Page 99 of The Beast

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Morning light filtered through Bella’s curtains, soft and golden, the kind of light that made everything look gentler than it actually was.

Gabriel hadn’t slept. He’d been too afraid of what might happen if he did. Instead, he’d lain there all night, her hand in his, staring at the ceiling while his mind churned through everything she’d said.

Hell, everything she’d demanded.

Find someone to talk to. Do the work.

He knew she was right. But the thought of sitting in some therapist’s office, spilling his guts to a stranger with a notepad and a degree…He shuddered.

Everything in him rebelled against it. He’d spent five years building walls, learning to survive on his own, trusting no one. The idea of tearing all that down for some shrink who’d probably never even thrown a punch felt like walking into enemy territory with a water pistol.

But he’d promised her that he’d try. And Gabriel Grimm kept his promises.

Even the ones that terrified him.

Beside him, she stirred, stretching like a cat in a patch of sunlight. When she opened her eyes and found him watching her, something soft flickered across her face.

“Hey,” she murmured. “Did you sleep?”

“Some,” he lied.

She studied him for a moment, and even though it was clear she didn’t believe him, she didn’t push. Just squeezed his hand once before letting go and sitting up.

“I have a meeting at the gallery in an hour,” she said. “You could come with me. If you want.”

He should say yes. Should spend the day with her, prove he could be normal. The man she deserved, instead of the monster he kept becoming.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he figured out how to fix what was broken inside him.

“I’ve got some things to handle at The Beast.”

He thought he saw disappointment flicker, but it was gone so fast he couldn’t be sure. “Will I see you tonight?”

He cocked his head. “Do you want to?”

Her slow smile started a fire inside him. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I do.”

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Then I’ll be here.”

After she left for the gallery, Gabriel sat on the edge of her bed as his mind circled back to the nightmarish idea of therapy. Of professional help. God, he felt like making finger quotes around the words. He just wasn’t wired that way.

Then he thought about Travis.

Travis, who’d pulled him off the floor more times than he could count in those first brutal months. Who’d listened without judgment when Gabriel raged about Isabella’s betrayal. Who’d watched him fight his way through five years of pain and never once told him to stop, just made sure he didn’t kill himself in the process.

Travis wasn’t a shrink. But he’d been friend, counselor, and priest all rolled into one. He’d seen more broken men than any therapist—and he’d helped some of them find their way back.

If Gabriel was going to talk to anyone, it should be him. If nothing else, Travis was a place to start.

The club was quiet now—the monthly day off with no crowds, no fights, just the cleaning crew and a few staff prepping for the next day’s fights. Gabriel moved through the corridors on autopilot, past the locker rooms and storage areas until he came to Travis’s office. The door was half-open, and Gabriel could hear sports radio playing from inside.

He stopped in the doorway. Knocked on the frame.

Travis looked up, surprise flickering across his weathered face before his eyes narrowed. “You look like shit.”

“So I’ve been told.”