McKenna

Minutes after noon the next day, I follow Gabe through the underground parking garage of a high-rise in the Financial District. I’m still nursing my second cup of coffee after a quick egg sandwich at Gabe’s place, and I’m wondering why he insisted we get dressed and leave his apartment, instead of staying tangled in the sheets until Ryder called.

When we pass beneath an overhead fluorescent light that’s flickering, the heaviness in my eyelids reminds me I’m not quite myself, a bit on edge, and this second coffee isn’t hitting the spot. I sip it anyway, hoping for a miracle, and glance at Gabe striding next to me. “Care to enlighten me on why we’re here?” I ask him.

“Business,” is his curt reply.

Which tells me wherever we’re going is the last place he wants to be right now.

Tense and unusually quiet, he stops in front of the elevator and swipes a key fob against the scanner. When the elevator doors begin to open, he glances sideways at me. “I apologize that coming here is necessary. I know you’d rather be at home, but I want you with me. This won’t take long.”

By the look of forced responsibility and definite irritation on his face, I take a guess where we are. “Is this O’Keefe’s headquarters?”

He nods and steps inside the elevator.

I follow him inside as he presses the button for the thirtieth floor. Now I’m taking a better look at my surroundings, realizing that I’m in Gabe’s baby. All his sweat, hard work, and endless late nights made this building what it is today. Sometimes I forget that Gabe isn’t like me. He not only comes from money, he is money. Hell, this fancy glass elevator currently shooting up to the top floor only reminds me just how different we are in this aspect.

“You do realize it’s Sunday, right?” I ask, trying not to let that thought run away with me too much. Too many reminders of how different we are can’t be a good thing. We have enough stacked against us. “Will anyone even be here?”

“No, and that’s the way I like it.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Because it’s quiet, and I’m not in the mess of things, so to speak.”

“Oh,” is all I can think to reply. I’m more fascinated by what I’m looking at as the elevator doors open. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in a different world. Up ahead, there’s a receptionist desk. Behind that desk, there’s wood paneling that mirrors what Gabe has on the pub walls, and in the center of that wood paneling is the burgundy O’Keefe’s Pub logo with the gold Celtic knot.

In awe now, I follow Gabe as he leaves the elevator and turns right past the empty receptionist desk. Offices line the hallway as we make our way to the very end. Marketing, accounting, we pass each door with an employee name and their job title beneath. This is the brainchild of O’Keefe’s Pubs, and only now do I realize how badass Gabe’s business truly is.

He vanishes into the last corner office on the left, and as I enter, I notice brad morgan on the door. “Who’s Brad Morgan?” I ask.

“CEO of O’Keefe’s.”

I stop at the doorway and shake my head. “What? Aren’t you the CEO of your own company?”

“No, and yes, the answer for why I’m not the CEO is complicated.” He lowers down onto the white leather couch in the seating area, where there’s a pile of papers on the coffee table and a pen, clearly important documents that need Gabe’s attention.

Seeing Gabe begin to read the paperwork there, I take a quick look around the office, with the white leather chairs next to the couch, glass desk, and leather swivel chair, then I move to the floor to ceiling windows, with a view that drops my mouth open. For as long as I’ve lived in San Francisco, I’ve never seen a view like this. In photographs, yes. But not for real. The sun glistens off the high-rises; the street is busy below. It’s like a person could feel they own the world up here. “Wow,” is all I can think to say.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

I glance over my shoulder at Gabe and nod. “That’s a little bit of an understatement, I think.”

His eyes are firmly glued on the paper he’s reading. I turn fully and lean my shoulder against the wall next to me, studying him, and laughter bubbles up.

Slowly, his head lifts, one eyebrow arches. “Something funny?”

“I’m sorry.” My mouth twitches. “But you look like a fish out of water here.”

Warmth slides over his expression, and he winks. “And that, Kenna, is what I like about you.”

“What do you mean?” I move to where he’s sitting and drop down into the chair kitty-corner to the couch.

“I don’t like this life.” He signs his name to two documents then addresses me again. “Office life. It’s never suited me.”

“Ah,” I say, now understanding. “So that’s what you meant by ‘complicated,’ and it’s why you don’t run your company yourself?”

