Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

Gabriel

I’ve never driven so fast in my entire life. I break at least five different laws, putting myself and others in a ridiculous amount of danger. That isn’t my concern, though. The only concern I have is getting to my destination.

I pull into the driveway, parking behind the large black SUV, and run up the front steps and knock on the door frantically.

“Gabriel, what’s wrong?” Luiz asks once the door is pulled open and he lays eyes on me.

“Marta. Is Marta here? Please tell me she’s here.” I’m panting, and unsure what I’m saying makes sense.

“Come in,” he says, moving aside before calling over his shoulder for his wife.

I run a shaky hand through my hair as I pace the front foyer, waiting for her to show.

“Gabriel?” There’s so much concern in her voice as she walks over. “What’s going on?”

My heart is pounding so hard, my hand on my chest trying to will it to calm down. No matter what I do, it only pounds harder. I could be having a heart attack right now. I think I am. My chest is tight, and it hurts.

“Honey, can you get him some water, please?” she asks as she walks me into their living room and helps me sit on the couch. I lean back, closing my eyes and sucking in air because no matter how hard I breathe, I’m not getting enough. I’m going to pass out, I just know it.

“Go back to bed. It’s just Gabriel. He isn’t feeling well,” her husband says, likely to the kids.

“He’s fine!” Marta calls. “Go back to bed.”

She runs her hands up and down my arms, and though I know that, I hardly feel it. My body is numb, my brain a mess.

“Here you go,” Luiz says, causing me to open my eyes. He hands me a bottle of water. I take it and press it to my forehead, the cold shocking my system enough that I can take a full breath and actually feel it.

“Take a sip,” Marta says. “Just a little.”

I hold the bottle to my cheek before pulling it away and taking a sip. When I close it, I bring it right back to my face. The couch dips beside me and someone is running their hand along my arm. I’m assuming it’s still Marta because it’s soft, and this isn’t quite Luiz’s thing. Though, it isn’t really Marta’s either.

“You’re having a panic attack,” she says softly. “You’re okay.”

I know that. Realistically, I know that, but it doesn’t help.

“How do I stop it?” I pant out.

“Just breathe. Focus on the cold water.”

I move the bottle around on my face, to my head and my neck. It feels good, and my body slowly starts to come down from the panic. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a panic attack like this; one that came on so quickly and harshly.

“Good,” Marta says gently. “You look much better.”

I still can’t talk, so I take another mouthful of water before replacing the water bottle to my cheek.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks. “Was it dinner with your parents?”

Of course she would think that, and I guess that’s what started it. Had that not happened, the other thing wouldn’t have happened. Or if it did, it would have been easier to handle because it was just one thing and not a freaking mountain.

“Partly,” I say, resting back and closing my eyes as I move the water to my other cheek.

“And the other part?”

“I kissed Storm.”

If she reacts to that, I don’t hear it and don’t feel her move. It’s not that I expected her to freak out, but I thought she’d have a reaction. It’s crazy what I did. How isn’t she freaking out?

I open my eyes to look at her and she’s watching me carefully, but doesn’t seem shocked by my admission. Concerned, yes. She’s got that motherly look on her face, but nothing tells me she’s surprised.

“Why aren’t you freaking out about that?” I ask.

“What’s to freak out about?”

“I don’t know, all of it!” I flinch at how loud my voice is and shrink back against the couch. “Sorry, I know the kids are sleeping.”

“They’re fine.” It’s silent for a short time, my heart still beating so hard I can hear it. “Gabriel, why are you freaking out about this?”

“Are you serious right now?” I glare at her. Her expression doesn’t change.

“I’m just trying to understand,” she simply says.

“I kissed my roommate, Marta. My very male roommate.”

“So it’s the fact that he’s a man that’s bothering you?”

“Of course it is! I’m not gay.”

“Kissing a man doesn’t make you gay.”

“No? What does it make me then?”

She turns to face me a little more, keeping her face serious. She’s such a good doctor; such a good person.

“Human. Curious. Vulnerable.”

“Kissing him doesn’t make me vulnerable.”

“No, but maybe you were, and that’s why you did it.”

I sigh, putting the water bottle onto the end table before scrubbing my hands down my face. “How will I ever go back there?”

“Get in your car and drive,” she says.

“You know what I mean,” I grit out.

“How did he react to it?” she asks me.

“What?” I sneak a glance at her.

“His reaction. Was he angry? Surprised? Is he having a panic attack, too?”

How did he react? I think back, trying to recall what happened. I was in a panic over dinner going wrong at my parents’ house. Storm was there, consoling me. He was so close, so freaking close, looking at me like he cared and wanted to help. He smelled so good, and for just a split second, I wanted to feel something other than loneliness.

“He was… shocked.”

“But not angry? Disgusted?”

