Gabriella
Gabriella Montez felt absolutely ridiculous.
She could only pray no one she knew would ever see her like this, draped in a skintight ruby-red dress, makeup thick enough to hide her entire college transcript, and heels that felt like medieval torture devices. Her hair was slicked back into a sleek ponytail, her brown and golden curls blown out and cascading down her back. She stared at her reflection in the cracked, grime-fogged mirror of The Red Crystal's bathroom, her pout barely concealing the anxiety creeping up her spine.
This was not how she intended to spend her twenty-sixth birthday weekend. Not only did she have to put on underwear that was already crawling uncomfortably up her ass but Sharpay Evans, her college roomate had spent forever coaxing her into this idea, an idea she realized was not as thoroughly planned out as she would have liked.
She had no idea who she was even looking for. Back in Sharpay's living room, the plan had sounded ridiculously simple: find someone who worked at the bar, ask if they knew Gabe, figure out when he was last seen and who he was with. Easy. At least, it had sounded that way.
Just then the bathroom door banged open and she flinched at the sound. Her eyes wide as a couple too busy making out to notice her presence made their way into one of the stalls. The sound of a zipper coming undone made her brows shoot up in disbelief.
This was not her world. She needed to go before she began hearing other noises.
The Red Crystal wasn't just a bar, it was a warning wrapped in neon and smoke.
Tucked away on a forgotten strip of city that never saw sunlight, the bar pulsed with an eerie crimson glow that bled out onto the cracked pavement. Its flickering neon sign buzzed like an insect on its last legs, the words "Red Crystal" outlined in jagged letters above a stained black awning. A single red crystal the size of a clenched fist hung in a grimy glass box above the entrance, casting a bloody hue on anyone who dared to walk beneath it.
Back inside the main room, the air was thick enough to chew. A mix of cigarette smoke, sweat, stale beer, and something darker, spilled secrets, maybe, or danger, clung to every surface. The lights were low, almost nonexistent, and everything was lit by red: red bulbs, red rope lights, even red gels thrown over the occasional ceiling spotlight. The result was disorienting, as though the whole place was submerged in a pool of blood. Shadows clung to corners like spiders, and no one seemed to want to be seen too clearly.
The bar itself was long and curved, chipped wood that shined. Behind it, rows of liquor bottles gleamed like temptation, their labels mostly foreign or unlabeled. A grizzled bartender with a face like carved granite wiped down the same spot on the counter with a rag that looked older than the jukebox in the corner. The one playing out distorted blues and low, thudding beats that gave the room a heartbeat.
Booths lined the edges of the space, their red leather seats cracked and patched with duct tape. Patrons kept to themselves, heads low, voices lower. There was a kind of code here: don't stare too long, don't ask too many questions, and don't act like you're not supposed to be here.
Every few minutes, a man in a security jacket that didn't quite fit would make a slow round, hand resting casually near his hip, though what weapon it hovered over was anyone's guess. The back hallway led to the restrooms and, presumably, other places people didn't talk about. Places where business was done that never made it onto paper.
Gabriella felt it the moment she stepped inside: this was a place where people disappeared, not just literally, but piece by piece. A soul like hers didn't belong here. But it was exactly the kind of place that might swallow someone like her brother whole.
And she was going to pry it open, no matter what it took.
Her plan, if it could even be called that, was unraveling faster than the cheap hem of her borrowed dress. She hadn't made it more than ten steps into the bar before every head had turned her way, the weight of half a dozen lingering stares pressing against her like humidity. If she had to guess, she was currently the unwilling star of at least five R-rated daydreams. The thought made her shudder.
Three nights ago, Gabriel walked through those doors chasing a lead on a case, something he said was "bigger than anything he'd dealt with before." He sounded off during their last conversation, his voice taut with something between fear and urgency.
"Some bad people are involved," he'd warned her. "But I'm handling it. I always do."
She hadn't believed him. Not entirely. There was something in the way he said it, like he was trying too hard to sound calm, to reassure her. Like he knew he was in deeper than he let on.
He promised to call the next night. Then he didn't.
And then came the silence. No texts. No voicemails. No sarcastic memes at three a.m. Just…nothing.
The following morning, she tried his phone. It rang twice and then dropped. Later, it went straight to voicemail. She reached out to everyone she could think of, his coworkers, his friends, even his ex. No one had seen him.
Now, standing in the place he was last seen, the air still thick with that faint antiseptic smell and the hum of cheap fluorescent lights, Gabriella felt her stomach twist. Something was wrong.