“I do run the company,” he corrects. “I have complete control, and at the end of the day I approve all major ideas. But I trust Brad implicitly and he runs the day-to-day within the corporation.”

Back to business, he lowers his head again, reading a document before signing it. I examine him and pride suddenly warms cold parts in my soul. Gabe could be a powerhouse, and yet he works behind his bar because he loves it. “You’re pretty amazing.”

His head lifts, both his brows raise. “Am I?”

“Yes.” I give a firm nod, crossing my legs, resting my coffee cup on my thigh. “To be honest, I never see this side of you. The Gabe I know runs a quaint but successful Irish pub. But this”—I wave out around me—“this is another ballgame that I guess until now I really didn’t think about.”

“Again, I like that,” he says. “I don’t want to be seen as this guy.”

“But why? You are this guy, too.”

He drops the pen on the table and leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. “I was this guy.”

“What exactly does that mean?” I ask, then sip my coffee.

“It means that when O’Keefe’s began to take off, I was the man who ran the show. We had a smaller building then, but I was the face of the company.”

He picks up the pen again, scans one of the papers, and then flips it over, reading the back side before he signs his name. I’m sure he thinks I might give up on this, but I’m nowhere near done. “I can’t even imagine you sitting behind a desk in an office. Did you wear a suit?”

“Yes.”

“Crazy.” I shake my head, trying to picture that. Impossible. He always wears his O’Keefe’s T-shirt and jeans, and I bet if I looked now he probably had one suit in his closet and that was only in case someone died or something. “So, how long did you do the whole office thing?”

“A year.”

“Just a year. What happened?”

“I hated every goddamn minute of it,” he bites off, and he lifts his head, creases of tension around his eyes. “Being a CEO is what I was raised to do. Christ, I went to Harvard for business. It was an expectation that I would grow up and get into business like my father did.”

“You followed in his footsteps?”

He smiles, the tension in his face gone just that easily. “I did, yes, but I was miserable.”

I cock my head, regarding him, unable to picture Gabe as miserable. The stable nature of his mood is one of things I like about him. He never grumbles too much, seems to take life not too seriously. Well, not lately, of course. “So, what changed?” I ask, staying on point.

“One night, I went to the pub to have a drink,” he explains, eyes glossing over, lost in a memory. “When I got there, Joey was understaffed. One of the bartenders had got into a car accident on the way to work, and the other bartender we had was sick.”

I smile, knowing exactly what he’d done, because it’s what I would do, too. “Let me guess, you jumped over the bar and helped out for the night?”

He nods, stretching out an arm across the back of the couch, flexing his biceps. “That’s exactly what I did, and that night changed everything for me. I felt happier in those hours than I had in years.”

“So that’s when you decided to leave all this behind”—I wave out to the office—“and work in the pub?”

“Simply, yes,” he says. “But, of course, things were more complicated than that.”

“What things?”

His mouth twitches. “My mother.”

I note the flatness in his voice, the hardness in his eyes. The times that I’d met her she seemed a little snotty, but more so just privileged. She expected a certain kind of treatment. I couldn’t fault her for that, she’d been raised that way. “I take it that your mother wanted you to stay in white collar?”

“Of course, she did.” He signs another document and then one more before adding, “Working in the pub hadn’t been something she’d ever supported. For a long time, I had to justify it to her, had to remind her what my endgame was.”

“Which was turning the pub into a chain?”

“That’s right.” He signs one more document before gathering up the paperwork. “The goal was to make O’Keefe’s a multi-million-dollar company, so that kept her quiet for a while.”

“But what changed?” I ask. “I mean, you eventually left this kind of life behind, living much simpler, and that was after you made O’Keefe’s what it is today.”

He draws in a long deep breath, visibly releasing all his tension, and grins. “I no longer cared what she thought.”

I pause and ponder all things Gabe O’Keefe. Knowing all this makes me look at Gabe a little differently. He’d been raised a certain way, too, and in all the time I’ve known him, I have never really seen this side of him. Seeing this, learning this about him, fills in all the missing pieces of Gabe I didn’t know.

His head suddenly cocks, eyes probe mine. “What’s that look all about?”

