I pad barefoot through the apartment, following a low murmur coming from the living room. Gabriel stands by the window, his back to me, phone pressed to his ear, and a sense of déjà vu washes over me.
The black T-shirt stretches across shoulders broader than mine, jeans hanging looser on his hips. The casual outfit does nothing to diminish the authority in his stance.
He stands rigid, shoulders squared beneath the cotton fabric. One hand grips the phone while the other gestures in the air as he speaks. “That’s unacceptable. I don’t care about the complications. Get me the information.”
The floorboard creaks beneath my foot, and Gabriel turns, his attention snapping to me. The instant our eyes meet, the hard lines in his face soften.
“I expect results within the day,” he says into the phone and ends the call with a tap of his thumb.
The contrast between the Gabriel who touchedme with reverent hands, who asked permission before examining my bruises, who let me see glimpses of his own wounds, and this Gabriel, who speaks in commands and dismisses complications with cold efficiency is striking.
Both versions exist within the same man, layers sliding over each other, revealing and concealing different faces with practiced ease.
The phone disappears into his pocket, and Gabriel offers a smile. His posture relaxes into a casual stance, the transition so smooth I might have missed it if I wasn’t staring right at him.
“Sorry.” The business tone vanishes, replaced with the intimate cadence I’ve grown accustomed to. “Work never stops.”
Questions rise to my lips.Who called? What needs handling? What aren’t you telling me?But I swallow them down.
I’m not entitled to his business. Gabriel owes me no explanations for calls taken in my living room. But the ease with which he shifts between versions of himself, from businessman back to lover without a hitch in his breathing, causes an uncertainty in me that I can’t quite explain.
Which version is real? The man who touched me with such tenderness, or the one who justcommanded someone to deliver results with such coldness.
Maybe both. Maybe neither.
I file the feeling away, tucking it into the growing collection of observations about Gabriel that don’t quite fit together. The puzzle of him expands with each hour we spend together, pieces connecting and disconnecting in patterns I can’t yet discern.
“You want coffee?” I ask instead of the questions burning for answers.
After all, who am I to judge? For years, I’ve lived three different lives before Gabriel came crashing into all of them.
Relief flashes before he stifles it. “Please.”
I move toward the kitchen, his eyes on my back as I prep the coffee maker. The familiar ritual grounds me in the mundane while my mind races.
Gabriel follows, leaning on the counter as the coffee begins to drip, filling the small space with its rich aroma. His fingers drum a restless pattern on his thigh, betraying an agitation he tries to hide.
“Your clothes fit pretty well,” he offers, gesturing down at the borrowed outfit.
“Lucky for you,” I say, playing along with his desire for normalcy. “Would’ve been awkward sending you home in just a towel.”
His laugh comes quick and genuine. “The press would have a field day.Rockford Spare Spotted Half-Naked in Seedy Neighborhood.”
The joke lands flat with the reminder of the gulf between our worlds. Gabriel belongs to mansions and board rooms and media coverage, while I exist in the shadows of back alleys and underground clubs.
Is it even possible for our worlds to co-exist?
Do I want them to, if it means we’re both keeping secrets?
12
Something is wrong. It hits me before I step through the Blue Note’s door. No danger, not yet. But the electric sensation that raises the hairs on the back of my neck whenever shit’s about to hit the fan puts me on high alert.
A melancholy saxophone plays from the speakers overhead as I cross toward the bar, each step echoing in the empty space.
Ghost stands behind the polished wood, his attention on the ledger open before him. His fingers move across the page, red pen marking through entries. I catch sight of two Omega names crossed out in crimson before he closes the book and slides it beneath the counter.
Without saying a word, I know something bad has happened, and more is coming.