Gabriel had vanished. And he never vanished.
Her big brother, the reckless golden boy. From high school straight into the Army, from there into law enforcement. He chased danger the way most people chased dreams, headlong and with no regard for consequence. Their parents worshipped him, even when his choices left them wide-eyed and sleepless. Gabriella, on the other hand, had made it her mission to be the opposite: dependable, predictable, safe.
She'd just completed graduate school at NYU with a GPA to be envied, she still called home twice a week. She'd always stayed on the straight and narrow, quietly trying to balance out the chaos Gabriel brought to their family. So what the hell was she doing here?
Sharpay had insisted she needed to blend in, and had practically dragged the dress out of a sealed garment bag like it was a weapon. Gabriella didn't argue. She was desperate. Sharpay handled the makeup too, transforming her face into something sultry and sharp-edged. Gabriella barely recognized herself now, and that was exactly the point.
The dress was part disguise, part armor. A uniform for this warzone of a bar. And, apparently, a magnet for the worst kind of attention. How did women wear this stuff on purpose?
She smoothed her hands down her sides and sighed. This wasn't about her comfort. It was about finding Gabriel.
When the cops told her mother he'd been "mixed up in something bad," she'd seen the look in their eyes. That silent judgment. That shrug. Gabriella refused to accept it. Gabriel wasn't some cautionary tale. He was one of the good ones. He'd always been there for her, patching up skinned knees, scaring off pushy boys, showing up when she needed him most.
Now it was her turn.
Even if she had to walk through fire, and a sleazy bar bathroom filled with broken dreams and body spray, to do it.
One night. One outfit. One chance to find the truth.
She squared her shoulders, ignored the way her stomach twisted, and tried to look natural. Time to become the kind of girl who could survive in a place like The Red Crystal, even if she had to fake it every step of the way.
She knew her brother. He was one of the good guys. Something happened to him and she needed to get to the bottom of it.
She took a deep breath only to inhale a cloud of smoke, her lungs burning and her chest heaving as she coughed. This place was a serious health hazard. What was Gabe even doing here?
She had just taken a seat at the bar, if the sticky, half-collapsed stool could be called that, when she heard a voice she hadn't heard in three years. A voice that cut through the smoky hum of The Red Crystal like a razor across silk.
"Gabriella?"
No. No, no, no.
Her stomach dropped, and a cold sweat slicked the back of her neck. She looked up and saw him. Troy Bolton.
Of course it was him. Her past had a sense of humor that could only be described as sadistic.
He looked the same and not the same at all, older, leaner, a little more dangerous. Troy was leaning against the bar in a pair of worn-in jeans that clung just right to his long legs, a soft-looking white t-shirt stretched across a chest that had clearly spent some time at the gym, and an open, sun-faded camp shirt hanging loose over it all like he hadn't given a damn how good he looked..typical. His hair was a tousled mess of sandy brown waves, a little longer than she remembered, and his jaw was shadowed with just enough scruff to make her stomach flip in betrayal.
Those infuriating blue eyes locked on hers, and her breath stuttered in her chest. He looked furious. She hadn't even said anything yet.
She tried to look away, but it was too late. The moment stretched like a taut wire between them.
She'd known Troy almost her whole life. He'd practically lived at her house growing up, glued to her brother Gabriel's side. Depending on the day, she'd been in love with him or plotting his demise. Mostly both.
He'd treated her like a little sister, annoying, harmless, and hopelessly naive.
Except for the times when Gabe wasn't around. Then he treated her like something else. Like someone interesting. They used to sneak sodas out of the fridge, watch horror movies that gave her nightmares, and get into long debates about whether ghosts were real. Those were the nights she'd fallen the hardest. And the most quietly.
One time, not meaning to eavesdrop she overheard him talking to Gabriel. She was just passing the garage when she heard her brother's voice, low and apologetic. Gabe was saying something about her, about how he was sorry she kept tagging along. That she didn't know any better. That she just had a crush.
Then came Troy's voice, casual and dismissive, like it meant nothing. "It's fine. She's just a kid. A puppy. I can handle a little shadow for a few hours."
And then, the gut-punch. Gabe's warning—"Just make sure you keep your hands to yourself."
Troy laughed, the sound sharp and easy. "Relax. She's your little sister. I'm not a creep."
She froze, every word landing like a slap. Just a kid. Just a shadow. Just something to be tolerated. She turned before they could see her, cheeks burning and chest hollow. After that, she stopped following them around.