“I guess I’m seeing why you bought the sex club and needed that type of thing for yourself.”

He looks taken aback, brows furrowing. “What makes you conclude that?”

“Because you had to be someone you weren’t for a very long time,” I explain, feeling like I’m figuring something out about him I didn’t know before. “Maybe even long before that because your family wanted you to be proper. You were expected to be the successful rich kid, and be all the things that you didn’t want to be. And somehow in all that, you became this guy.” I pause, give a little smile and shrug. “I guess I’m just . . . getting you.”

He stands then, emotion crossing his face as he comes over to me and takes my chin, lifting my gaze to his. “Again, that is what I like about you. You’ve always seen me in ways others do not.” His eyes heat with sinful intentions as he lowers his mouth to mine.

And his kiss . . . well, that isn’t proper at all.

Gabe

Hours later, and into the darkness of the night, I sense McKenna’s tension as we leave my apartment in the Audi. It’s tension that’s been there all day, while we waited for Ryder’s call, and it’s been slowly becoming more intense as the hours click by, but his call finally came. I’m hopeful this will end tonight, and we can finally put this matter behind us, as I exit the car and meet McKenna at the passenger side.

She’s staring at the neon sign above the door. “Of all the places to hold an underground poker ring, they pick a skeevy strip club.”

“The entertainment is good,” I say.

She snorts. “Not funny.”

I chuckle, taking her hand and leading us up to the red velvet rope for the line that’s not there and toward the bouncer standing there. He gives us a quick look, but allows us to pass without problem. Once inside, I find exactly what I’d expect to find. It’s dark, the only lights being on the stage with mirrors along the back, and on the cheap set of tables and chairs there are fake candles giving off what I suppose is meant to be a romantic glow but looks nothing more than trashy. The focal point of this space is clearly the women, and there are many of them here tonight. Lingerie-clad young ladies, some looking only a day past twenty-one, stand out among the men. A couple of the dancers are on the stage, putting on a show. More are on the floor, either walking around or giving lap dances to the clientele. Smoke from cigars and cigarettes billows in the room, and the scent of old sex, sweat, and cheap thrills fills the air.

McKenna gives me a cute smile. “So, what’s our game plan here?”

“Let’s start at the bar.” I know better than anyone that bartenders are the people who see it all, and usually pay attention to their surroundings, especially the people.

The closer we get to the bar, where two women wearing tight red leather teddies are working, the more the blond woman watches me. By the time we get there, I realize she’s recognized me. “Mr. O’Keefe, what can I get for you?”

McKenna narrows her eyes at blondie then slowly turns to me, eyes wide and brows raised to her hairline.

“No, I’ve never been here before,” I reassure her. “Don’t forget I am in the tabloids quite often.” I gesture at her phone. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

She gives me another look before her expression goes lax, telling me she believes I’m telling her the truth, which I am. I wouldn’t be caught dead in this place. I like my women to be with me willingly, not because they’re paid for their time.

McKenna finally clicks a button on her phone and holds the screen up to the bartender. “This is Evan Archer,” she says, “have you seen him in here before?”

Blondie gives the screen a good look. “Yeah,” she says, wiping down the bar in front of her. “He’s a regular.”

“Have you see him lately?” I ask.

“Not in a few days,” she replies.

McKenna hits the button on her phone, shutting off the screen, then asks, “Do you know when you saw him last?”

The woman snorts. “I don’t know him personally, honey, so why would I?”

Just as I’m about to tell McKenna we should move along, see if any of the dancers know him a little more personally, a deep voice behind me says, “Get back to taking orders, Crystal.”

I turn toward the curt voice, finding an obvious bodybuilder in a tailored suit. He regards McKenna, who’s stiff next to me, and then focuses on me. “Your attendance has been requested. Please follow me.”

“Uh-oh,” McKenna says.

“It’ll be fine,” I reassure her, taking her hand, reminding her I’m there with her. Then I address the suit again. “Who wants to see us, and what do they want?”

“The boss, and you’ll find that out when you meet him. Follow me.”

