Most of All You: A Love Story(62)

Oh Jesus. Now that she couldn’t hear me, I groaned out loud from the pain of her confession, the way in which she’d made herself starkly vulnerable in front of me. She’d been used—abused—so horribly and hated herself for mistaking it for love. God, sweet Eloise. I knew that type of pain, knew what it felt like to be so desperate for love that you’d try to find it anywhere. Create it if you had to. But the difference between her and me was that I had never been abused and thrown away by the people who were supposed to love me and keep me safe. My heart ached for her. And I realized again what a tender soul she was, how she wanted love so badly she had even tried to find it in the ugliest of places, in the first attention she’d ever received from a man.

Ellie, my Ellie.

A fierce protectiveness gripped me, the need to comfort her so overwhelming, it was a deep, aching need. And suddenly I realized that my desire to love her was bigger, more powerful, than my fear. It wasn’t practice I’d needed. It was love. Filling my heart so full there was no room for anything else.

I put my hands behind my neck and leaned my head back, staring up at the clear autumn sky, praying my love would be enough for both of us.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


You were given this pain because you’re strong enough to endure it.

Shadow, the Baron of Wishbone

ELLIE

I was shaking so hard I could barely catch my breath. Oh God, what had I done? And why? I couldn’t clear my mind. I felt overwhelmed with pain and horror and grief so strong it felt like it was pouring from my very soul.

I’d just wanted to make dinner and dessert for Gabriel. I’d thought I could do what Chloe had done so easily—just make a meal. I’d never really cooked—always made microwavable things, but had thought, How hard could it be? A simple meal and a stupid pie. And it had all gone so horribly awry. I’d started on the pie first, and the custard was watery and I couldn’t get the meringue to work, and I thought, Well, at least there’s dinner. But then I’d burned the pasta, which I didn’t even know was possible, and the pesto sauce I was mixing in the blender had exploded and hit me in the face like a blow.

I’d cried out, defeat and misery causing such a terrible, terrible lump to rise up in my throat. I couldn’t do anything right. I’d never do anything right. I was so useless, and Gabriel had told me he loved me but I didn’t deserve it. Chloe had made dinner and it’d looked so easy, so doable, but for me it wasn’t.

We’d gone to the grocery store, and everyone had looked at me so disdainfully. I’d remembered Dominic’s words about how Gabriel should have the life he’d been meant for. Obviously the people in town didn’t think I belonged with him, and I’d dismissed it, but then the pie and the dinner and all the terrible choices I’d made in my life, the way I’d never done anything right, not anything, came slamming down on me and—

“Hey.” The word was soft, gentle, and I looked behind me, startled out of my own painful, manic thoughts. Gabriel gave me a small, sad smile as he closed the French door to the patio, where I’d run. I turned away, dropping my arms to my sides, unsure of what to do, what to say, knowing he was going to tell me to leave, that he didn’t love me anymore. He’d do it nicely, though, because that’s who Gabriel was. He’d offer me a ride, tell me not to worry about the dirty kitchen. And it would hurt, oh, it would hurt but—

I felt him come up behind me, his big body right against mine, the heat from him permeating the cold coursing through my veins. I shivered. He pressed his body to mine, and I inhaled a quick, surprised breath as his arms came around me and he pulled me against him, leaning his head forward so his cheek was right at my temple. I stilled at the contact. Oh. Oh, Gabriel. He felt so solid, so sure, so confident, and although I was sick with the horror of what I’d confessed, something inside me rejoiced in this victory for him. He was holding me. We were about as close as two people could get, and I sensed no hesitation in his embrace. I closed my eyes with the power of the moment, tears escaping and coursing down my cheeks.

“I ruined dinner,” I whispered.

I felt him smile right above my ear. “I saw.”

I nodded, a jerky movement of my head against his chest. “The pie, too.”

“I saw that, too.”

“Oh.”

We were both quiet for a moment as my body stopped shaking in the warm cradle of his arms. He continued to hold me as my breath slowed. “I must exhaust you,” I said, and I could hear the note of desperation in my tone. I needed to give him an out, but it hurt so badly. He had said he loved me, that he wanted me, but surely he couldn’t want this. He shouldn’t want this. Me.

“No. But is that the worst of it for today?” I felt him smile again. He was teasing me, and the reality of that both startled and calmed me. He wasn’t horrified. Why?

“I … for today,” I said, turning my head slightly, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. I felt hollow and far, far too tender.

He chuckled softly, and this time I shivered with pleasure, the beautifully masculine sound of his laugh right at my ear, right against my skin.

Gabriel. Just like the angel. My angel. I want him to be my angel. I closed my eyes and pictured his arms as massive wings wrapped around me, protecting me from the world, and the vision brought forth a smile.