Toxic (Ruin, #2)(57)

I wasn’t pushed. I was proud of myself, for being able to come to that conclusion — pretty sure I had my mom to thank for that.
That was me. Going on a date with him.
In my head, I was sitting at the piano, authoring my own story, the story Gabe encouraged me to play. And the music — damn, but it was good.
“You seem deep in thought,” Gabe said once we were a few minutes into our drive. I tried desperately not to look at him. I knew he was still the same guy, but he made me nervous. This guy was different than before, there was a sense of raw vulnerability about him. No layers remained. They’d been peeled back and destroyed.
“Dangerous. I know.”
“I’m glad you said yes.” Gabe cleared his throat, steering the car onto the freeway. “And I’m going to start right now.”
“Start? What do you mean start?”
“When I was five, I had a pet rat. His name was Thomas. I wanted a train set. My parents got me a rat, go figure. Since the train set I wanted was Thomas, I just decided to name the rat that.” He shrugged, “He got a tumor when I was six. We took him to the vet. He died in my arms.”
“Gabe, I’m—”
“Thomas number two was a Chihuahua, who I can only imagine was actually birthed in the pits of hell and then sent to earth to set about destroying every single piece of furniture and every shoe in my bedroom.”
I covered my face with my hands to keep from laughing. “Did he die?”
“Of course not.” Gabe’s voice was irritated. “He’s like a cat, has nine lives, maybe more. He’s broken almost every bone in his tiny possessed little body, and is totally blind in one eye. He walks with a limp and sleeps in my old bedroom. Refuses to go anywhere else.”
Why did I suddenly feel like buying him a nice big dog like a golden retriever or a collie?
“I got my start doing hair product commercials. My dad always wanted to be an actor but could never make it, so he pushed me into it at an early age. When I was thirteen and doing my first movie, he locked me in my trailer after one of the older actresses approached me and offered her services for oral sex.”
“Uhhh.”
“I was twelve freaking years old,” he ground out. “And she was twice my age — literally. I hated my dad a bit after that. He said in the entertainment business I’d never survive if I was innocent.”
“Gabe—”
“He introduced me to drugs. At sixteen I’d already done seven movies. I was on my way to burnout when I met Princess. I was dropping my second album and seriously starting to hate my life. It helped that I had Mel — Lisa. She’d had a crush on me when we were little. We were neighbors and all that, but I never even kissed her. I knew who I wanted. And she wanted me too.”
He cleared his throat.
Rain pelted against the window.
“I believed in true love — I still do. Sunsets still take my breath away, pizza makes me a bit sick, but I’ll eat it. I love dancing almost as much as I love playing instruments. I can play almost all instruments just in case you were wondering. It was how I passed my time when my dad would lock me in the room for going against his wishes.”
“And your mom?” I asked, looking out the window. Where the heck was he taking me? We were officially outside of Seattle.
“She loves green.” He shrugged. “Anything green. So she let him do what he wanted because she got a happy husband and lots of houses out of the deal.”
He drove over the floating bridge into Bellevue.
“I had a twin sister,” he whispered. “She died from SIDS. My mom says I was in the crib with her when it happened. Apparently she’d been dead for about three hours before my mom came in to check on us.”
My breath hitched.
“She’d been drinking.” Gabe swore and hit the steering wheel. “I hate the Oregon Ducks.”
“Okay…”
“No. Seriously. Hate. Them.” His muscle clenched. “It’s the only damn sweatshirt Princess will wear.”
I reached across the consul and grabbed Gabe’s free hand, clenching it within my own. “Why is it the only sweatshirt she’ll wear?
“Because…” His eyes were like glass, he blinked a few times. “It used to be mine. I was wearing it the night she hit the tree.”
“Oh.”
“It’s the same way with her pink scarf. For some reason the only thing she remembers is that she forgot her pink scarf — not her helmet. I don’t know why she fixates on certain things. But she has to have her pink scarf tied to her wheelchair at all times or she has a meltdown.”
“And the singing?” I cleared my throat. “Is it the same with the singing?”
Gabe took the second Bellevue exit that led to the west side. Curious, I looked out the window and tried to keep my heart in check. He was cutting himself open, bleeding himself dry, and waiting for me to either accept or reject him.
He was brave.
Braver than me.
“The minute she hears my voice, she’s taken to someplace safe, different. Stupid, right?”
I turned and looked at him, focused on his full lips, gorgeous mouth, strong jaw.
“No.” I squeezed his hand. “Not stupid. If positions were switched, I can imagine, hearing your voice would be the most soothing thing in the world. Like the quiet after a storm, the peace you crave in a lifetime full of noise. You’re her peace.”
Gabe nodded. “I guess that’s something, right? I both destroy and bring peace?”
“You didn’t cause the destruction, Gabe. You were just an unfortunate victim — and sometimes that’s worse than being the cause.”