I assume it’s because we were flashing a photo, asking questions, and I know I’d likely do the same thing at the pub. Besides, if we want answers, the boss is likely to have them, so I nod at McKenna. She squeezes my hand a little tighter as we follow the suit, passing the stage where the topless stripper is sliding down the pole. When we move through an open doorway, there’s a bodyguard stationed on either side.

Inside, we pass men sitting on a bench, with women dancing atop them, giving the show they’re paying for. The suit passes through another doorway that leads to a set of stairs. I keep McKenna behind me, and soon, we’re stepping into the top floor of the club. From the crimson leather couches, to the crystal chandeliers, to the bar with premium alcohol, this space screams wealth.

I glance around at the men sipping their scotches and smoking their cigars, with women fit to be Victoria’s Secret models dancing around them, and I know what kind of establishment this is. This space is meant for the elite, and is designed for men who are willing to pay for sex. I squeeze McKenna’s hand, and she gives me a quick smile; obviously, she’s thinking along the same lines.

When we reach the back of the room, there’s another doorway, and when we enter the space, I’m immediately aware that Alex and Ryder haven’t led us wrong. Against the far wall there’s a large bar with two bartenders wearing white shirts, black ties, and vests, and in front of the bar is a large card table. We pass that, heading to where there’s a seating area, and a lone man is sitting in a leather chair, a scotch in his hand. One man flanks him, obviously his guard. I study their faces, but they aren’t the men we saw taking Evan in the video.

I keep my attention on the man coolly regarding me. Early fifties, a slight beer belly, salt and pepper hair; he’s got a presence that I’ve seen in both Micah and Darius. This guy doesn’t watch, he assesses his target. And there in his black eyes is a warning for me to tread lightly with McKenna so vulnerable standing next to me.

“Gabe O’Keefe,” he says, not bothering to stand.

“I’m afraid that I’m at a disadvantage and don’t know your name,” I say to him.

“Marcus Draken.” He keeps one arm on the armrest, the other resting on his thigh with his scotch glass in hand. “So now that we’ve gotten introductions over with, you can tell me why you’re in my club showing a photo to my employees.”

There’s a tug in my subconscious. Something about how he’s watching me raises my alarms. He doesn’t seem surprised I am here, and considering who I am, and what type of establishment this is, that’s odd. I take the cellphone from McKenna’s hand, click the screen on, and offer it to Marcus. “We’re looking for Evan Archer. From what we’ve learned the last place he was seen was here.”

“Is that so?” Marcus barely looks at the screen. “Ah, yes, I think he’s been here before.” He hands the phone to the suit next to him. “Isn’t that right, Tommy?”

Tommy doesn’t even look at the screen, handing it back to me. “Yeah, he looks familiar, boss.”

Marcus gives a cool smile. “Though as you can see”—he waves around the room—“he’s not here now.”

McKenna stiffens, going rigid. “Can we cut the bullshit? It’s obvious you know my brother. So, what did he do to you? How much does he owe? What do I have to pay to get him back?”

Marcus takes a long sip of his drink, those dark eyes regarding me before he sends his focus back to McKenna. “I’m afraid, I don’t—”

“Bullshit,” McKenna shouts, hands fisting at her sides.

Marcus has the gall to look insulted. “My dear, such hostility.”

I place my hand on the small of her back, feel her trembling beneath my touch. “McKenna,” I say softly.

She snaps her head to me and scowls. “What? He knows were Evan is, Gabe. You can see it all over his fucking smug face.” She turns her glare back to Marcus. “Where have you taken Evan?”

“Taken him?” Marcus blinks.

His surprise is an act that even I can see, and I sense McKenna stiffen further. Before she gets us both in trouble, I interject, “We don’t want to involve the police, so I suggest you answer her.”

Marcus’s amused eyes flick to mine, and they slowly begin to narrow. “Involving the police would be a very bad idea. Wouldn’t it, Tommy?”

“Yes, I would not suggest you go down that road,” Tommy says with a dangerous smirk.

I draw in a deep breath, regarding the men around me. From the way Tommy is standing with one hand on his hip, I get the distinct feeling he’s carrying a gun. There’s an edge of danger in his expression that concerns me. I don’t want McKenna anywhere near these people. I grab a card out of my wallet and hand it to Marcus. “If you happen to see Evan, it’s imperative we speak with him.”