“No, neither of those.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is he’s my roommate, we have to live together, and I kissed him. He’s a man, and I just made things weird.” I get up and start pacing again. “As if I don’t do that enough already.”

“How do you know he didn’t like it?”

I stop and glare at her. “Why would he like it?” I hiss.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“I hate when you do that,” I say, pointing at her and shaking my head. “Turning my questions back on me isn’t going to make me realize anything, Marta. It only annoys me.”

She leans back on the couch, crossing her legs. It’s now I realize she’s in her pajamas. It’s dark outside. Her kids are in bed. I groan.

“I’m sorry I came here. It’s late.” I move toward the door.

“Don’t you dare walk out that front door, Gabriel Dane.”

I pause, turning back to face her. She’s using her serious voice, the one I know better than to ignore.

“Get back in here. We’re talking about this.”

Begrudgingly, I do as she says, dropping onto the couch. I grab the water bottle and take another sip.

“Why do you think he wouldn’t like you?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

I sigh heavily, and mutter, “Because I’m me.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

I scoff. “Where do I begin?”

“Gabriel,” she says, taking my hand and sandwiching it between hers. “We’ve been friends a long time. I have dealt with a lot from you, but I am still here. There is nothing wrong with you, no matter how much your parents make it seem like there is—no matter how much society makes it seem like there is. You are perfectly successful and a functioning human. Just because you don’t live up to their standards or live your life the way other people do doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you.”

My issues run much deeper than that. Sure, she hit the nail on the head with a lot of what she just said, but there’s so much more to it than that.

“Other than the fact I’m a neat-freak, germaphobe, have some serious OCD issues, anxiety—”

“Yeah, and I have debilitating migraines, chronic constipation, and too many stretch marks. What’s your point?”

“Those are very different,” I say firmly.

“No, they aren’t. Not to the right person.”

“You’re missing the point,” I argue, letting out a frustrated sound.

“No, Gabriel. I think you are missing the point. You aren’t a horrible person. You are a wonderful person who struggles with things about himself. Welcome to being human. Bet if you asked Mr. Thunder Storm what he hates about himself, he’d have a list longer than yours.”

“Doubtful.”

“Okay, maybe not longer,” she says with a laugh. “But long.”

I laugh too, but just a little.

My phone dings from my pocket, and I dig it out. I forgot it was in there. It’s a text from Storm, which has my breath hitching.

“Well, what does it say?” Marta urges, obviously already knowing who it is.

“Probably ‘see you later, freak, I’m out and never want to see you again.’”

Marta grabs my phone before I can open the text and prove I’m right.

“Would that bother you?” she asks. “If he said that.”

My instinct is to say no, because covering up my emotions is what I do—what I was taught. It’s become a habit. I know the right way to answer things, even if they aren’t the truth.

“Yes,” I answer honestly.

“Because you like him?”

With a sigh, I answer, “Yes.” I stare down at my hands before continuing. “I’m not obsessed with him or anything, but I like having him around. He’s fun, and though he can be quite annoying, makes a mess, and walks around naked too much, he makes me feel… less like me.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

I sigh again, running my hands over my face and leaning forward before answering.

“He makes the things I don’t like about myself less, so yes. I find some of his nuances endearing rather than enraging. I even looked the other way when he left his shoes in the bathroom the other day.”

Marta puts her hand on my thigh. “Tara isn’t coming back, Gabriel, and it’s okay to accept that. You are an adult, and you deserve to be happy, whatever that means. Don’t let your parents ruin your life. You should have the freedom to do whatever makes you happy.”

It’s those words I think about the entire drive home. I’m not saying I want to be in a relationship with Storm. I’m not in love with the guy. But I like him. He’s grown on me. Yes, I’ve had some inappropriate thoughts about him, but that’s just a natural reaction from my body. I was upset when I realized we weren’t friends, like I thought. I was embarrassed when I kissed him because I didn’t know what he would think. I’ve gone through life avoiding people because I can’t handle any more let downs or people speaking negatively about me. Then Storm came into my life, and I realized that maybe people aren’t all bad. Sure, plenty are, but some are okay. He isn’t mean. Storm treats me like a human. He tries to include me in things, even though he knows I’m going to say no.

When I get home, I stare down at the text he sent me for a long time.

Come home. Let’s talk.

Home. He called it home. Our home. Meaning he isn’t leaving. I don’t know the exact point I got attached to him being here, but I guess I am because I don’t like the idea of him leaving. Especially if it was because of me. I can’t deal with one more thing going wrong in my life because of something I did. I’ve done that enough. I guess I am vulnerable right now. I’m raw and feel cut open.

I get out of the car and head inside.

“Hey,” Storm says from the living room, getting up from the couch.

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?” he asks as he walks toward me, stopping a few feet away. Nothing on his face tells me he’s anything other than concerned. He’s dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, no shoes. So I don’t think he’s about to run out of the house and say, “good riddance.”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Oh, okay.”

