Page 78 of Possessive Sinner
"You won't," he pronounces quietly. Like it's a fact. Like he's decided it for me.
For some unfathomable reason, that helps. A little. I lean my head back against the seat. Breathe. In. Out. Focus. On the things I need to do. Real things. Normal things.
"I need to call the bank," my voice sounds steadier now. "And the vet. Mom's cats?—"
My throat tightens. Pete was the one who always reminded me of these things. Handled things. Grounded me. A sharp ache cuts through my chest.
"And…" I swallow. "The funeral."
The word feels foreign. Wrong. Like it doesn't belong in my life.
"I need to call Kelly," I add quietly. "She'll know what to do."
Silence settles for a beat. Then I turn my head. Look at Gabe. He's calm. Focused. Like none of this touches him. Like death is just… part of the day.
"Have you heard anything from the cops?" I ask. My voice wavers slightly. "I need to… to get Pete's funeral arranged."
Saying it out loud makes it real. Too real. My fingers tighten in his again. And this time, I don't even pretend it's an accident.
"You don't need to worry about any of that," Gabe assures me, calm as ever. "It'll be handled."
Handled. Like Pete's life. Like his death. Like everything can just be… taken care of. Before I can respond, my phone rings. Mom. I answer immediately.
"Mom?"
"Where are you?" she demands. No hello. No hesitation. "They're letting me go. Come and get me. I need to see my cats."
I close my eyes for a second, then I glance at Gabe. He's already watching me. Already listening. He nods at me, having overheard Mom. It's hard not to, even when the phone isn't on speaker. He leans forward and murmurs something to the driver. The car shifts direction.
"We're on our way," I tell her.
I hear a sharp inhale. "So it'swenow?" her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Pete's body isn't even cold."
The words hit like a slap. Sharp, mean, and unfair. My hand rips out of Gabe's without me even realizing I'm doing it. His fingers tighten for half a second—like he might hold on—then he lets me go. I don't look at him. I can't. My head is pounding. I don't have space for this. Not now. Not from her.
"Mom—"
"Whoever killed Pete is after me now," she cuts in, her voice rising, frantic, but still edged with accusation. "What kind of trouble did you get us all into?"
My stomach drops. That familiar twist. Guilt. Anger. Exhaustion. All crashing together.
"Wasn't it enough that Pete was killed?" she continues. "Now you want me dead too?"
Something in my chest cracks. Not clean. Jagged. Painful.
"I didn't do anything," I defend myself, but even to my own ears it sounds weak. Hollow. Like I'm trying to convince myself more than her. Because what did I do? What didn't I see? Pete?—
God, Pete?—
My throat tightens. I force the words out anyway. "I'm coming to get you," I say, firmer now. "Just… wait there."
She huffs something under her breath. Something about cats. About how no one listens. Then hangs up. Silence fills the car. Heavy. Thick. I stare at the phone in my hand. My reflection stares back at me from the dark screen. Gabe doesn't say anything. But I can feel it. The shift in him. The tension. The judgment he's not voicing. It hangs there, thick and heavy between us. Unspoken.
"She's not always like that," I defend her quietly.
I don't even know why I say it. Maybe because I need him to understand. Maybe because I needsomeoneto.
"Uh-huh." That's all he says.
