Gabriel and Breah

Chapter 18: Breah

Stretching in my cozy cocoon of blankets, I slowly opened my eyes the next morning, thinking about  everything Gabriel had talked to me about last night. He'd walked me to his door and tugged on my hand before I stepped into the hallway.

"Breah, if you don't hear anything else, I want to make sure you hear these two things. First, I'll keep saying this until you believe me, but I know I messed up, bringing you into my life when I had no right to and keeping my son and Heather from you. I was wrong, straight up, and I'm sorry for the choices I made and even sorrier that they hurt you."

He held my eyes until I nodded.

"And second, even if you don't believe it, I love you. I don't have pretty words to make it sound all...all fluffy," and he fucking did jazz hands, "but I love you and it's deep and it's real and it's forever." 

The president of the Lords of Misrule MC just did jazz hands while explaining to me that he didn't know how to tell me he loved me with fluffy words. I had to press my lips together to stop myself from smiling at the picture he made, and I tried instead to focus on the words he was saying.

Objectively, they were beautiful and heartfelt and sincere.

I just didn't know if they were enough.

But I sure as hell thought about his words as I drank my coffee, showered and got ready for the day. I had a quick interview for an article I was working on, and then the rest of the day to work on several projects that had deadlines approaching in the next couple of weeks, but nothing imminent.

When I walked out to my Jeep, I heard a man calling my name. I turned and recognized him immediately as the Road Captain of the Lords. Duke, I think his name was?

"Hey," I called back. "What's up?"

"Got a note for you from the boss."

He handed me a folded piece of paper, and I opened it and read:

You said you wanted to run over me with your Jeep. As much as I'd love to give you exactly what you want, would you accept one of my motorcycles in my place?

He'd remembered my words from last night.

What I want most of the time, Prez, is to run you over with my Jeep multiple times to make sure the job's complete. On other days, just running you over once will suffice.

I read the note again and looked at Duke. "He doesn't think I'll do it, does he? He just thinks, oh, I'll make the gesture and she'll back down! She won't actually run --"

"Ma'am," Duke interrupted my tirade and pointed to the other end of the parking lot where a flatbed tow truck sat. "With all due respect, I rode the bike over here and he sent a prospect with the flatbed. Pretty sure he thinks you're going to do it."

Well, hell. Now what was I supposed to think? Was this some reverse psychology bullshit where he made me think that he thought I would do it, which he was hoping would make me not want to do it so one of his precious bikes would be spared? Or was he sending it over here hoping I would run over it, then I'd feel guilty and soften toward him?

I dragged out my cell and called him.

"What's the meaning of this?" I demanded. "Is this some trick?"

He laughed in my ear. "No, Breah. You said you wanted to run me over. Much as I love you, I can't let that happen. So I'm giving you the next best thing to running me over -- one of my bikes. One of my beloved bikes as you used to say."

"Is this one of the most expensive ones?"

"Yeah. Nothing but the best for you, Breah." I could hear the humor in his tone, but also the sincerity behind it.