“True, but I’m half owner,” she admitted. “And I’m not letting you drink yourself to death. Chris’s murder wasn’t your fault.”
“The hell it wasn’t,” he snapped. “I should’ve been in there with Chris. I had been in there just two minutes before. If I’d been there when that asshole went in—”
“You’d probably be dead, too,” she interrupted, the horror of that possibility making her stomach roll with dread. She had to give herself a mental shake before she could continue. “Derrick Monroe went in that diner to kill a cop. It didn’t matter which cop. Chris just happened to be the one he chose.”
Gabe ran his hand over his hair. “D’you know Jessica went into labor when she found out? Gave birth to their baby girl.”
Elle nodded.
“Yeah?” He lifted his brows at her, then laughed. “Hell, what am I saying? Of course you know. You know everything.”
She stared at him for a long moment, wondering where the hell that was coming from. But then she shook her head, willing to cut him a little slack under the circumstances. “We’ll explore that bullshit comment later,” she assured him. “But you might be interested to know Billy Monroe gave me enough to get a warrant for his cousin. And he’s agreed to testify against Derrick. I’m going to put that son of a bitch away for what he’s done, Gabe. I promise. I want you to know that.”
“Why?” he countered.
She frowned at him. “Sorry? Why, what?”
“Why are you suddenly being nice to me?” he asked. “Normally, you avoid me like the fucking plague.”
“I’m just trying to be a friend,” she told him truthfully, not willing to go into why she’d kept him at arms’ length all these years, why she’d refused to let him get past her defenses despite all his advances. Why bother? Nothing she could say would make a difference. He wouldn’t change. So why should she?
He grunted. “Yeah, well, my friends have a way of meeting untimely ends, so you might as well save yourself the trouble.”
She pushed back from the table and stood, extending her hand to him, her heart twisting with pity. “C’mon, Dawson. Let me take you home. You’re going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”
He turned his aqua gaze up at her, studying her through lashes that were far too long and thick to be wasted on a man. “Shouldn’t you be on a date with douche-suit?”
She frowned, confused. “With who?”
He shook his head. “Mr. Multimillion-Dollar Deal. The asshole.”
She sighed. “He’s not an asshole.”
He gave her a pointed look, clearly conveying his opinion on the matter.
“Okay, fine. He’s an asshole,” she admitted. She’d already determined that without Gabe’s input. It’d been abundantly clear Chet was not the guy for her when he’d acted completely put out by the fact that she needed to go deal with a suspect in the murder of a cop. “But that’s not why I bailed on my date with him.”
He lifted his head, squinting as if trying to focus. “Yeah? Then why did you?”
“Because your brother Tom called me and said you’d told him to go to hell when he tried to take you home,” she confessed. “And then your brother Joe called to tell me you’d told him to fuck off and leave you alone. And then the bartender called and told me he didn’t feel comfortable telling a cop to leave. And, seeing as how my aunt Charlotte is out of town and can’t come in here to kick your ass out of our bar, they thought maybe I could manage it.”
Gabe blinked at her for a long moment, then finally said, “I’m sure I’d be able to come up with an appropriately sarcastic remark if I wasn’t so shitfaced right now. I’ll have to owe you one.”
She extended her hand. “Then you should probably take me up on that offer to drive you home. Maybe you’ll think of something on the way.”
*
Gabe was out cold in the front seat of Elle’s Accord, his forehead pressed against the passenger window as he snored softly. She glanced over at him, sympathy at what he must be going through softening the heart she kept trying to harden where he was concerned. He’d looked so forlorn, so lost and alone at the bar when she’d walked in, it was all she could do not to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, offering what solace she could.
She sighed and ran her hand through her thick, red curls. She hated to see him this way. It was far easier to pretend she couldn’t stand him when he was the usual cocky, swaggering jerk he’d been when she’d met him back in high school. She’d come to town to live with her aunt Charlotte after the death of her parents and sisters, and had been hard-pressed to keep from drooling like an idiot when the handsome teenage boy had shown up on her aunt’s doorstep, having been sent by his father to help move Elle in.
But he’d barely noticed her that day. Or ever, really.