The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater [62]
Brian takes my arm, not gently, and gestures with his other hand to the back of the pub. Then he turns to the man and says, “It sure is. So, now, John. What do you think of this tide coming in? Due for a storm?”
I know a rescue effort when I see one, so I push farther into the pub away from them. I search the back of the pub and there, in the corner booth, is Gabe. He’s leaned forward, a pint in front of him, long fingers spread like a spider on the table as he makes some point. When he laughs, even without hearing him, his expression looks looser and coarser than I remember. Anger snakes through me.
Brian’s still covering for me, so I surge through the smoke and stand beside Gabe’s chair at his shoulder. I wait for him to notice me; Tommy Falk — damnable co-conspirator — across the table has already seen me and smiled prettily. But Gabe keeps gesturing.
“Gabe,” I say. I feel, annoyingly, like a child standing at the arm of Dad’s chair, interrupting him from reading the paper.
He turns. I can’t tell if his expression is guilty. Now that I look, I don’t think it is at all. He says, just this, “Oh, Puck.”
“Yes, oh, Puck.”
“I can’t believe you’re riding in the races,” Tommy breaks in. He has two empty glasses in front of him and so all of the words become one effortless word, no real pauses, just s sounds between them. “Saw you there that first day. First girl ever. Here’s to us.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Gabe says, but he’s jovial. His breath smells like alcohol.
“You’re drunk,” I say.
Gabe glances at Tommy, then back to me. “Don’t be stupid, Kate. It’s one drink.”
“Dad didn’t want you to drink. You told him you wouldn’t!”
“You’re being hysterical.”
But I don’t feel hysterical. “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay.” Gabe doesn’t move. The way he’s sitting, I can tell that he’s very aware of Tommy watching, and he’s working the conversation to make himself look clever.
I lean over to say, “Privately.”
The thing that is hurting me the most is the look on his face. One eyebrow raised, as if he still thinks that I am overreacting.
He lifts one palm toward the ceiling. “There isn’t really a place to be private here. Can’t it hold?”
I put my hand on his arm and grip his shirt. “No. Not anymore. I need to talk now.”
“I guess I’m going, Tommy. I’ll be back.”
“You show him, Puck!” Tommy says, with a fist punch into the air. Right at that moment, I despise Tommy and every bit of prettiness about him. I don’t even look at him. Instead, I lead Gabe toward the door at the very back of the pub. It’s a tiny toilet that smells a little like recent vomit. I shove the door shut behind him. I wish I had a moment to collect my thoughts, to remember exactly how I wanted to confront him, but I seem to have shut everything I wanted to say outside of the room.
“This is cozy,” Gabe says. A mirror the size of a book is hung above the sink, and I’m glad I can’t see myself in it.
“Where have you been?”
Gabe eyes me as if the question is a ridiculous one. “Working.”
“Working? All the time? All night?”
Gabriel shifts his weight, stares at the ceiling. “I haven’t been gone all night. Is that all this is about?”
It wasn’t all it was about, but I can’t remember what exactly it was that I was going to shout at him. My thoughts are scattered and gritty underneath my feet. I can only remember clearly my desire to hit him in the eye, and then all of a sudden, the most important thing comes back to me. “Benjamin Malvern came to the house this week.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm! He said he’s going to take the house!” “Ah.”
“Ah! Why didn’t you tell us?” I ask. I hate that I am still clutching his arm. But how do I know that he won’t leave without my fingers on him?
“How could I?” Gabe replies. He’s dismissive. “Finn would go crazy and fret himself to death and you would become hysterical.”
“I would not,” I snap. I’m not sure if I’m hysterical right now. Everything I’ve said seems logical to me, but my voice feels a little out of control.
“Clearly.”
“We deserved to be told, Gabriel!”
“What good would it do?