But it wasn't just that garage conversation that made things tense between her and Troy, it went deeper. More complicated.
Nine years ago, when she was seventeen and he was twenty, just days away from deploying for his first tour with Gabe, there'd been a moment. Just one. But it had lingered ever since, like a spark that never quite went out.
It was at a party, mostly her friends, a few of Gabe's, and Troy wedged awkwardly in between. They were drinking cheap beer in someone's backyard, music blasting from someone's speaker, the scent of smoke and summer clinging to everything. He'd been laughing with her about something, she couldn't even remember what now, when the space between them had gone quiet. Heavy. She'd looked up at him, and he'd looked right back, like he saw her. Not as Gabe's little sister. Not as some annoying tagalong. Just her.
She'd leaned in. So had he.
And then someone shouted his name, dragging him back to the reality of deployment, of her age, of everything that made whatever that was impossible. He'd pulled back with a crooked smile and a soft "Take care of yourself, kid," and then he was gone. Off to war, off the radar, out of reach.
They never spoke about it. Never even acknowledged it.
But she remembered.
Her cheeks flamed at the memory. The worst part wasn't that her feelings had been obvious…it was that everyone had known. Her mom called it "adorable." Her dad thought it was "precious." Gabe just gave her the look, the one that said he pitied her and thought she'd grow out of it.
That was the day she'd buried every last feeling she had for him. And salted the earth.
She just wanted to crawl into a hole. That was the day she'd officially decided to get over him. She hadn't seen him or talked to him since. She stopped sending him letters, stopped sending him tins of homemade cookies. It was hard, but she'd finally moved on, even had a boyfriend last year.
And now, just her luck, he was here. Right as her mission was circling the drain.
Gabriella had barely gotten used to the feel of the ridiculous red dress clinging to her skin, a dress Sharpay swore was a total knockout. Even as she tried to pretend he wasn't actually there, she felt his eyes on her. The heat of it burning her up in embarrassment. And of course, it had to be now, when her makeup was thick enough to qualify as stage paint and she felt less like a femme fatale and more like fresh bait dangled on a hook.
She peek again briefly and his gaze pinned her like a spotlight, sharp and accusing, like she'd just crashed his car or kicked his dog. She resisted the urge to sink beneath the bar.
Maybe, if she ignored him, maybe he'd go away.
"Gabriella," he said louder. "I know you heard me. You looked right at me."
She opened her tiny purse and peered inside like it might offer an escape hatch. "Then you should take that as a hint and just leave me alone."
She kept her voice cold, indifferent. Detached. The opposite of how she felt.
Troy had also been another one of the main reasons she had to make an extra effort to be good. He was always getting into trouble. Most of the time dragging Gabriel into with him. From stealing cars, to blowing fireworks into the street as cars drove by. Troy had been quite the rebel badass growing up. After his dad passed away, it had only been his mom and him and they lived on the other side of town. The not so nice part.
Troy stalked up to the bar and gave her the once-over. His eyes trailing from her strappy black heels to the clingy dress and back to her face. His lip curled.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped. "And what the hell are you wearing?"
Ouch. Classic Bolton: no tact, just brute-force concern.
"I could ask you the same question," she shot back. "I thought you were still somewhere in Iraq getting shot at."
His expression tightened. "And I thought you were still in school."
"I came home for the weekend. Now get."
"I'm not getting anywhere."
"Fine," she said with mock sweetness. "Storm off in righteous indignation. Or flounce off in a huff. The point is: disappear."
She took a small, smug sip of her club soda. That was definitely college-level sass. Maybe even master's-level.
"You're coming with me." He reached for her arm.
"I am not." She yanked it back.
The bartender appeared like a specter in fishnets and a lip ring. "Is there a problem here?"
"Yes," Gabriella and Troy said at the same time.
Troy smiled, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "No problem. Just catching up with an old friend."
Friend, she thought bitterly. He could be on fire and she wouldn't waste her spit, let alone water.
"We're not friends," Gabriella said flatly.
"Well," the bartender said with a wink, "I think the lady's just fine where she is. Sweet thing like you, you got your pick of the loot in here."
Gabriella didn't know whether to be flattered or horrified. She managed a tight smile, trying to stay in character, but everything was unraveling fast. Troy's arrival had thrown a Molotov cocktail into her already shaky plan.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.
"How much?" he asked the bartender, without looking away from Gabriella.
Her stomach lurched.
The bartender's smile faded as she leaned forward, interested now. "How much fun are you looking to have tonight?"
