Page 18 of Wings (Heavy Kings MC #5)

"A Daddy?" He smiled slightly. "Military crystallized it, but looking back, it was always there.

That need to protect, to guide, to take care of people.

In high school, I was always the designated driver, the one making sure everyone got home safe.

In the Army, they called me Mother Hen until I made them stop. "

His expression went distant, remembering.

"First time someone actually called me Daddy was at a munch in Germany.

This little—she was probably forty, but in her headspace she was small—she'd been having a panic attack.

I got her juice, talked her through breathing exercises, just basic care stuff.

When she calmed down, she hugged me and said 'Thank you, Daddy' in this tiny voice. "

He focused back on me. "Wasn't romantic or sexual.

Just this moment of recognition. Like finding a piece of yourself you didn't know was missing.

I went back to base and researched for hours.

Protocols, dynamics, the psychology behind it.

Everything clicked. The way I'd always wanted to create structure for people, make rules that kept them safe, reward good behavior and redirect bad.

It wasn't about control—it was about care. "

"That's exactly it," I breathed, amazed at being understood. "The structure. The safety. Knowing someone's watching out for you, making sure you eat and sleep and don't spiral into anxiety."

"Is that what you need?" he asked softly. "Structure and care and someone to make sure you're okay?"

I nodded against his chest, feeling smaller and safer with each word. "I’m good at taking care of other people, but I'm really bad at taking care of myself. Forget to eat, stay up too late, push myself too hard. Having someone notice, someone who cares enough to set boundaries . . ."

"I can do that," he promised. "Want to do that, if you'll let me."

The certainty in his voice undid something in my chest. Three years of being alone, of white-knuckling my way through each day, and here was someone offering to help carry the weight. Not because I was weak, but because humans weren't meant to do everything alone.

"I'd like that," I whispered, then added even softer, "Daddy."

His whole body relaxed like I'd given him a gift. Maybe I had. Maybe this thing between us was exactly that—a gift we gave each other, permission to be exactly who we were beneath the armor life had forced us to build.

“Can I confess something to you?” I asked, feeling a spike of vulnerability.

“Confess?”

“Mmhmm. Something I’ve been wanting to tell you for years.”

“Of course you can.”

"I knew," I whispered, the words barely audible.

Gabe's hand stilled in my hair. "Knew what?"

"Before you left. How you felt about me." I pressed my face against his chest, unable to look at him while stripping us both so bare. "I'm sorry. I should have said something, done something, but I was with Alex and you were his brother and everything was so complicated—"

"Ki." Just my name, but weighted with so much emotion I had to look up. His eyes held pain and wonder in equal measure. "How did you know?"

A laugh escaped, brittle as old paint. "You weren't exactly subtle.

The way you looked at me when you thought no one was watching.

Like I was a puzzle you were trying to solve or a song you were trying to memorize.

How you always found excuses to be wherever I was—suddenly needing to borrow tools when Alex and I studied at the garage, showing up at the diner where I worked even though it was twenty minutes from your apartment. "

His neck flushed red, but I wasn't done. The truth demanded its due after three years of silence.

"That butterfly you kept? The monarch with the wrong colors?

" My fingers found the spot over his heart where I imagined he'd carried it.

"I drew that the night I realized I was falling for the wrong brother.

Purple and blue because I couldn't stand to make it normal when everything I felt was anything but normal. "

"Jesus, Ki."

"I used to write 'Kiara Moreno' in my notebooks," I confessed, each word scraping my throat raw.

"But not for Alex. Never that, even when we were supposedly happy.

Just . . . yours. Like my subconscious knew before my brain caught up.

I'd fill entire margins with it during lectures, then tear out the pages and burn them in the dorm bathroom sink because evidence of wanting you felt like betrayal. "

Something shattered in his expression. He cupped my face with shaking hands, thumbs brushing my cheekbones like he was trying to memorize the bone structure underneath.

"I was with Alex," I continued, needing him to understand. "I'd made a commitment. Even when things got bad, even when he started using, I couldn't just jump to his brother. What kind of person would that make me?"

