Free Gabrielle by Lucy Kevin Page A

I remembered that I hadn’t told him the complete truth about my family yet.
    About my own damage.
    And yet, here I was telling him to trust me with his.
    â€œNo,” he said. “I can’t.”
    Stung, I automatically said, “You don’t think you can trust me?”
    He shook his head. “I do, Gabi. It’s not that. It’s just that you don’t need to be dragged into my shit. Especially you. You’re so good. So pure. This is exactly why I tried to stay away from you. Because you don’t need to know how crappy the world really is.”
    Wow. He sure had a way of building up and drawing out the mystery.
    Softly, I said, “Whatever it is that’s going on, you have to talk to somebody.”
    â€œI’ve been dealing with it by myself for this long. I’ll be okay.”
    â€œIt doesn’t have to be that way, Dylan.” This time I did reach across the table and take his hands in mine. Three “dates” in and we were already way past coy. Way past flirtatious. “I’m here. I care about you. Talk to me.”
    His fingers stiffened beneath mine before relaxing. He scanned the restaurant then returning his attention back to me.
    Speaking quietly, he said, “I was giving a statement.” At my confused look, he explained,
    â€œTo the police and some lawyers.”
    I couldn’t have hid the shock on my face if I had tried. “Why? What happened?”
    â€œMy dad tried to kill my mom. That’s why we moved out here.”
    â€œMy God,” I gasped. “That’s horrible.”
    â€œYeah. At least she finally agreed to leave.”
    I couldn’t wrap my head around what he was saying, not even when he added, “I’m the reason she didn’t die.”
    Every one of my senses was on alert, but only with regard to Dylan. The restaurant, the waitress, the whirring blenders behind the bar had all fallen away. All I could see were Dylan’s green eyes, the pupils dilating and pushing out the color. All I could feel was the tension in his hands beneath mine. All I could hear was the rush of my own breath, my heart beating hard.
    I’d heard his last sentence— I’m the reason she didn’t die— but I didn’t understand it. Had his father stopped hurting his mother because Dylan had walked into the room?
    Or was it way worse than that?
    The answer was written on Dylan’s face: It was worse.
    â€œWhat happened?” I asked again, hating the tentative note in my voice, hating that he might think I was too afraid to hear what he had to say. Even if I was.
    Unfortunately he picked up on my reluctance to know more loud and clear. “Forget it, Gabi.”
    Before I knew it, he’d thrown down several twenties on the table and was leaving the restaurant. Shoving my chair back, I went after him, but he was fast and I practically had to run to catch him at the corner.
    â€œDylan, stop!”
    I didn’t think he was going to at first, but then as I stepped beside him, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m not used to talking about this.”
    I slid my fingers through his, my heart aching for him. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
    â€œFirst girl I’ve ever really liked and I’m screwing it up.”
    A glow infused me. He liked me. He really liked me.
    â€œYou’re not. Not at all.” I squeezed his hand. “And you don’t have to be worried about telling me the rest. I’m not going anywhere.”
    The light had changed from red to green and back to red as we stood on the corner.
    â€œCome on,” he said, pulling me across the street and up to a badly painted dark red door. He knocked on it three times.
    A big, scary-looking guy opened it, saying, “Who out there?” in a rough voice.
    I started in surprise, in fear, but as soon as the enormous, heavily tattooed and pierced man saw Dylan, his expression