"I want her."
What?! Gabriella's eyes went wide. Had she just been… purchased?
"Three," the bartender said coolly. "She's one of the prettier ones. Make sure you keep her that way. You know the deal?"
Troy nodded, slapped the money on the bar like he was buying a sandwich, then reached for Gabriella's arm again.
She didn't move. Her mind was still trying to catch up.
He was buying her out. Pretending she was for sale to get her out of this hellhole. Was she for sale?
Her stomach turned.
"What the hell did you just do?" she hissed as he dragged her toward the door.
"I'm getting you out of here," he said calmly, like he hadn't just offered several thousand dollars for her like some kind of high-stakes poker chip.
"I can't go. I can't." She twisted in his grip. "Gabe's missing. This is the only lead I have."
He stopped. "Hey," he said gently, pulling her close enough that her hands braced against his chest. His voice dropped. "I know about your brother. I'm handling it."
She blinked. "What do you know?"
Troy gave her that maddening half-smile, the one that used to make her knees weak and now just made her want to slap him. "I should've figured you'd show up. Stubbornness runs in your family."
She scoffed. "Yeah? And it's just a coincidence that Gabe's in trouble and suddenly you're two steps behind him?"
His face darkened. "When's the last time you talked to him?"
She hesitated. "Three nights ago. He called to ask if I was coming home for my birthday. I knew something was wrong, he didn't sound right."
Troy nodded. "Now laugh like I said something funny and don't freak out about this."
Her eyes went wide. "About what?"
Before she could react, one hand dropped to squeeze her ass and he leaned in, invading her personal space as if he had every right to. His head dipping lower into the crook of her neck and brushing a light kiss against her skin.
She gasped.
Her brain short-circuited. Her knees buckled. Her hands curled tighter in his shirt. The scent of him, clean sweat, cedar, and trouble, hit her like a sucker punch.
Every old feeling came roaring back with a vengeance.
"Good girl," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. His hand slid back up to the small of her back, steadying her.
"Now let's get out of here," he said again, voice low and urgent.
And this time, she let him lead.
Once they burst into the parking lot, Troy dropped his hands and stepped back like she was radioactive.
The night air hit her hard, cool for June in Tennessee, but maybe that was just the shock settling in.
"Go home," he snapped.
Gabriella narrowed her eyes. "No."
"Damn it, I just had to buy you out of there." He kept his voice low but urgent. "If that doesn't tell you how deep you are—"
"I didn't ask you to do that," she shot back, stepping away. Her voice wobbled, and she hated that it did. Hated that he still had this effect on her.
"Get in your car and go home, Gabri—"
He didn't finish.
His eyes darted over her shoulder. In the next second, he slammed into her, knocking her down to the pavement. Her knees and palms scraped against the asphalt, and her breath vanished from her lungs as he covered her body with his.
"What the hell—?"
"Quiet," he hissed against her ear.
And something in his voice, sharp, protective, real, made her obey.
Then came the gunshot. Or what sounded like one.
Gabriella turned her head in time to see the tire of the car beside them explode, rubber shredding in a burst of smoke.
Troy shifted. "Where's your car?"
"What?" Her voice barely escaped. "What about your car?"
"That was my car." He yanked her up and took her arm. "Stay low."
They zigzagged through the lot like fugitives in a spy movie, except this wasn't a movie. And she was definitely not dressed for it. They ducked behind a red minivan, then a blue Toyota.
"I'm driving my mom's car," Gabriella whispered.
Troy peeked over the hood. "They're checking it now."
Gabriella's jaw dropped as she saw a man circling the silver Hyundai like a vulture.
Then, bang. Another shot. The side mirror shattered. Then in horror and indignation she watched the man put bullets in all four tires. Her mothers car sank to the ground.
"Shit," Troy muttered.
"Mom's going to kill me," she groaned.
Troy tried the Toyota's handle, locked. He darted to a red Nissan. She chased after him, heels clicking like a traitor.
"What are you doing?"
The door opened. He reached for her. "Get in."
"This can't be happening," she whispered, too stunned to fight as he practically tossed her into the passenger seat and slid in after her. Their bodies pressed together as he moved over her. This was not how she wanted to reconnect with this man after all these years. She stared at him, dumbfounded. "Are we…are we stealing this car?"
"No time for a moral debate." He dropped beneath the dash and did something that made the engine cough to life.
A bullet pinged off the hood.
She screamed.
"Stay down," he barked, shoving the gear into drive and flooring it.
