Page 42 of Desired By you (Always & Forever #3)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Gabriella

I leave the coffee shop in a daze. The anxiety is so strong it makes me feel unsteady on my feet.

I’m not thinking clearly because I forget all about my car I parked at the studio.

Instead, I flag down a cab and give the driver Brad’s address.

I punch in the security code and ride the elevator up to his floor, where I let myself in with the key he gave me.

I walk into the living area and see him on the couch. I want to fall into his arms, tell him everything and ask him for help, but when I’m met with a stoney-faced man who looks at me like I’m invisible, my body retreats, and I go into my safe mode. I shrink myself down.

I note the bottle of whiskey on the counter and the empty glass.

“Hey,” I say quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” he says flatly, his voice stern; a tone he reserves for others, but never me. He doesn’t look at me, just stares at the floor, his shirt half unbuttoned and untucked from his suit pants.

“I can, um, leave if you want to be alone,” I stammer.

He lifts his head slowly, and when our eyes lock, his face softens and I see him, my Brad. I drop my purse to the ground, rush over to the couch and settle beside him, wrapping my arms around him on instinct. He pulls me into his lap and clings to me just as tightly as I am to him.

Something feels off. I lean back, cradling his face in my hands and stroking my thumbs along his stubbled jawline, loving the way the roughness feels beneath my soft skin.

He doesn’t hesitate, he grips the back of my neck, crashing our mouths together in a frantic kiss, but there’s an edge to it; it feels different.

There’s something very final about it, and with every stroke of his tongue, I feel him pull further away, and I am powerless to stop it.

He presses his forehead to mine, and we fight to bring our breathing back to an even pace.

“I think we need to talk,” I breathe out.

“We do.”

“I just saw Patrick,” I say hesitantly.

“And what did he want?” he grits out.

I think about telling him the truth, but something stops me. “He wants to make things official.”

Brad’s nostrils flare, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he is having his own personal battle. He pulls away, and I watch as his jaw tenses.

“I think that’s a good idea. This was the whole point, right?

Help you feel comfortable finding someone.

This thing we’ve been doing. It’s gone too far.

I think we need to go back as we were now we’re home.

” He says it with a calmness that’s borderline uneasy.

I slide off his lap and wince when he gets up, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and the empty glass before he walks to the kitchen.

I think it would have hurt less if he’d slapped me.

I came here, ready to open up to him, ask for his help, and he wants to toss me aside.

I won’t cry, I refuse. I was stupid to believe he would want more or to continue this.

LA wasn’t real, it was temporary. I was stupid to think that he would want more.

I am the fool for falling for him. Stupid, young, naive Gabby. Of course, this is how it would end.

Life is returning to normal now. Everyone is returning from their trips, and now with Patrick’s threats hanging over me.

I need to focus on getting through that.

I’ll play the part of his girlfriend to hide my secrets and protect my family.

I ruined their life once; I won’t do it again, so maybe this is for the best.

I clear my throat, standing up and squaring my shoulders, doing my best to keep myself from falling apart.

“Yeah, sure. I think I’m going to give things a go with Patrick.

He really likes me and he’s a nice guy, so…

” My words trail off as I watch Brad’s body stiffen and his fingers grip the edge of the counter.

“Good, I’m happy for you. He seems like a good guy.” God, he has no idea.

“Yeah, yeah, he does,” I lie. A silence so thick it could suffocate us both edges it's in and I want to scream, tell him the truth, but I know him. When he’s made up his mind about something, it’s a done deal.

He never promised me anything other than what he has delivered on, so I need to go, walk away, and handle the mess I have now got myself in.

“I guess I’ll go then,” I say, my voice shaky, but I wait, pray, he will tell me not to go, beg me to stay, but the words never come.

“Yeah, I have work to do. I’ll see you around.

” His voice is quiet and frosty, nothing like the warm and comforting tone I am used to.

He doesn’t look up, washing the single glass, avoiding my gaze.

How did we go from all that we were in LA to this?

I turn away and place my key on the countertop.

I head for the door and run towards the elevator.

Just as I hear the front door close, the sound of shattering echoes out, and I’m not sure if it’s the glass he had in his hand or my own heart breaking.