He moves in front of me more and it takes everything in me not to stare at his mouth again. My stomach does all kinds of flips just thinking about how he felt. I’ve kissed people before, of course, but kissing him, as simple as it was, was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It was so much more. I liked it. I actually liked it and felt something from it. That’s never happened to me before.

“Can we talk anyway? There’s something I need to tell you.”

Oh… so he is leaving. A zap of fear slams into my chest, but I nod and follow him into the kitchen. It’s best we get this done and over with. Stalling will only cause me to obsess over it. Lose sleep probably.

He busies himself making us tea to lessen the blow. I smell the chamomile when he puts the mug down in front of me, and it’s just the way I like. If he tells me he’s leaving, I can’t throw the contract in his face. Not after I sexually assaulted him. But that’s okay. I’ll manage.

He sits in his chair across from me, staring down at his mug of tea. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The air is tense. I go to speak because it seems like he’s not going to.

“So—”

“I make porn.”

“What?” I choke out.

“I’m sorry I lied to you. Or, well, didn’t lie but kept it from you, but I knew it would freak you out and I didn’t want you kicking me out over it. I’m still considered a content creator, so it’s not like I all-out lied. I just didn’t get too specific, you know?”

I blink a few times, my mouth opening and closing like a fish until I finally get words out.

“You make porn?”

Why doesn’t that bother me? It doesn’t disgust me, though my mother’s voice does go through my head.

That is terrible, Gabriel. Don’t ever let me catch you watching that filth.

It wasn’t me who was watching it. It was Sterling. I had just walked into the room and caught him seconds before my mother did. It wasn’t even my room and yet I was the one who got in trouble for it.

“Yes,” he says, nodding. “I’m sorry I kept it from you, but after what happened… Well, I didn’t want you thinking it was a big deal. I promise it isn’t.”

“You make porn… h-here?” I stammer out.

“Yes.” He nods firmly.

“When… how-how do you sneak people in without me knowing?”

“Oh, I don’t sneak people in.” He shakes his head, putting his hands flat on the table. “I make solo content.”

Solo content, as in…

“Wait.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Is that what you were doing that day I caught you?”

“Yes.” He chuckles nervously. “And let me tell you, getting caught made me a lot of money.”

“You used me!”

“No!” He waves his hands at me. “No, you weren’t in the video and it wasn’t planned. Though if you had been, that would have been so much better.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to process what he’s saying.

“Why?” I ask, curiosity winning out.

“Why do I make porn?” he asks carefully. “‘Cause it makes me a shit ton of mo—”

“No, why would it have been better if I was in the video?”

I’m not entirely sure why those words come out of my mouth. Curiosity, I guess. This whole thing is making me very curious. I’m in a strange mood, and after the conversation with Marta, I’m thinking about all sorts of things. Things I could do if I didn’t let my parents control my life. Things that would make me happy, if only I allowed myself to do them. Where I would be if I didn’t allow people to hold me back…

Storm’s eyes narrow on me. He licks his lips before asking, “Do you want me to be honest?”

“Please.”

He opens his mouth before closing it. He sighs, then says, “You're hot, Gabriel. Really hot. And I’m assuming you don’t know much about porn, but uh, you’ve got the look.”

“The look of a porn star?” I ask. That’s shocking. Honestly, all of his words are. I’ve never considered myself to be all that attractive, never mind hot . I was called a nerd my entire life. Was told my hair is atrocious. My glasses are always an issue. Don’t get me started on the comments about the way I dress…

He barks out a laugh. “Sorry, that’s not funny. But yeah, you do.”

“How so?”

Storm hesitates just a moment before saying, “Well, outside of the way you look, it’s the way you act. The innocence of you. People love that. Especially gay porn.”

“You do gay porn?”

“Mostly. I guess now’s a good time to tell you I’m bi.” He gives me a forced smile. “The gay porn makes me more money, and I prefer men over women anyway, but like I said, I have been doing solo stuff, and I don’t judge who subs to my channel.”

“Subs?”

“Subscribers.”

Oh, right. That makes sense.

“Wait a minute,” I blurt out, something popping into my head. “Is this why you asked if I ever thought of making porn the other day?”

He bites back a smile. “Guilty.”

“You want me to make porn with you?” I ask, my heart beating a little faster.

“Well, I’d thought about it…”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Money, of course. We’d make a ton of money.”

A ton of money?

“How much money?”

“I mean, I can’t be sure, but what I can tell you is that I lied about how much I make on my application.” He rolls his lips between his teeth, eyebrows shooting up in this sort of cute innocent look.

“You don’t make a hundred thousand a year?”

“No, I make double that.”

That’s all I need to know. I’ve made up my mind. I’m making porn.