“Baby what's the matter?” He asked lifting me up to sit in his lap when my tears didn't stop. I wept for him and my pa-pa. Both had fallen prey to a very evil man. He wiped my eyes with his big fingers.
“Talk to me, why you crying like this?”
“Because…” I muttered when my tears had finally stopped for the second time that day.
“Because what?”
“Your mom told me about your dad and how he hurt you.” My words were low. He looked down at me, and for just a moment his eyes turned cold.
“Did she?” Even his words had gone cold. I sat up in his lap.
“Gabe I'm so sorry for what you went through. I wish I could have been there to protect you.” He sat back in his chair. My words brought a smile to his face.
“And how would you have protected me sweetheart?” He lifted his hand and gently rubbed my neck. I turned into his embrace.
“Would you have hit my father across the head with your grandmother’s old lamp?”
Chapter 15
Tell Me Your Secrets and I’ll Tell You Mine
Yasmin
“Oh my God!” He knew!
I made to jump up off his lap, but he wrapped his arm around my waist stopping me. My heart was now beating so hard that it literally felt painful. I pushed at his chest, needing to be free.
“Let me go!” I cried trying to break away from him, but he grabbed my hands holding them down in my lap as he studied me with those eyes of his that missed nothing.
“Let’s play a game baby.” I frowned at him, confused. What the world was he talking about? Now was not the time for games.
“What are you talking about?”
He smiled. “Let’s play, you tell me your secrets and I'll tell you mine.”
I stopped struggling, eyeing him suspiciously. Was he suggesting that if I told him what happened that night, he would really tell me about his father? He must’ve seen the doubt on my face.
“I tell you what… I'll go first.” He sat back in his chair, keeping one hand around my waist while using the other to roll a golden pen that was on his desk underneath his finger.
“Yeah, it's true. My dad beat the sh*t out of me, often. He claimed it was in the name of making me a man. But I knew it was just because he was an evil bastard and always needed somebody to abuse. So when there was nobody else around, the job was mine.”
I relaxed into his touch. I couldn't believe he was opening up; talking to me about what everybody around here seemed so tight-lipped about.
“When I was seven, he put a gun in my hand and told me to shoot this man that had been stealing from him in the head. I cried because I didn't want to kill him. He took the gun from me and beat me in the head with the butt of it until I had blood pouring down my face. Then he put the gun back in my hand, and pulled out another gun holding it to my head.”
As he spoke, he stared off into the distance. I know this was hard for him because he was now clutching my overalls at my side in his fist.
“He said if I didn't shoot that man, he was going to shoot me.”
My eyes got wide. This is horrible! It’s worse than I thought. He looked at me.
“The first time I killed a man, I was seven years old.”
“Oh Gabe!” I cried wrapping my arms around his neck squeezing him as tight as I could. He chuckled.
“That wasn't even the worst of it. My father hated me, and I didn't know why.”
“What happened with your mom? Did she later realize she was wrong and tried to get you back from your father?”
He held his head back and laughed without any humor. “Hell no! Her daddy told her he would cut her off if she ever tried to come for me. My mother was used to a certain lifestyle and she wasn't prepared to lose it, not even for me.”
I rubbed my fingers gently against his strong neck. His words didn't sit well with me. That didn't sound like the Gabrielle I knew.
“How do you know that's what happened?” I asked him quietly.
He grunted. “I know it's hard for you to believe, but it’s true. When I was sixteen I ran away from my father. Kenny helped me, and Mac get plane tickets to Puerto Rico. You see, at that time I believed that it was my pop’s who was keeping my mother out my life. I had convinced myself that she used to try and call and write letters and he would just throw them all away before I could see them.” He looked down at the golden pen he rolled under his finger and chuckled dryly.
“Look at that Yas, at one point in time she had me fooled too.”
“What happened when you made it to Puerto Rico?”
He shook his head. “My grandfather flew into a rage. He acted like I was a piece of dog sh*t standing on his doorstep. He told her to get me out of here. She hugged and kissed me, and told me how much she missed me. Then she called my father who showed up to get me the next day. He nearly put me in the hospital over that. I still have the scar from that day.” He lifted his shirt up over his muscled abs and chest. Using his hand he felt for something on his shoulder right next to his upper peck.
I knew the scar he was looking for. It started there on his shoulder and ran down his back. I had noticed it the other day when I was inspecting his tattoo a little closer. The tissue on that shoulder looked as if he had been burned. Moving his hand
