hand on my arm, both to guide me and to hold me in place when we stand staring at my parents' closed door.

"I've changed my mind," I announce as the wood door yawns in front of me. I try to turn around. "I don't want to do this."

Gabe holds me in place.

"Yes, you do. And you can do it. Fear is a choice, Maddy. Choose not to be afraid. You can start today. You don't like your life now? Change it. Start by facing this room."

I take a ragged breath back in and turn around.

In my head I picture my father when he was angry, face red, veins popping out in his temples, as he stormed through this door to find my mother. Then I picture him when he wasn't angry. Calm, loving, patient.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I've always had to carefully screen what I remember so that I don't get upset. And I'm really tired of being held an emotional prisoner to memories.

I turn the doork.n.o.b and open the door.

It is still and silent in here, almost like a mausoleum. I sniff at the stale air, glancing at the walls covered in pale-pink flowered wallpaper. The room is clearly a female's domain, as well it should be, as often as my mother secluded herself in here.

Mila has been in here a couple of times since they died, but other than that, this room is untouched. I take a step inside, looking at my dad's boots by the door, their dirty clothes in their basket, my mom's makeup scattered across her vanity. I take another step, then another, until I find myself sitting cross-legged on their bed. My fingers shake as I try not to think about where I am.

Instead I stare into s.p.a.ce, thinking back to the day they died.