“Of course,” Marcus says, tossing my card on the table in front of him.

I don’t doubt in a second that card will be in the trash. But I won’t have McKenna getting more involved in this than she already is. The last thing I need, on top of everything, is fearing for her life, and these are men I need to know more about before I take a step farther. There’s a stink of violence and crime in this room. I squeeze McKenna’s hand, and turn, intent on getting her out of here.

“What are you doing?” she asks softly, keeping the conversation private, as we take a step forward.

“He’s not going to tell us anything,” I tell her just as softly. “We cannot force him, not without something to bargain with. Besides, it’s not safe for you here,” I remind her.

Her mouth presses into a firm line with obvious frustration.

Just as we reach the first table, Marcus calls out, “I do hope your brother makes it home safely, Ms. Archer.”

The next seconds are a blur, as McKenna drops my hand, spins, and runs toward the man. I’m hot on her heels, reaching out to grab her, but so is Tommy, and he’s running straight for her. Hot fury storms across me as I watch Tommy’s elbow connect with her face, taking her down to the ground.

By the time I reach her, McKenna’s on her side with Tommy pressing her into the floor. I can only assume every pair of eyes in the room are narrowed on us, but my eyes are on McKenna, only her. “Remove your fucking hands,” I warn Tommy.

Silence falls, and it’s in that silence I hear McKenna’s soft whimper. “Now,” I growl, exhaling the long breath controlling the fury burning my blood. If she weren’t here, my fists would have taught Tommy never to touch what’s mine, but she is here, and I need to get her to safety. That’s all that matters.

A tense moment passes, then Marcus chuckles. “She’s not your thing to play with, Tommy. Release her.”

Tommy rises, returning to his spot behind his boss. I stare at him, wishing we’d met in a back alleyway, just the two of us, as I gather her to me. I rise with McKenna in my arms, her cheek on my chest, and I catch Marcus’s gaze. There’s something there in the depths of his cold black eyes. Something that tightens my arms around her, flaring my desire to protect her. Something that promises danger.

McKenna

By the time, we get back to Gabe’s, the small mark beneath my eye from Tommy’s arm has become a red circle that I can’t stop poking. My head’s pounding when I move straight to the couch, hearing Gabe shut and lock his front door behind me. I take the pillow on the couch and place it on the armrest, and then proceed to drop myself onto the couch and gently toss my arm across my face, blocking out the light. I shut my eyes against the deep throbbing behind my eye, never intending to move ever again, when suddenly I hear soft breathing next to me.

Before I can drop my arm, Gabe says gently, “Here, take these, my little warrior princess.”

I sit up, find him standing there, expression serious, eyes pained. “What are these?” I ask, examining the pills he’s placing in my hand.

“Tylenol for the pain and vitamin C to reduce how easily you’ll bruise.” Then he grabs an ice pack wrapped in a towel off the coffee table. “This will help with the swelling.”

“I take it you have experience with shiners.”

I accept the glass of water he’s offering and toss the pills back, chasing them with the cold water, when he adds, “Before O’Keefe’s became what it is, I couldn’t afford bouncers, so I dealt with the rowdy bunch that drank too much.” The side of his mouth arches playfully, chasing away some of the tension in his eyes. “There was a good year when my face was permanently bruised.”

“Now that is a shame,” I comment, handing him back the glass of water.

“Why is that?” He places the glass on the end of the coffee table and then moves to sit on the other edge, right in front of me.

“Because it’s such a pretty face.” I smile then cringe as the bite of pain blasts across my eye. “Ow, bad idea. No smiling.”

Gabe’s brows pull together, confliction racing across his expression. He leans forward and swipes the hair off my face, gesturing to the ice pack. “Put it on. Twenty minutes, no less.”

I gently apply the ice pack, keeping one eye open and on Gabe across from me. He’s leaning his elbows on his knees, his gaze is so focused on me that I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

“Is this the time you reprimand me?”

He frowns. “What you did back there was stupid.”

Maybe not my finest moment, but . . . “He knows where Evan is, Gabe, and he was fucking playing with me.”

