Gabriel huffs out a laugh beside me. “Guess we should head back to the hotel and change so we can get something to eat before this bonfire.”
I nod, staring up at the sky. “Good idea.”
“I’ve been wantingto ask you something,” I say after we’ve finished eating. “When you first got out of the car earlier, you looked a bit off. Did something happen on the drive?”
Gabriel studies me from across the table, as if deciding how much he wants to share. I lift my wine glass and take a sip, waiting.
“I…” He swallows. “I asked your brother a few questions about…Gabriella.”
The sound of her name still feels like a knife twisting in my chest, except I’m better at hiding the pain now, or maybe I’ve just grown used to the ache over the years. I clear my throat as I put my glass back down on the table.
“What did you ask?”
“Besides her name…” He drags a hand over his jaw. “I asked what she was like. Zale wouldn’t answer much more after that.”
I nod slowly. “Losing her was hard on him too. He was really excited to be an uncle.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
When he looks up, grief is written all over his face. It makes my chest ache in a completely different way now.
“When he said her name…I threw up.”
A small, surprised laugh slips out of me before I can stop it, and the corner of his mouth almost lifts.
“Yeah. Not my finest moment.”
Silence settles between us for a brief moment as he closes his eyes. “I didn’t deserve that,” he whispers.
“Deserve what?”
“For her to be named after me. For her to have anything of mine.”
“Stop,” I say immediately. “Don’t do that. Don’t twist this into you being some villain.”
“Zalea—”
“No.” I shake my head. “You didn’t know, Gabriel. You didn’t know that I didn’t go through with the abortion.”
He opens his mouth to argue but I don’t give him a chance to speak.
“If I had told you I was keeping her, and you still chose the tour…if you had known and decided to still leave, to not come home…” my throat tightens. “Thatwould have been a different story.”
The words hang between us as he goes completely still.
“But I didn’t tell you,” I say more quietly. “You thought I had the abortion, and you thought it was over. I was angry and scared and hurt, and I made that decision without you. So don'tsit there and tell me you didn’t deserve to have your daughter named after you.”
He doesn’t interrupt me this time, so I keep going.
“I named her Gabriella because I loved you,” I say. “Because she was made out of love. Messy, immature, imperfect love—but love all the same.”
Gabriel swallows and his eyes shine as he listens.
“I didn’t name her that to punish you,” I continue, softer now. “I named her that because when I looked at her, she felt like both of us. And I wanted her to carry a piece of you, whether you were there or not.”
His fingers tremble around the stem of his glass before he sets it down and hides his hands in his lap.
