“You put a stocking up for me?” My eyebrows bunch.
Brooks winks at me. “Something told me you’d be here today.” He pulls out an envelope and hands it to me. I open it to find a gift certificate to the tattoo parlor Gannett’s nephew is an artist at. Colton smirks, eyeing my exposed skin. “If there’s anywhere left I can ink for you, just pick a time and I can get you in my chair.”
Evan proudly shows me his half-sleeve. “These are some examples of his work,” he says, pointing at the array of newly-inked flowers on his arm—something I’d never expect in a million fuckin’ years for him to have tattooed on himself. Likely because of my actions back in high-school, Evan’s been all about exuding an over-abundance of masculinity.
Next to a realistic-looking purple aster, a familiar name, written in script, catches my eye and instantly, I freeze up.
Ryann.
“Who?” I ask, pointing at the name, but unable to choke out the rest of my question around the sudden knot in my throat. My eyes flick up to meet Evan’s, then his husband’s. They both wear matching expressions of confusion.
“My sister,” Brooks states, and my gut clenches, panic surging within me as memories of her flood my mind.
Brooks’ last name is Gallagher.Ryann’slast name was—fuck!Realization takes hold, sending my pulse racing. A sinking feeling in my chest renders me breathless as my vision starts to prickle around the edges.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Gannett asks softly, leaning in carefully, yet keeping enough distance so as not to touch me.
“I can’t b-breathe,” I tell him, feeling the floodwaters of panic starting to surge in.
Brooks dips his head, looking me in the eye. “Gordy,” he says calmly yet assertively, “let’s get you outside so you can get some fresh air.”
I shake my head. I can’t, not with him. Not if the Ryann I knew is his sister. One glance over at Morgan, however, and I have all the confirmation I need. I don’t knowhowI didn’t see it until now, but that three-year-old little girl of Ryann’s, who I knew asMarie, is now sitting in this living room as the twenty-year-old girlfriend of my son.
“Yes,” Gannett says more sternly. “Come on, Gordy,” he presses, daring enough to pull me up and tug me out the front door behind him. I barely get outside before I collapse onto the front stoop, only being held upright by leaning on the wooden column that holds up the roof.
No, no,no… this can’t be happening again. I can’t have another panic attack here. Fuck, they’ll send me away for good this time if I can’t hold myself together. I try to take a few calming breaths, but with the weight on my chest, my body feeling as if I’m being enclosed in a watery tomb, I can’t.
Gannett quietly kneels down behind me. “I’m—I’m going to put my hands on you, Gordy,” he says nervously. “I’m sorry, I can’t watch you tense up like this.”
When I don’t respond, because Ican’t, his palms rest cautiously on my shoulders. When I don’t shrug him away, because Ican’t, his firm grip starts kneading into the tense muscles on my shoulders. Hell—his touch just exudessafety. Comfort. No hint of malintent.
“I don’t know what just happened in there,” he tells me, barely above a whisper, “and you don’t have to say anything at all right now. Just focus on your breathing.Inandout, there you go.”
His hands cautiously make their rounds to all the tense spots on my neck and shoulders. I hear him taking exaggerated breaths, probably trying to coax me into following suit. My body betrays me as I feel myself instinctually leaningintohis touch, rather than away. Before long, the pins-and-needles sensation starts to fade away, and the constriction on my chest seems to lessen.
I sigh out in resignation. I don’t even have to look at him right now to know that he’s probably regarding me like I’m a ticking time-bomb in front of him.Let someone in. Brooks’ words echo in my mind, and I briefly consider letting Gannett be that person.
Then, another of Brooks’ sentiments pops up, reverberating in my head.There will be someone that will treat you with the care you deserve.That silences me before I can tell him anything, because I had that in someone once, and that someone, Ryann, is now dead… because of me.
I won’t make that mistake again.
“I can’t go back in there,” I tell him, standing and fishing around my pocket for my keys. I stalk towards my truck, unwilling to look back so I can’t see that dejected look on his face. I can’t even go back in there and face the rest of them. “I’m sorry I ruined your Christmas,” I murmur, before climbing in and driving away in a spray of gravel.
Once again, I have tried to do better, and I failed. This is why I shouldn’t have listened to Brooks and just stayed the fuck at home.
Chapter Twelve
I’ve given Gordy a full week of not answering me, but enough is enough. The girls have gone back to their mother’s, now that school break is over, and existing under the same roof as my parents again is driving me insane. Since when does an adult man seriously need a curfew? Though my sleep schedule has definitely improved, my mood has not.
I’m fuckin’desperateto find out why Gordy broke down over Ev’s tattoo. I don’t know how Evan and Brooks can tell me to just let it go. It makes no sense. All of my texts have gone unanswered, though. Whenever I attempted to see him at the pub, Tarynmysteriouslygot shoved out of the kitchen and behind the bar. I know that concrete block of emotions he calls a father had to be lurking somewhere nearby, however, because Taryn wouldn’t be able to serve the others alcohol, at his age, without a supervisor around.
What has him so locked up that he can’t even come out of hiding to serve me a damn Moxie?
I’ve decided that today, this game of hide-and-seek comes to an end. There’s another winter squall on its way in, making it too choppy out to be on the water, so I’ve given myself and the guys the day off. I know Gordy will be at the gym at this hour, so that’s where I hop into my truck and head to. Sure enough, when I arrive, that’s where I find him—out in the back, on the mats with Micah.
I manage to slip in unnoticed and do some stretching. I need to be nice and loosey-goosey if I want my head in the game. Then, I go into the locker room and seek out his. Inside his bag, I find the wraps he let me borrow before and secure them around my knuckles and wrists, just like he showed me.
Micah gasps when I tap him on his shoulder, once he untangles himself from the grapple Gordy had him in. “Shit, Gannett,” he huffs, wiping the sweat from upper lip with the back of his hand. “You scared me.”