“I don’t disagree with you, but we were greatly outnumbered in there. We’re dealing with violent people, obvious criminals, McKenna. You’re goddamn lucky I didn’t kill that guy or we’d be in a very different spot right now with bars across the doorway.” He stared at me, eyes intense. “Do. Not. Ever. Do. That. Again.”

“But . . .”

“Ever,” he says, voice low, eyes narrowed. “Tell me.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t ever try to pile drive the bad guy again.” I sigh, seeing that his concern is due to fear. “Hell, I don’t even know what I planned on doing. It’s not like I could have hit him or anything. My temper just got away with me, and I acted on pure impulsivity.”

“I understand that completely,” he says softly. “But if either of us is dead at the end of this then what was the point of it all?” He pauses then shakes his head, obviously frustrated. “We need Ryder to give us something to make Marcus talk. He wants something, I don’t doubt that.”

“Then why didn’t he ask for it?”

“That, I’m afraid, I don’t know.”

Before I can either scream in frustration or break down in tears, Gabe’s phone rings in his pocket. He takes it out, looks at the screen, then presses the speakerphone. “Ryder, you’re on speakerphone. Kenna is here, too.”

“McKenna is why I’m calling,” says Ryder. “Are you okay?”

I blink my open eye. “How do you know I’m not all right?”

Gabe gives me a little smile, obviously knowing things I don’t, when Ryder replies, “We tapped into Marcus’s security cameras and watched the incident.” He pauses, then says, “Alex has just joined us now.”

“Howdy all,” Alex says in a chipper voice. “Way to go all kickass, McKenna. Seriously, watching you lunge for that guy was the highlight of my day.” A pause. Then, “What? It was badass.” Another pause. “I’m sorry you got hurt, McKenna.”

“Thank you,” I say with a laugh.

Now it’s Gabe’s turn to glare, so I promptly stop laughing.

He turns his glare onto the phone in his hand. “Draken knows something.”

“Yeah,” Ryder says. “We got that feeling, too, from his body language. What did he say to you?”

“Sadly, nothing,” Gabe replies. “He taunted us. This is a game to him.”

“What game is the question,” Ryder says, then hesitates. When he speaks again, his voice is grim. “Hold on one sec. What’s that? Zoom that in, Alex.” Then Ryder’s voice deepens with clear annoyance. “You have another situation.”

“What’s that?”

“When you were outside the club, someone else was there, too.”

“Who?”

“A photographer.”

“Fucking perfect,” Gabe says, dropping his head into his hands.

I watch him, all this strain, all this hell is because of me, and guilt storms into me. Who knows what the tabloid will print about us tomorrow. Maybe they’ll say that now we go to shady strip clubs. Or maybe they will print worse. As much as Gabe tries to help me, it seems to only make him look worse. My head hurts for all new reasons now.

“Let’s stay on point,” Gabe says, lifting his head, watching me closely. “See what you can get on Draken. We need something on him, anything at all.”

“We’re on it,” Alex says, and then the phone line goes dead.

Silence falls, and as Gabe stares at me, there’s a lot in his expression, so much emotion that it’s hard for me to identify what he’s feeling. So much so that I can’t stay quiet.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

He pauses, examines me intently. Then, “What would you say if I asked you to stay out of this now?”

“I’d say no.”

His jaw muscles clench once, then he’s placing his hand on my thigh, and it feels like the most protective move, as he adds, “The game feels like it’s changing now. Tonight”—his eyes hold mine, worry heady in their depths—“those men . . . that’s a different show. I don’t want you anywhere near these people.”

“Okay, I understand that they are a valid concern.” I mean, they even scared me but I don’t think it’s necessary to tell Gabe that. Still, my heart tugs a little. No one’s ever protected me; I’ve always been the one protecting everyone else. “Thank you for wanting to keep me safe,” I tell him, truly meaning it.

I make a move to lower the ice pack to see him, and he shakes his head. “Back on. Your twenty minutes aren’t up yet.”

I sigh and keep the ice pack in place, staring at him with only one eye. “I appreciate that you care about me, Gabe, I do. But this is my mess, my brother. I need to be there with you.”

He draws in the longest breath I’ve ever seen him take before he’s addressing me again. “There’s something about all this that feels very wrong. Tonight, did you feel as if they were unsurprised when we showed up there?”

