The Plan (Off-Limits Romance, #4)(24)

“Hugh, just lay it on me, man.” My voice cracks as I shut my eyes.

“You got nothing. Your lawyer got Madeline to agree to twice a year visits of up to four days after a year away from you. So she can adjust to Oliver.”

I sink down into a crouch, then back on my ass. Fuck, I can’t breathe.

“Gabe?”

In—one two three four five and then…out—one two three four five six seven eight…

In—one two three four five and then…out—one two three four five six seven eight…

“Hey, man—”

I hang up the phone.

Cut off the phone.

Keep counting my breaths.

Then I blow a long one out, stagger to my feet, and open the closet underneath the stairs.



*

Marley





I’m pulling jeans on, headed to the farmer’s market café to grab some whipped-cream-topped cider with Lainey, when the floor shakes, I hear a fury-filled shout, and then it sounds like someone broke a window. For half a second, there is silence, stillness. Then the chaos starts again.

Cold sweat washes over me. Is someone burglarizing the downstairs? Then another shout seeps through the walls, amidst the cacophony of booms and shatters—and I know that voice…

For what feels like a half-hour, it sounds like he’s trashing the downstairs. I cringe as I imagine what on earth he could be breaking…what is there that much of to break?

Windows?

All the fancy crystal I’m sure fills the kitchen?

Is he drunk? On drugs? Having a fight with someone?

KRISSH!

KRISSH!

KRISSH!

On and on and on, until I’m sweating with concern, and feeling ill and twitchy.

Boom! KRISSH! Boom! KRISSH!

The pacing of the sounds is fast and furious. Unhinged.

The longer I stand and listen, the more my stomach knots up. Something must be very wrong. I wonder what.

I tell myself it’s not my business, but I’m edgy as I step outside and start off down the stairs. As I walk toward my car, parked in the grass at the side of the house, I hear a muffled sound like—

Oh my God. Is someone crying?

I freeze mid-step, feeling cold as I turn toward a first-floor window. The curtains are drawn, but the sound of loud sobbing is unmistakable. I move closer to the window, while my ears attempt to refute what they’re hearing.

The voice is low, the sobs like choked wolf howls. I feel fear for him straight to my bones. What would have to happen to make Gabe McKellan weep?

I walk to the front door, feeling stunned. I can’t seem to knock—do I have a right to knock? should I be here at all?—so I just stand there on the front porch with my racing thoughts.

When I press my ear against the seam of the closed door, I hear clicking like dog toenails on hardwood, then the whining of his dog.

I ask myself if there’s a chance I’ll walk away. When I admit there isn’t, I hold my breath a long moment and knock twice.

“Gabe?” I cup my hands around my mouth and speak to the door’s seam. “Hey—Gabe? It’s Marley.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, cringing as I hear Coraline whine. I think I hear a muffled…something. God, I hope this doesn’t make him feel invaded. “Gabe? If you can hear me, can you let me know you’re okay? Sorry. Can you…knock?”

The dog whines once more, and my stomach clenches. Did Gabe’s dad die? Is he drinking? Using drugs? Passed out? He seemed fine earlier today. I think about his crinkling eyes behind the ghost sheet, and the way his finger stroked my palm.

“Gabe?” My voice shakes slightly. “I’m so sorry to bother you. I’m just worried. Can you—”

The thud that interrupts is loud and forceful: just a single knock.

Okay. I exhale. “Thank you.” I lean against the door frame with my eyes shut.

I tell myself I’m going to go, but I can’t seem to move. I lean against the front door with my arms folded, barely even breathing because I’m listening so carefully, and I feel a sense of déjà vu that makes my stomach clench.

Wasn’t I always wanting to get through closed doors? I would try to break them down, to pick the lock, and if I couldn’t, I’d just knock for hours like a lunatic. Like it was me who was the crazy one. Gabe kept his problems so close, I thought he was just moody, or a dick, there toward the end. He pushed me so far away, I thought he hated me. I’m still not sure he didn’t. I still can’t believe I didn’t know he was an alcoholic. I can’t believe I left him like that.

Me.

I’m not a fair-weather friend. I didn’t think I was a conditional lover. Even now, I feel a deep sense of regret I’ve realized I may never shake. Regret and—I should just admit it—what seems to be a never-ending wellspring of care for him—be it in the form of curiosity, irritation, regret, or—as is the case right now—intense interest.

So I stay quiet as a cool breeze swirls leaves up from the steps and tosses them against my shins. I tell myself that when a little more time goes by, I’ll go. I check my phone’s clock, then send Lainey a rain check text. I just don’t feel like going out right now.

I’m looking at my shoes, telling myself to go upstairs, when I hear a sound like something being dragged, followed by a punch of sound—a sob. I press my ear against the door’s seam, and I hear his rough breathing. I feel almost frantic with the need to knock again.