Gabriella scrambled for her seatbelt. "They're shooting at us! Like, actively! With bullets!"
"Brilliant observation," he muttered, eyes glued to the road.
"Why are they shooting at us?" she cried, glancing back to see a black sedan gaining on them.
"They're not shooting at us. They're shooting at me." He took a hairpin turn with zero warning, sending her lurching into the door.
"Great! I'm collateral damage now!"
Another gunshot. She shrieked and ducked, instinctively curling into herself.
"The steering on this piece of junk is a joke," he gritted out.
"You stole it and you're complaining?" She rifled through her purse. "I'm calling the police!"
"I wouldn't," he said, checking the rearview. "Pretty sure those are the cops."
She froze. "What?"
A bullet clipped off her side mirror.
"Because that makes no sense!" she yelled, even as she dove for cover again.
"Phone. Front pocket. Grab it."
Her eyes widened, but she reached over anyway, yanking his phone from his jeans. Her fingers brushed against his abs, unfortunately firm, and she tried not to notice. Tried.
"Last incoming call. Hit it," he said as he swerved hard enough to make her stomach do a backflip.
She hit redial and shoved the phone at him. He barked something into it, words like cover blown, lead, possible tail, while Gabriella focused on not dying in a stolen car in stripper heels.
They shot up a highway on-ramp. She peeked back.
The black sedan was still on them.
She tightened her seatbelt, whispering, "This is it. I'm gonna die in a discount cocktail dress next to Troy Bolton, of all people."
They weaved around traffic, finally getting ahead, until a slow-moving bus and a semi truck boxed them in.
"Troy—" she gasped.
"I see it," he muttered.
And then, insanity. He floored it, wedging the Toyota between the two massive vehicles like it was a racecar instead of a sedan about to get pancaked.
Gabriella screamed, clenching her eyes shut.
The crunch never came.
The Toyota bumped onto the shoulder and shot past them. Horns blared. Metal groaned. But they were clear.
The black sedan got stuck behind the traffic.
Gabriella couldn't help it, she squealed. Actually squealed.
Troy looked over, grinning like a madman.
She met his eyes for one heartbeat. It felt like old times.
Then she remembered she hated him.
She crossed her arms. "Don't look so smug."
"You liked that."
"Did not."
"You did," he said, glancing at her. "You squealed."
"It was involuntary."
"So is smiling when you're happy."
She glared at him. "Why are they chasing us, again?"
"They're chasing me. You were just unlucky."
"Unlucky. Right." She snorted. "So this is what bad timing looks like."
He took the next exit, checking the mirror again. No sign of pursuit.
"What the hell were you doing in there anyway?" His tone shifted, gruffer now.
"I could ask you the same thing."
"Do you know how dangerous that place is? You think I rescued you for fun? If I hadn't seen you—" He shook his head. "You think some other guy would've bought you a drink and taken you home for a nice Netflix binge?"
Gabriella turned to face him fully now, heat rising in her chest. "I was there looking for my brother."
Troy's jaw clenched. "You shouldn't have been. That bar is crawling with Halberd muscle."
"Yeah, well, Gabriel was crawling with secrets. And the last time we talked, he told me he felt like he was being followed. He also mentioned finding you if I felt like I was being followed."
He didn't respond right away. Just kept driving, his fingers tightening on the wheel.
"I wasn't looking for you." She said, trying to make a point. "I was looking for anyone who had seen him last. But I should have figured you'd know something," she went on. "He told me he was working on something big, something about a private security firm, missing people, threats. Then nothing. Three nights ago, he walked into that place and vanished."
Troy sighed, low and resigned. "He was in over his head."
She stiffened. "So help me understand it. What was he into?"
Troy hesitated, like he was weighing how much she could take. "Halberd Group isn't just some rent-a-cop operation. They deal in dirty intel, blackmail, weapons trafficking, political manipulation, and they erase anyone who gets in the way. Gabriel was digging too close to something. I warned him to pull back."
"Warned him?" she repeated, stunned. "So you knew?"
"I knew he had Jude Ramirez on the line, an analyst who got scared and reached out to him. I knew Jude disappeared two days before your brother did. I know Halberd doesn't leave loose ends."
Gabriella's stomach twisted. "Then why didn't you stop him?"
"I tried," Troy snapped. "But your brother doesn't scare easy. He thought he could finish the job."
"Finish what?"
Troy looked at her, really looked at her. "Blowing the whole damn thing open. He wanted to bring them down."
The silence stretched between them.
"And now he's gone," she said softly.
