Page 70 of This Kind of Forever

Gabe takes a step forward, right into my space. I fight the urge to step back. His arms bracket me as he braces against the bar. “Because,” he says, those brown eyes piercing, “I know you, Foster.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” I counter, feeling brave. “It’s been ten years.”

His gaze burns as it travels the planes of my face—maps the slope of my nose, the apples of my cheeks, the ridge of my brow. “It could have been a hundred and I’d still remember the way you touch your hair when you’re nervous. The way your eyes dart around, searching for escape. BecauseI know you. Always have and always will.”

The conviction in his tone is a promise. And that sends a warning to my brain. Gabe’s sincerity scared me back then, and it absolutely terrifies me now. Because all promises end up broken eventually.

“Well, you’re wrong.” I tip my chin up in defiance. “I was having a really good time getting to know Deacon.”

The lie is a little bitter on my tongue, but I’m used to the taste by now.

Gabe’s brow raises. He pushes off the bar, releasing me from the cage of his arms. Then he sweeps a hand toward the high top table across the room where Deacon has planted himself. “By all means, don’t let me stop you, then.”

The look on his face tells me that he thinks I’m bluffing. But I refuse to let him win. I take a sip of my drink, and then I walk away. I can feel Gabe’s gaze on me, so I take purposeful strides forward. Let him think I’m way more confident in this half-formed plan than I actually am.

Inside, I feel a little like I’m walking myself to the gallows, but my pride has taken over. Turning around and admitting that I was wrong is not an option. Letting Gabe know just how much I truly haven’t changed over the last ten yearsis not an option.

“Um, hey,” I say to Deacon. I reach up to tuck my hair behind my ear, but I stop myself. Instead, I flip a strand over my shoulder and hope I don’t look like a complete idiot.

Deacon’s eyes slide to me. “Hey,” he says with a grin. “You ditch your guard dog?”

I shrug. “Something like that.” My eyes dart around, looking for something—goddamn it, anything, really—to make conversation about. When they land on the blessedly empty pool table, I have to resist the urge to drop to my knees in prayer. “Do you know how to play pool?”

“I do.” He sets his whiskey on the table. “You up for a game?”

“I don’t know how to play. Maybe you could teach me?”

Wrong. This feels wrong. Unease settles in my stomach as Deacon drapes an arm over my shoulder and leads me toward the table. As he sets up our cues, I look over my shoulder, and my stomach drops to my feet.

I can finally see the table that the guys managed to claim. Luke is clearly trying to get his brother’s attention, but Gabe’s gaze is trained across the room. On me. My skin heats, and I know my cheeks are flaming red.

A hand lands on my arm, and I startle. Turning back to Deacon, I find him studying me. I force myself not to shrug off the contact.

“You ready?” he asks.

I nod. “Yup.”

Deacon launches into a demonstration, but I’m hardly paying attention. Because I can still feel Gabe’s eyes on me.

And theyburn.

TWENTY-SIX

GABE

Maybe you don’t knowme as well as you think.

Hallie says I don’t know her, but that’s bullshit. I spent the better part of my life attuned to her every move. A little time and distance won’t make me forget. Not a damn thing.

“Gabe? Are you listening?”

Maybe this fake engagement thing has gone to my head. Made me see things that aren’t actually there. I thought we had turned a corner. That what I saw in her eyes the other night on the couch was desire. Longing—the same longing I’ve been struggling with for the past ten years. But maybe that’s what I wanted to see. Maybe I was projecting in a desperate hope that it would make it so.

No.I know what I saw.

Only, it apparently doesn’t matter. Hallie is determined to push me away, and she’s hurting herself in the process.

“Gabe, there’s a fire in the backroom.”