"The kind who deserved better than what he was giving you," Gabe said roughly.

"I used to catch myself wishing," I admitted, the deepest shame of all.

"When he'd pass out drunk, when he'd disappear for days on benders, I'd catch myself wishing it was you in my bed.

You holding me. You promising things would get better.

How sick is that? Fantasizing about my boyfriend's twin while trying to keep him from destroying himself? "

"Don't." The word came out sharp, pained. "Please don't call yourself sick for wanting something good."

But I needed to finish, needed to purge every secret before they poisoned whatever we were building.

"The night before you left for basic, I saw your truck outside our apartment.

Two in the morning, just sitting there with the engine off.

I stood at the window for an hour, trying to find courage to go down.

To say something. Anything. But my feet wouldn't move. "

Gabe's whole body went rigid. When he spoke, his voice came out wrecked.

"I sat out there trying to find words. Any words.

Ran through a hundred speeches about why you should leave him, why you deserved better, why I .

. ." He swallowed hard. "But you were his.

Whatever else I am, I'm not the guy who steals his brother's girl.

So I sat there like a coward, memorizing the light in your window, then drove to the recruiter's office as soon as they opened. "

"You weren't a coward," I said fiercely. "You were honorable. Even when it hurt."

"Honor." He laughed, bitter and broken. "I fell for you the day you drew butterflies on my cast sophomore year.

Remember? I'd broken my wrist in that stupid bike accident, and you spent twenty minutes turning the plain white into this garden of color.

Every time I looked at it for six weeks, I thought about your hands on my skin, how careful you were with the tender parts. "

My eyes burned. I remembered that day—Alex complaining I was taking too long, that butterflies were gay, that I was babying his brother. But Gabe had sat perfectly still, watching me work with this expression like I was creating magic instead of just doodling on fiberglass.

"I told myself it would fade," he continued.

"Teenage crush, proximity infatuation, whatever.

But three years in the desert and I still dreamed about your smile.

That little crinkle you get by your eyes when something really amuses you.

The way you bite your lip when you're concentrating.

How you used to hum while you cooked, like you didn't realize you were doing it. "

"I haven't hummed in years," I admitted quietly.

His arms tightened around me. "I know. I noticed yesterday when you were helping with inventory. You used to hum 'Blackbird' when you were content. The silence . . . it's loud, Ki."

That he'd noticed, that he'd cataloged my silence as something missing rather than just accepting who I'd become, broke something open in my chest. Years of careful distance, geographic and emotional, and we'd both still been carrying this thing between us.

Butterfly wings in a wallet. A name written in margins.

Two people circling each other like binary stars, unable to touch but unable to break free either.

"What a waste," I whispered. "All that time . . ."

"Not wasted," he corrected gently. "We weren't ready then. I had to learn who I was outside of my brother's shadow. You had to get free, find your own strength. Maybe we needed those three years to become who we are now."

"Broken people in a pink princess room?"

"Healing people," he corrected. "In a safe space where you can be all of yourself. Where I can be the man I've always wanted to be for you."

I shifted in his lap, facing him fully now, and watched his pupils dilate as I brought my hands up to frame his face. This close, I could see flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the faint scar through his left eyebrow from a childhood accident Alex had caused.

"Ki," he breathed, but I was already leaning in.

I tasted his lips for the first time.

I’d never been kissed like this before.

The world around us faded into nothingness as the warmth of his mouth against mine sparked a fire deep within me. His hand cradled my face, fingers gentle yet firm, as if he was afraid I might disappear if he held me too tightly.

When I rocked against him, he groaned into my mouth, and I felt the sound everywhere. My whole body had gone hypersensitive, aware of every point of contact between us. The soft carpet under my knees. His solid warmth beneath me. The way his breathing had gone ragged.

"Baby girl," he said against my lips, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. "Are you sure? We don't have to—"

"I've wanted you since I was seventeen," I interrupted, the truth flowing easier than breath. "Even when I couldn't have you. Especially then. Please, Daddy. I need—"

His control cracked visibly. "What do you need, baby? Tell Daddy."

"You." Simple as that. "Just you."