Page 131 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

“No.” I reach for his hand, wrap my fingers through the bloodied ones he won’t care for himself. “You live. You live because Hank would’ve bled out a hundred times to make sure we both got out.”

His eyes close.

“The only way through this is together.”

His fingers tighten around mine. A broken thing reaching for another broken thing. And somehow, between us, it feels like the start of something whole.

“You missed dinner.” I settle beside him, close enough to offer comfort, far enough to respect his need for space.

“Wasn’t hungry.”

“The women are worried about you.”

“The women should worry about themselves.” His voice carries no heat, just exhaustion that goes bone-deep. “They’ve been through enough.”

Salt air cuts through the diesel fumes, carrying the scent of open water and distance. Stars reflect on the black surface, fractured by the boat’s wake into a million glittering pieces.

“Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“About why you’re out here bleeding instead of letting someone help you.”

He flexes his damaged hands, winces at the pain. “Pain feels appropriate right now.”

“Hank wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.”

“Hank’s dead.” The words come out flat, matter-of-fact. “What he wants doesn’t matter anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He turns to look at me for the first time since I sat down. “He’s gone, Ally. Whatever he wanted for us, whatever plans he had—they died with him.”

“His love for us didn’t die.”

“Love.” He laughs, the sound bitter as salt water. “You want to know about love? You want to know what our great love story really was?”

My chest tightens. “Gabe?—”

“It was me being a selfish bastard. It was me fighting him because I wanted you all to myself.” The words tumble out like blood from a wound. “It was me telling him that you belonged to me, not us. That if he understood what you needed, he’d step aside.”

The confession shakes me to my core. I sink back against the storage container, processing the weight of what he’s revealed.

“You fought over me.”

“We fought because I’m a possessive asshole who thought love meant ownership.” He stares at his bloodied hands. “The last conversation we had, the last real words between us—I told him I wanted you as my slave. Complete submission, complete control. Just mine.”

“What did he say?”

“That I was confusing possession with love. That I was too fucked up to tell the difference.” His voice cracks. “And maybe he was right.”

The boat rocks beneath us, carrying us through darkness toward an uncertain dawn. Below deck, his teammates sleep or try to sleep. Above us, stars wheel across the sky in patterns that have guided sailors for millennia.

“He forgave you.”

“Did he? Because his last words sure sounded like he was trying to teach me something I was too stupid to learn while he was alive.”

“His last words were about love. About taking care of each other.” I shift closer, close enough that our shoulders touch. “He used his dying breath to forgive you and bless us. Both of us.”