Sophie

“I DO NOT NEED to be here,” Gabriel announces. “Get this IV out of my arm.” Gabriel Scott: worst patient ever. I should have expected as much.

Brenna apparently thinks the same. “Shut up and take your medicine, Colossus.”

He narrows his eyes in warning. “Colossus?”

Brenna gives him a cheeky look. “You know, the Colossus of Rhodes? One of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. They say when it fell, it was quite the spectacle.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpans.

But I laugh, grateful for the emotion. I was terrified when he fainted. Gabriel is eternal in my eyes. Superman in a tailored suit. He cannot topple. To see him take a step and suddenly crumple to the ground as if the strings of life had been cut is a sight I never want to witness again.

Now, he sits stiff and pissed off on our bed, because, according to Brenna, Kill John and company have a strict, no-alerting-the-press-by- going-to-the-hospital-unless-you’re-truly-dying rule. One that pissed me off when my man was lying prone on the floor, but in hindsight, I can

appreciate it. I know for a fact that Gabriel would have gone ballistic if he’d woken in a hospital room.

He’s so pissy now that he’s scared away the guys. Only Brenna and I remain. I’m guessing this is because Gabriel never yells at women.

There’s a light knock on the bedroom door, and Dr. Stern lets herself in. She is the band’s on-call physician. Apparently she’s been going on tour with Kill John for years. I met her once—she keeps to herself and flies to all the cities instead of using a coach.

Elegant yet down to earth, she reminds me of the Upper West Side moms who work full time but still take their kids to the Museum of Natural History on Sundays.

“How is my patient doing?”

“Annoyed.” Gabriel lifts his arm. “Would you please remove this?”

The doctor is immune to his evil glare. “When it’s finished. You mind telling me how you felt before you fainted?”

“As though I were about to faint but hoped very much it wouldn’t happen.”

“Stubborn,” I mutter under my breath.

Dr. Stern nods. “And have you felt this way before?”

A mulish expression mars Gabriel’s face. When he doesn’t speak, Brenna stands. “I’m gonna head out.”

As soon as she leaves, Dr. Stern asks him the question again. With a sigh, he answers. “Yes.”

“How many times, Scottie?” she persists. “And for how long?” Seconds tick by.

“Since the beginning of the tour. On and off, perhaps ten times. I didn’t count.”

“Jesus,” I blurt out, getting up from my seat and pacing to the window before rounding on him. “What the hell, Gabriel?”

He won’t meet my eyes.

Dr. Stern sighs. “I’d say you’re extremely stressed and overworked.

Have you been sleeping well?”

A faint flush hits his cheeks. “Not lately.” God, it’s my turn to blush.

“You need more than a good night’s sleep, Scottie. In fact, I’d prescribe a long vacation.”

“I’ll go on holiday when the tour is over.”

The promise does not sound very convincing.

Dr. Stern apparently feels the same. “You’re ignoring your health, which is never a good thing.”

“I have not ignored the situation,” he snaps. “Christ, I was willing to turn my life upside down to get a proper night’s sleep—”

He abruptly shuts up and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shit.” “By asking me to room with you,” I finish for him.

His gaze slides to mine, and I see him wince. “Are you upset?” he asks. “Why should I be? You told me from the beginning me why you wanted

me there.”

He can’t hide the flinch of surprise. But he doesn’t say a word, just eyes me as if waiting for me to explode.

I laugh. “How could I be mad about that? I’m the one you needed. If I’m honest, it kind of melts me.”

He begins to smile.

“But I am pissed at you.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” he bursts out, lifting his hands in exasperation, as he turns to the doctor. “You see? Lei è completamente pazza.”

Whatever he said makes Dr. Stern chuckle.

I glare at both of them, stalking over to his bedside. “Don’t you go yammering off in Italian. I don’t care if it sounds like hot, buttered sex; I’m still pissed.”

Gabriel shakes his head. “Why are you angry? I don’t understand.”

“You never told me how badly you were suffering, you stubborn ass. You let it get to this point.” I lean in until we’re nose to nose. “I care about you. I don’t want to see you faint like that ever again.”

“Trust me, Darling, I’m not planning on fainting like that ever again.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me, when you refuse to see a doctor when you’re feeling ill? You can’t control everything, you know.”

My answer is his stubborn chin lifting and his lush mouth flattening. But I see the flash of fear in his eyes before he conceals it. I’ve been so worried, I missed the signs. He’s terrified right now. I glance at Dr. Stern.

“May we have a moment?” “Certainly.”

As soon as she leaves, I sit by Gabriel’s side and take his hand. It’s cold and clammy. “Talk to me.”

