This is Love, Baby(38)

I move my gaze from Brandon’s stormy one, and look over to one of my arms which he is still squeezing. His movements are jerky when he releases me and takes a step back, almost as if he hadn’t even realized he was holding me so tight.

“Fine. I just want out of this cabin. We can figure out the rest once we’re on the road.”

A smile lights up his face and he nods. I leave the room so he can pack up and spend the next few minutes standing near the hole in the kitchen. The cellar door is still closed and latched. A part of me wants to pull it open—to peer into the dark abyss. I would almost expect him to be standing there with his arms crossed over his bulky chest waiting for me to toss him the rope so he can climb out. But the little girl inside of me refuses to open that door. I know he won’t be standing there. He’ll be curled up and stiff in the same position as last night. And I can’t see him like that. I’m not strong enough to deal with the finality of it.

I shouldn’t feel remorse or sadness. I shouldn’t feel guilt. I shouldn’t feel as though I’ll burst into tears at any moment from having lost another person in my life.

A hot tear streaks down my cheek, though, and I let out a sob. Gabe had become a monster, but for ten years, he wasn’t. I know, deep down, he did love me. Even if that love was born of something sick. It doesn’t make sense to me but my heart still hurts.

I consider some of his last words to me. How he tried to warn me about Brandon being dangerous. It was almost laughable, considering the source—a source who stole an underage girl, forced her to have sex with him, sold her, only to later shoot and kill the person he sold her to. Gabe took and took and took. But in that moment, he gave. And in his final moments, he gave too. When he told me he was sorry. What it all means, I may never know.

Swiping away my tear, I shake my head. These are the pregnancy hormones talking. It probably meant nothing. It was probably just another one of his twisted head games. There’s no way I’m going to mourn the loss of Gabriel Sharpe. He took my innocence, took my love, and who knows what else?

All he gave me in exchange was heartache and pain.

And the monster he created.

He gave me the dragon.

He gave me Brandon.




“Where are we going?” I question as we hit the expressway that will take us to San Francisco.

“I thought I could take you shopping and that we could stay in one of those boutique hotels that overlook the Golden Gate Bridge. I’d always planned on taking you there for your eighteenth birthday. But then…” His voice cracks and I risk a glance at him. His features are more innocent and reminiscent of the boy I knew. Maybe he needed out of that cabin too because now, in his truck with the sun filtering in through the windshield, he looks like the Brandon I remember.

“Then Gabe ruined it all. I know,” I say with a frustrated sigh. “We’re going to look for my dad there too, right?”

He lets out deep breath. “Of course we are. Is that okay?”

Nodding, I reach into my purse and pull out the picture of my parents that Brandon had given to me. Mom is stunning as usual and my dad is fierce and handsome. My eyes glitter with innocence in the photo, and I miss the girl I once was. An ache forms in my chest as I realize I have nothing to remember War by. No pictures. No trinkets. Nothing.

“That was quick,” he says with a smirk. “You and your love for presents.”

I laugh and bounce on the bed beside him, careful not to touch him. Once I’m settled, he opens his palm up to me. Inside are two rose gold earrings in the shape of a heart with a letter B inside.

“These are pretty,” I say softly and open my palm to him so he can drop them into my hand.

He flashes me a shy smile as he gives them to me. “That first day, when you longingly stared out at the ocean and wrote your initial with a heart around it on the foggy glass, I’d been a little fucked in the head about you marring my clean glass. But then…”

“I don’t even remember doing that. It used to drive Dad crazy when I’d write on the windows of his car but Mom always said they were little Baylee notes left all over, and that he should appreciate them.” My voice wobbles and I choke down the swell of emotion thinking about her causes.

“Well, I did appreciate it. For once, I didn’t want the perfection,” he says, “I wanted something better than perfection. I wanted you.”

My fingers trail up my neck and I gently touch the earrings he gave me. Tears blur the world around me, but a smile forms on my lips. His sweet gift and his child. What more could I ask for besides his warm, strong presence? It would have to do. I would have to do this. For him. For us.