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“As a therapist, some,” she said softly.

“That’s what he did. He never hit my mother that I knew of, but he broke her down just the same. Changed her, manipulated her, until she was someone else. Someone who didn’t care about me. Because as long as she cared about me, she couldn’t give everything to him. And even then…he did everything in his power to get rid of me.”

Gabe tried not to catalogue the long list of things, and the way his mother had slowly and methodically withdrawn her support, her love, until he’d been left completely alone, used only as free babysitting and a target to blame anything that went wrong on.

But he didn’t have to give those pieces to Monica either. This wasn’t about all the things that led up to the worst, and it wasn’t even about the worst. He’d never, ever give her that part.

“When I was seventeen, I got into some trouble, and he used that. Said I had two choices, I could join the army or he’d make sure I was punished by the full extent of the law.”

Her pale eyebrows drew together. “But you joined the navy.”

“I didn’t have very many choices, but I wasn’t about to let him pick which branch of the military I went in. As fuck-yous go, it wasn’t great, but it was all I had.” He flashed a grin.

She clearly found no humor in it. “And your mother… She just…”

“She just stood by him while he gave me that ultimatum. She never said anything. Not even goodbye. He gave me the choice. I took my things and left. The rest is history.”

She swallowed, and he could tell it stuck in her throat. Her shiny eyes were a dead giveaway she’d been moved by his story.

Moved by pity. Which he wanted less than nothing to do with.

“It all worked out.” He rubbed his scarred shoulder. “Mostly.”

“Do you have any contact? Does she—”

He recoiled some, hated himself for the show of weakness. “I answered your one question, fully and wholly and with a few more details than I needed to. Your questions for today are done.” Why he sounded more raw than forceful he didn’t want to examine.

She bobbed her chin, then uncurled herself from her position in the corner of the couch and moved over to his corner. She slid her palms over his cheeks, gentle and… It felt like admiration. Like she was inaweof him.

A trick of the fading sunlight and the crackling firelight, surely.

Then she lowered her mouth to his and kissed him. It was gentle, sweet, and it said a million things words never could. He wanted to shove her away from him almost as much as he wanted that to last forever. Gentle kindness and care.

She slid into his lap, and he wanted to focus on that. Arousal only. But he was afraid if he let that take over, it would come to mean more than he could ever let it. So he pulled her back by the shoulders, ending the kiss.

“My turn.”

Again, she only nodded, still holding his face, still looking at him like she wanted to soothe it all away. As if it were possible.

“Did you love your husband?” He shouldn’t have asked it, but it had more power than his control, apparently, the need to hear the answer he already knew. If she said it, in his lap, looking him in the eye, then he’d know. He could eradicate all these horrible hopes out of his dreams.

“Yes,” she said in a whisper, fierce and so full of truth it felt like a stab. “I’ll always love him. He was a good man, and he’s why I have Colin.”

She would always love another man, a dead man, the father of her child, and all Gabe could ever hope to be was peripheral. He’d come behind the memory of a good, dead man, and the needs and wants of a very much alive child who deserved everything his mother wanted to give.

“What’s your second question?” she asked softly, and he ignored the tear that had fallen onto her cheek. She was probably crying for the dead husband anyway. Why would she ever cry for him?

“Why me?” He hated himself for this question more than the first. The first was pathetic, but at least it was a reminder. This was that hope again, that little voice that whispered,Why wouldn’t she cry for you?“Why only me since him?”

“I’m not sure I have an answer for that, Gabe.” She let out a shuddery breath. “There was school, there was Colin, and a million armors I didn’t even realize I wore, but I guess more than that… I never argued with anyone the way I argued with you. At first, that was annoying. No, it’s still annoying, but it set you apart. You didn’t keep your distance. You challenged me. People had stopped challenging me a long time ago.”

“Challenging you on what?”

“I don’t know. People treat you differently when you’re a mental health professional. I mean, you should know that, you treated me like a scourge. But usually it’s more avoidance or a careful way of talking. People seem…afraid sometimes, like I can read into things, put things together, confront them with truths they aren’t ready to confront. It can be hard to have friends who don’t look at you a little sideways.”

He knew something about that. People were careful with wounded soldiers too. Even his mother called him on occasion now that he’d been hurt. She’d never come to see him, but she had reached out. All the people he’d met since he’d been in that accident had treated him differently than he’d been treated before. It wasn’t always a bad different, but it was different.

“Gabe,” she said, her voice a pained whisper.