His thumb runs along my knuckles. “There’s nothing to talk about.” “Do I need to do some cuddle therapy here?”

His eyes meet mine, and I see the weariness in them. He clearly thought he’d hidden his feelings well and good. It makes me smile, sadly.

“I know you, sunshine. We might as well be on a plane right now.” I squeeze his fingers. “You are not all right.”

With a sigh, he rests against the headboard. His throat moves on a swallow. “I hate doctors.”

“Dr. Stern is very nice.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Not in that way. Bugger…I didn’t get myself checked out because I hate seeing a doctor.” Blue eyes filled with pain meet mine. “My mum… She was fatigued, always sleeping. Fainting spells.”

I go ice cold. “You think you might…”

I don’t say the words. I can’t. I will not give them credence. But I crawl into bed and wrap myself around him.

He leans into my touch. “I fear it. I always have.”

I see the effort it takes for him to admit that, and I snuggle in closer. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes back, his lips pressing to the top of my head.

“Do the tests, Gabriel.” When he tenses, I push on. “It worries you, and that makes everything worse. Do them and get that fear out of the way.”

He doesn’t say a word, just breathes against my hair, his hand clutching my shoulder.

I raise my head. “If it were me, what would you say?” “To take the bloody tests,” he grumbles.

I kiss his lips. “I will not leave you. Ever.”

He must see the determination in my eyes, because he gives a short nod.

When we call in Dr. Stern and tell her his concerns, she calls the nearby hospital and sets up a few tests.

IT TAKES two days for the results to come back. Two days of Gabriel stomping around like a snarling bear to hide the fact that he’s terrified. Two days of me distracting him with sex and holding him tight when he sleeps to hide that I’m terrified.

Nothing gets done, despite Gabriel’s insistence that everyone go about their business. At the moment, he is the top priority, whether he likes it or not.

On the day the doctor is supposed to call, I outright give up trying to pretend I’m okay. I don’t bother getting out of my PJs but sit in a chair and flip through a magazine, seeing absolutely nothing.

Somehow Brenna, Rye, Jax, Killian, and Libby find ways to be near him too. They’ve all ended up in our suite sitting around as well. It’s as if we’re all waiting, circling our wagons. And oddly, Gabriel doesn’t send anyone away. He might not admit it, but he needs his friends.

Silence settles over us so thickly it’s choking.

When Gabriel’s cell finally rings, I think we all jump out of our skin a little. I stop breathing all together for a moment. I can’t move. Gabriel answers, his voice low. And when I can’t hear what’s being said, I go to him, take his cold hand in mine. My heart pounds so loudly, I hear it reverberating in my ears.

A tremor goes through him, and his hand jerks. My breath hitches.

When he hangs up, everyone stares at him. The silence grows, and then he finally speaks. “All clear.”

I sob and throw myself into his arms. Around us, the guys and Brenna are talking, laughing—I’m not even sure. There’s only Gabriel for me at the moment, the sound of his pounding heart, the faint dampness of his shirt, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat of his body.

He holds me so tightly, my ribs ache. But the hug is over soon, and he sets me away and stalks over to the window. He doesn’t fool me. I see the sheen of sweat on his brow and the way his hand trembles before he tucks it into his pocket.

Jax speaks up first. “That settles it, then. You’re taking a vacation.” Gabriel doesn’t bother looking our way. “No.”

“Ah, yeah you are,” Killian snaps. “And if you say no again, I swear I’ll clock you one. I don’t care if you can kick my ass or not.”

Gabriel snorts and turns to face us, his cold mask firmly back in place. “I do not need—”

“Stern literally said you need a vacation, Scottie,” Whip cuts in, looking pissed. “So stop messing around.”

All the signs of an imminent blow up are rising in Gabriel: eyes going icy, cheeks flushing, nostrils flaring. But his voice remains calm. “There’s too much to do.”

“Jules can handle it.” Brenna gives a firm nod. “You told me yourself she’s getting on well. And everything is set, so all she needs to do is steer the boat, so to speak.”

His eyes narrow. “Yes, thank you for that observation, Brenna.” “You’re welcome.”

With a huff, he tugs at his cuffs. “Go on holiday. It’s absurd. Where would I even go?”

Rye laughs without humor. “You’re in Italy, for fuck’s sake. Laze around, eat good food, drink wine, fuck—”

“Do not finish that statement, Ryland.” Gabriel’s stare is suppressive. Rye shrugs. “You get my point.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” I pipe up.

Oh, but Gabriel looks at me as though I’m the worst traitor. I move closer and put my hand on his forearm. It’s like rock beneath his jacket. “Come on, sunshine. You’ve got the all clear. Let’s celebrate life, laze around like Rye suggests, and…” I grin wide. “Eat. We’ll hole up in the room, just you and me.”