Troy's voice was low. "And now we're targets, because you poked the hornet's nest he left behind."
Her stomach turned. She hadn't thought it through. Not really. She just… wanted to find her brother. She worried, and the cops weren't helping. Someone had to do something.
Gabriella stayed quiet, her heart still thudding. She didn't have a good feeling about any of this. And worst, Troy might be the only person who could probably help her find Gabriel.
And he knew it.
Didn't mean they had to work together.
"Well, you can just leave me at the next exit."
"Not happening."
"The hell it isn't?"
"You're staying with me," Troy said. Before Gabriella could even drop her jaw at that statement, he continued. "At least until I figure out what's going on? If you weren't in danger, I would have left you in the parking lot. But they saw you with me, and they disabled your car too. They gotta know who you are. It's too risky."
"I can't believe you, this is kidnapping."
Troy let out a huff as he glared in her direction. "As opposed to what? Leaving you behind to die? Gabriel would kill me."
"Gabriel's not here."
"All the more reason to stay together."
"Says you," she chided. "I'm a fully grown capable adult."
"Believe me, this was not by choice," he muttered, glancing over at her in obvious frustration. "Do you think I want to be dragging you around with me? I hate it as much as you do, but you're safest with me."
Do you think I want to be dragging you around with me?
When she glanced back at him he was looking at the road, accelerating until he was going well over the speed limit. She looked behind them now, not seeing anyone.
"Honestly," he huffed, "you haven't changed at all. You're still just the same little kid trying to act tough."
"They aren't behind us now," Gabriella sighed. "Can't you just drop me off at a gas station or something?"
"No," he said firmly, not even looking at her. "All they have to do is check the glove box of your mom's car, and they'll know exactly where to find you. If these guys are who I think they are, they're dangerous. I'm not leaving you for them to find. Especially if Gabriel warned you about being followed."
"God," she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. "It's like a damned Jason Statham movie."
"Just stick with me until I figure this out." His voice softened, barely. "Do you hate me so much it's worth risking your life for?"
It should've been an easy answer. But it wasn't. Risking her life wasn't something she did. But neither was trusting Troy Bolton, and somehow… she still did. Against all better judgment, against the ache still lodged in her chest from the last time he walked out of her life, she believed him. It was instinctive. Deep.
He'd always watched out for her. Back when she was just thirteen years old, a boy in her class had followed her home, teasing her brutally about her glasses. She'd been close to tears and trying desperately not to show it when Troy had appeared out of nowhere.
Troy had always teased her a lot himself back then, but he'd never made her cry.
Troy planted himself between the boy and Gabriella. He didn't move. Didn't say a word. The other boy had tried to pick a fight, but Troy just stood there staring at him. When the boy got frustrated and swung, Troy swung back.
The boy had landed flat out on the sidewalk. His lip split and his eyes panicked. Troy had taken one step forward and the kid was up and running down the street.
And Troy walked her home. He hadn't been particularly cute at sixteen, certainly not as cute as he was now, but he'd still been her hero. For years he'd been her hero.
She kept the memory to herself. Silence stretched between them like a drawn cord, tight and humming with something unspoken. They didn't talk again until he pulled into a beat-up motel lot.
"What are we doing?" she asked as he parked.
"I need to grab a few things."
"Won't they look for you here?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "But I have to take care of something. Two minutes. If you see anything weird, drive."
She stared at him as he got out. The engine was still running.
She could run, drive off and call it a night. Let him clean up whatever mess he'd dragged her into.
Or she could sit here. Be a good girl. Obedient. Silent. Complicit.
She pulled her phone out of her purse.
This wasn't just about a botched bar fight or bad timing. Gabriel was missing. And not missing like "off-grid for a few days." He was gone. No calls, no texts, not even a random GIF in their family group chat. Three nights ago, he'd walked into The Red Crystal after whispering warnings and paranoia into her phone, and then vanished.
She should've seen the signs earlier. The tightness in his voice. The way he said her name.
"Stay away from Dallas. If anything happens, find Troy."
She clenched her jaw and glanced up at the second floor. The shadows swallowed Troy quickly.
Her phone felt too heavy in her hand as she opened her contacts. She should call her mom. She needed to know the car was at The Red Crystal… minus a side mirror and four good tires. She needed someone to say everything's fine.
Her thumb hovered over the call button.
But what was she going to say? That Gabriel had been working some rogue investigation into a shady private firm? That the guy who ghosted them nine years ago had just reappeared with a plan? That people were chasing them and not metaphorically?