I ponder. “They didn’t seem shocked, no, but wouldn’t they expect us to come after Evan?”

“Possibly.” He slides his hand up and down my thigh. “Perhaps Evan told them he knew you’d be coming for him.”

His mouth pinches shut. “But that’s not enough of an explanation for you?” I ask.

Gabe hesitates, then sighs, running a hand over his face. “I can’t put a finger on it exactly, but something about this”—he lowers his hand—“doesn’t sit right. Maybe it’s how Marcus spoke to me, a look in his eye. I don’t know, just something felt . . .”

“Wrong?” I offer.

“Very wrong,” he agrees with a nod. “Did you feel that at all?”

“Not really, but I’m not sure I’m the right one to give an opinion on other people’s motivations.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’m emotionally invested in this. I’m likely not seeing things straight.”

He scoops up one of my hands, placing both of his around mine and kissing my palm, eyes on me. “We’re both probably too emotionally involved to think straight about this.”

I nod, the only response I can really give. I wish there was something I could say, because I see the tension in him; it’s all but radiating out of him. I understand, too. Because as much as I can’t read other people, I can read him. He wants to protect me. He wants this over, not for Evan’s sake, but for mine, and I guess I like that he has my back. “Why don’t we talk about something else for a while,” I say, hoping to ease whatever is going on in his mind. “Something normal.”

He keeps my hand in his and exhales a long breath before addressing me. “We haven’t had very much of that, have we?”

“No.”

He smiles, and it almost reaches his eyes. “Well, I do have something to ask you. You know my good friend Micah?” I nod, and Gabe adds, “He came to Ryder’s headquarters yesterday. That’s why Ryder and I left you with Alex. I guess he’s been trying to get ahold of me, but couldn’t reach me.”

Instant guilt roars through me, but is momentarily muted when Gabe continues. “He’s actually invited us to attend his wedding tomorrow night in Napa Valley. It’s nothing big or lavish; it sounds like it’ll be small, intimate.”

I shift up a little farther on the couch, but keep the ice pack in place. “Are you sure they want me there? I mean, won’t all your friends be there?”

His expression softens, as does his voice. “They all want to spend time with you on a more personal level, aside from seeing you in the pub. Don’t think otherwise.”

I’m not convinced, and I think he can see that in my expression, since he brushes his fingers across my cheek and adds, “We all agree none of this is your fault, Kenna. No one blames you.”

But I feel to blame . . . for all of it. “Do you want me there with you?”

“Micah is my closest friend in the world, of course I want you there.” With a smile, he slides his knuckles across my jaw. “There is nothing I want more than to solidify your presence in my life.”

“Well,” I say, nibbling my lip. “Will they care if I have a horribly gross black eye?”

His mouth twitches. “No, they won’t care. But to be honest, your bruise will look worse on day three anyway.”

“I guess that’s a positive in all this.”

“There is no positive in any of this,” he mutters.

I stare into his exhausted eyes, and somehow even though everyone keeps telling me this isn’t my fault, it all feels like my fault. “I’m sorry, Gabe.”

“What are you sorry for, sweetheart?” he asks softly.

“This. The fact that you look so exhausted,” I tell him, shifting the ice pack to avoid the icy bite on my skin. “I wish I could make this all go away.”

“It will go away, McKenna.” His hand slides up and down my leg, stopping to give my thigh a firm squeeze. “And stop thinking about me. Right now, I’m only thinking about you.”

Something passes between us then. It’s in his eyes, the protective way he’s watching me. He rises and slides his arms underneath me, gathering me close to his chest. After which, he brings me into the bedroom then gently lays me down in the middle of the mattress. With no heat in his eyes, he grabs the end of my yoga pants, and I lift my hips as he pulls my pants off. I shift upward a little, getting my head comfortable against the pillow, and he pulls the sheets back then places them over my bare legs.

I notice the throbbing behind my eye has lessened some, the painkillers doing their job, while Gabe strips off his shirt in that fast way men do. His pants are gone a second later, and then he’s sliding into bed next to me. He tucks me in close against him and whispers, “Be still.”

There in the safety of his arms, I let the darkness take me.