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“You’re going to love it. It’s masculine without being so over the top...” my words fade as I take in the figure standing on my doorstep. My heart immediately starts racing.
Three days have gone by without seeing this man, and the moment my eyes land on him a feeling of peace washes over me.
“Do you know him?” Andrew asks, but I don’t answer because something is off.
I quickly open my door and slide out.
“Summer, wait,” Andrew calls out to me.
I, in fact, do not wait. Instead, I rush up the stairs.
“Oh my god, Gabriel,” I call out as I get a better view of him.
His black hoodie is covered in something wet. After glancing down at the dark red stains on his jeans, I’m assuming it’s blood on the hoodie. He has a new red scar over his eye and his knuckles look like he’s been in a battle with a brick wall.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he stares down at me. I don’t know what he’s apologizing for. My concern right now is making sure none of this blood is his.
“Is that blood?” I had no idea Andrew followed me out the car.
I turn around to find him standing behind me.
“No. It’s paint.” I say quickly even though it doesn’t look anything like paint. I turn back to Gabriel trying to see if there are any injuries on his large body.
He cups my face with his bloody hands, those gorgeous eyes seem in so much pain. “I’m sorry.” He says again. “You’re not a distraction. Neither is Gabe.”
I had already come to terms with why Gabriel said what he said. Hearing him apologize does mend my hurt feelings, but seeing the pained and frazzled look in his eyes as he pleads with me to forgive him, has me folding like a cheap lawn chair.
“It’s okay. I forgive you.”
He shuts his eyes, and his shoulders drop as if a weight has been lifted off them.
“Summer, maybe we should call the cops,” Andrew says behind me.
In his defense, if I would have pulled up to his house and a woman was standing on the front porch in blood-soaked clothes looking like she’s been to hell and back, I’d have the same response.
“No, everything is fine,” I try to make the situation a little less awkward. “He’s an artist.”
The look Andrew gives me tells me he’s not buying the shit I’m trying to sell. He takes a step toward me, grabbing my arm in a gentle way as if he’s trying to pull me away.
However, before I can advise him against touching me right now, Gabriel grabs his arm, twists it around his back and has him in a rear naked choke hold. Something I only know about because Mr. James and Trina host MMA fight nights at their house.
Andrew’s glasses are skewed on his reddening face. He tries to gasp for help but can’t quite get the words out.
“Gabriel, it’s okay. Let him go.”
Gabriel’s green eyes narrow, but his hold on Andrew does not relinquish.
“Please, let him go.”
This time, he releases Andrew and steps back. Andrew bends at the waist fighting to breathe. I step forward to help him, but Gabriel’s growled “Don’t” has me stepping back.
“Take slow deep breaths,” I encourage Andrew.
He glares at me. “Who is this guy?” he asks in a raspy voice.
“This is Gabriel, my son’s father.”
Never has someone’s face gone from anger to pure horror and shock in such a short time.