The driver door yanked open.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Troy's voice was sharp. He grabbed her phone and flung it into the dark.
"What the fuck?" she shrieked. "Are you insane?"
"No phones. No cards. Nothing traceable."
Gabriella glared at him, jaw clenched, arms crossed. "You and your criminal hobbies. It's enough to make a girl scream."
Troy arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth ticking up. "Are you planning on screaming anytime soon?"
There it was, his signature smugness. A flick of humor with something that felt almost like a dare. Her cheeks burned, and she hated herself for it. "When did you get so arrogant?"
"About the time I dropped three grand on your escape." He pulled out his own phone and powered it off. "You owe me, FYI."
"I don't owe you anything. You just tossed my iPhone into the goddamn void."
"Give me your purse."
"No."
He sighed and just took it, sifting through like it was his God-given right.
"I just need to see what we've got," he muttered.
"Why don't I just let you rob me blind while I'm at it?" she snapped, leaning back in her seat and squeezing her eyes shut. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. She was supposed to be home. In bed. Safe. Far away from Troy and his jawline and the whole ridiculous situation.
"What are you doing now?" he asked getting into the car.
"Hush," she said harshly, not opening her eyes. "I'm waiting to wake up, this is all a dream. I'm not here, I'm really back at home in my bed. And in this fantasy you don't get to be in bed with me."
At that Troy chuckled. "Are you sure you're alright?"
She sighed as she shifted in her seat and then looked down at her dress. The stupid dress. "I guess I'm not having a bad dream."
"No dream." He said, handing her back her purse. "Why don't you carry cash?"
Gabriella frowned as she looked back at him and pulled her purse closer to her. "Because it's not safe."
"It's actually safer than you think, what happens when you're stranded and can't get to a bank?"
"Well excuse me for not planning on being abducted and taken on a cross-country crime spree."
He put the car in reverse and started backing out. "Where are we going now?"
"Gonna drive for a while, make sure we're not being followed. Then find another place to crash."
"I'm not sharing a room with you."
He turned to her slowly, eyes narrowing. "You think I dragged you into this?"
"You didn't exactly ask."
He scoffed. "Neither did Gabriel."
That shut her up. The heat in her chest simmered, pressed tight behind her ribs.
"What are you talking about?" she asked.
Troy exhaled, scrubbing a hand down his face. "They arrested him."
Her stomach dropped. "For what?"
"Running ops through The Red Crystal. Laundering, intel leaks, black-market tech. It's bad, Gabi. We've got to get this information to Dallas before this spirals out of control."
Panic surged up her spine. "Then let's get on a plane. We could be there in two hours."
"We can't. It's not safe," he said, more measured now. "They know we have it. And they're not just trying to stop us. They're tying up loose ends. Gabe's one of them."
Her ears rang, reality tilting around her. "You're saying… they're going to kill him?"
Troy nodded once. "Unless we do something first."
She sat in stunned silence, struggling to make sense of the whirlwind she'd been pulled into.
"I need to see this through," he continued, softer now. "For Gabe. For you. So no offense, but I don't have time to argue about who sleeps where."
Gabriella blinked, startled by the shift in his tone.
He hesitated, then glanced at her, eyes unreadable. "And for the record, you're not my usual type."
The words hit harder than she expected. She turned to the window, jaw tight, blinking against the sting behind her eyes. The rest of the drive was wrapped in silence, thick, bitter, and far more complicated than she wanted to admit.
Once inside, she immediately decided to wipe the makeup off her face. Relieved to be a little more normal and comfortable in her own skin. Even if she was stuck in the same dress with no other option, she felt less like herself and more like a cheap impersonation, a caricature she didn't recognize.
She sat on the edge of the bed with a burger she hadn't asked for and tried to pretend none of this was real. She stared at the food in her lap. Her appetite was nonexistent.
She should be doing something. She shouldn't just be sitting here, staring at a burger and listening to the shower run.
Her eyes shifted to the phone in the room. She should call someone. She should tell her parents where she was? Someone would worry about her soon. But she didn't call the police either.
The bathroom door creaked open. Troy emerged, looking calmer, like the shower had rinsed some of the night off him.
Must be nice. She Let out a sigh as she picked at the burger.
"You should eat," he said.
She shook her head. "What's going on?"
He dropped onto the other bed, elbows on knees. "Why were you at The Red Crystal?"
She hesitated. "I told you. Gabe. The police told my parents that he'd gotten involved in something there. That it wasn't good. They were trying to find him but had said that once they did, they weren't sure what they could do for him."