“Nah.” Jax shakes his head. “He’ll find a way to slink off and work.” Whip nods. “Truth.”

“See?” Gabriel gestures toward them. “It is agreed.” “Go to your villa,” Killian says, firmly.

“You have a villa?” I picture wineries and rolling Tuscan hills.

Gabriel’s jaw bunches. “On the coast. In Positano.” He glares at Killian. “But it’s all closed up.”

“You can have it aired out with a call. Come on, man, try a little harder with your protests.”

“Arse.”

“It must be beautiful,” I say. With Gabriel’s sense of style, it’s probably perfect.

“We wouldn’t know,” Rye says with a dramatic sigh. “He never invites us anywhere.”

“Because I work, you git.”

Rye waggles his brows. “I bet you’d take Sophie.”

If looks could kill. “Sophie has to work too.”

Hurt makes my voice small. “You don’t want me to see your villa?”

Gabriel’s brows lift. “What? No. My home is your home, Sophie. I thought you knew that much.”

I smile at the tender reproach in his voice.

“Or take her to one of your other houses,” Jax puts in.

“How many houses do you have,” I ask, because, really? Gabriel glances away. “Five.”

Every time I feel I’ve finally got to know all there is about this man, he surprises me with more. “Where?”

With a long-suffering sigh, he answers. “The flat in New York. The townhouse in London. A flat in Paris.”

“The lodge in St. Moritz,” Brenna adds. “The villa in Positano,” Rye reminds us.

Gabriel’s gaze darts around, glaring, as if he can’t figure out how to stop them all from speaking but is dearly wishing he could.

“And didn’t you buy a place in Ireland last year?” Jax asks.

“Right,” Killian snaps his fingers. “That little cottage in County Clare.” “Near my place,” Whip says with a grin. “By the Cliffs of Insanity.” “They are the Cliffs of Moher,” Gabriel says with a grimace. “Christ,

you’re half Irish. Know your country.”

“Dude, whatever, the Cliffs of Insanity sounds way cooler.”

“So that’s six homes,” says Libby, who has been quiet this whole time. “Great gravy,” I mutter. I rent my place, and it is literally the size of a

walk-in closet.

The difference between our stations is staggering, and yet I can’t see him as anything other than mine.

Gabriel ducks his head and shrugs. “Property makes for a good investment.”

Jax saunters over and puts an arm around my shoulders. “Sophie girl, you don’t know the half of it. Scottie is a genius with money. Our boy here is solely responsible for all of us being obscenely rich, as opposed to mostly rich. Seriously, stick with him.”

I roll my eyes. “I’d stick with him if he was a pauper.”

Gabriel looks up and a quiet smile softens the hard edges of his expression. I return it, my heart beating a little faster. Relief that he isn’t terminally ill weakens my knees, and the lump has returned to my throat.

I will stay by his side in sickness, in health, the whole deal. Yet I’m so very glad that he’s safe, my voice comes out thick and husky. “Given that Positano is the only place we wouldn’t have to fly to, I vote we go there.”

His eyes search mine for a long moment. “Do you truly want to go?”

I could give him a hard time about trying to pawn this off as doing me a favor, but there’s something to be said for picking your battles. So I nod and give him the puppy eyes.

“Do this for me? Please, sunshine?”

He sighs, and his shoulders lower from their defensive stance. “All right, chatty girl. You win.”

“Awesome,” Jax says, lifting his hand for a high five. Gabriel doesn’t move.

“Always leaving me hanging.” Jax shakes his head.

“Just one thing.” Killian rises from his seat to face Gabriel. “You’re leaving your phone with Brenna.”

“What?” Gabriel snaps. “Absolutely not.”

Killian holds out his hand. “Give it up, Scott, and nobody gets hurt.” “Over my beaten and bloody body.”

The guys all stand, and Rye rolls his head, setting off a dozen cracks in his neck. “Fellas,” he says, flexing his hands, “let’s do this.”

And they do. They actually jump him.

The scuffle is a loud, curse-filled tangle of flailing limbs and grappling men.

It ends with a bloody lip for Rye, a poked eye for Jax, Killian without a shirt, Whip without a shoe, and Gabriel on the floor, suit rumpled and his precious phone spirited away by Brenna, who can run surprisingly fast in her heels.

“Bastards,” he mutters as they file out the door. “It’s for your own good,” Killian says.

“We love you too, Scottie boy,” Jax calls.

I kneel and kiss a scuff mark on Gabriel’s forehead. “Poor baby. I’ll make it better. I promise.”

He does not look appeased, but his lip quirks. “I’ll hold you to that.”