I nod woodenly. “Okay.”
He walks me in the front door of Curated and leads me to the sofa. I collapse onto it, but the tears don’t come like I thought they would. I’m just ... empty.
Gabriel waves at Hal and says something to him, but the white noise in my head drowns them out.
My father doesn’t give a damn about me. I might as well be a stranger on the street.
It hurts, but the parts of my heart that used to feel like they would bleed from that knowledge are numb. Or maybe they’re getting harder? Either way, I couldn’t cry if I tried.
Gabriel locks the front door and comes to sit next to me on the couch, pulling me onto his lap. He holds me there, rocking me against his bare chest, while I sit in silence for long moments.
“Did he break me?” I whisper the question. “Because I can’t cry.”
Gabriel shifts and tilts my chin up toward his face with his knuckles. “No one could break you, ladybug. Not your ex. Not your father. Not me. No one. You’re too fucking strong to let any man do that. You hear me? You are a fucking warrior, and this shit might hurt like a motherfucker, but it will not break you.”
I swallow, processing his words. “How is it possible not to care about your only child?”
Gabriel looks down at me with knowledge in his gaze that stabs at the unguarded part of my heart.
“I don’t know, but if we get to the point where we have kids, they will never know anything but love from both of us. They will never feel the things we’ve felt, ladybug. The cycle ends here. I swear that on my life.”
Seventeen
Legend
I’mbeyond sore after two days of training, but I’m so fucking excited about Jeb’s plan of attack for taking on Bodhi that I don’t even mind. I welcome the burn and the ache. It meansprogress.Getting ready for a fight this big in such a short period of time felt overwhelming until I had a team on my side that knew how to win and wouldn’t stop at anything to get me where I need to be. Protesting muscles aside, I feel amazing when I walk into my office at the club.
Except, I don’t even make it through an hour of work before Q is in my doorway.
“You’ve got a meeting you need to take.”
“When?”
“Now. You’re being summoned.”
I look past him, into the hall, but I don’t see anyone else. “By who? What the hell are you talking about?”
He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. “There’s a black car out front that’s here to take you to the Upper Ten to meet with Creighton Karas.”
I lean back in my desk chair and shake my head. “That’s not how shit works. I’m nobody’s lapdog. I don’t come when I’m called.”
Q shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “You really want me to send him away and tell him you’re too busy?”
The very idea of beingsummonedpushes all my fucking buttons. Then I remember—I did this to myself when I asked for other people’s money. I may walk around thinking I’m beholden to no one, but that’s not the truth. Not once I brought on investors to make the club happen.
I look down at my sweats and T-shirt. They’re clean since I changed into them after my shower at the gym, but they sure as hell aren’t up to the dress code of Legend or the Upper Ten, the most exclusive cigar bar in the city, run by none other than Cannon Freeman.
“This is some shit, man. But if he wants me, then he’s going to get me.” I push off the arms of my chair and rise to my feet. I take a few steps toward Q, and he holds up a palm.
“Tell me you’re not going like that. You’ve got a suit here somewhere. I know you do.”
“No. This is me. If that’s not good enough for Creighton Karas, then he can go fuck himself.”
Q pales beneath that swarthy Puerto Rican skin of his. “He’s a fucking billionaire and one of our biggest investors, Gabe. You’ve got to at least pretend to show him some respect.”
“Like he’s doing by sending a car to pick me up like I’m a kid at day care? I don’t think so.”
His head falls to the side, and his shoulders slump. “They won’t even let you through the front door of that place in sweats. It’ll be a wasted trip.”