"And you thought what? Going there alone, dressed like that was a good idea?"
"I thought I could get answers. Maybe someone would talk to me. No one else was doing anything."
Troy smirked. "And you figured they'd just talk to little ol' you? Tell you everything they knew?"
She felt a strange little kick in her heart at his tone. Like maybe he was impressed or in awe, but he just leaned back a little and shook his head.
"If I ever go missing, do me a favor and stay home," he chuckled.
"Believe me, if you ever go missing I'd be the first person to celebrate." Even after she said it, she knew she didn't mean it. if it were him, her and Gabe would be right where they are now. Because that's what family did for family. They cared.
And that's what they had been. Troy for all the heartache and pain of being her first unrequited love had been like family to her. They had gone on vacations together as kids. Their moms used to hang out together on the sidelines of away games and practice.
Troy and Gabriel used to climb up into the treehouse in their backyard and read comic books for hours. And on many occasions, because her father had made them, they let Gabriella come up with her favorite comics so she could be a part of their afternoon comic session.
"I didn't mean that." She said quietly as she looked down at the burger. Her hands were shaking. When did that start?
"The Red Crystal is a cover," he said. "On the surface, it's just a divey bar with VIP rooms and overworked bartenders. But behind closed doors, it serves as a recruitment spot and handoff location for human trafficking. Girls and sometimes guys get approached, offered drinks, jobs, or rides. Some never leave. Others are passed off to higher-level traffickers through back rooms or underground routes." he said, unwrapping his own food.
"You paid for me," she whispered, suddenly nauseated. That had been close. What if her drink had been spiked. What if someone else had…
She swallowed.
"Yeah," he nodded grimly. "My sentiment exactly."
She shifted tugging the hem of her dress down a little.
He passed her a fry, and she took it automatically. She didn't eat it. Just held it for a moment as she stared at it. A billion different endings to this night flashing before her eyes.
"I work freelance private security, I was chasing a lead from another city, a missing persons case that pointed to a trafficking pipeline. I traced it to The Red Crystal and that's when I ran into Gabe."
Troy reached into his pocket and held up a thumb drive. "He gave me this before he vanished. Said it was everything."
She stared. "What's on it?"
"A paper trail. Dirty cops. Payoffs. Connections to the club. It was given to him by Jude, the guy who came forward to your brother."
"Why do you have it?"
"Because Gabe knew he was too close, and there was a possibility they would have gotten to him before this could be handed off to the right people."
Her voice caught. "You don't think Gabe's dead."
Troy shook his head. "I don't think so," Troy admitted. "But I do think he's in a shitstorm of trouble he can't get himself out of if I don't move fast."
"How did we get here? Why did he let himself get involved?"
Troy made a face, "because someone has to stop it."
Gabriella shook her head. "And it just had to be him? He couldn't give the flash drive to authorities. Let people with more experience and manpower take care of it."
Troy finished his burger and crumbled everything up. "Your brother was doing the best he could with what he had. It's not easy to do when you're surrounded by dirty cops. He gave it to me because he could trust me. And I know a guy I can trust who I can give it to."
"And you think that—" she nodded toward the drive, "—will fix everything?"
"It's a start."
"Well, then good luck with that," she said sweetly. "I think I'll just be going home in the morning."
"Afraid not." He said leaning back onto his bed. "You're going to be coming with me."
Gabriella let out a grunt. "This is ridiculous. Why do I have to come with you?"
"Because they know who you are. I do have a few connections. I made a few calls while you were in the bathroom. And they definitely know who you are. You don't blend in well, they knew what you were up to, they clocked you the minute you walked inside the bar dressed like that. Honestly, what the fuck were you thinking?"
"That my brother needed me."
"Yeah, well that was still incredibly stupid."
She dropped the french fry she'd been holding onto the wrapper and pushed the food away. "I can take care of myself."
"Sure you can," He huffed. "but you're staying put. They'll use you against me if they get the chance."
Gabriella blinked. "Why would they think I'm leverage?"
Troy didn't answer right away.
She stared. "Troy?"
He looked at her. Really looked. "You're Gabe's little sister. I'd burn the whole town down before I let something happen to you."
Silence.
Troy shifted forward and picked up the French fry and held it out in front of her. "Your brother stumbled on to something big and the moment he knew it he sent me everything he could. Next thing I know he's missing. Now they have him in a cell."
She stared at the held out French fry. The smell of the grease and salt making her stomach clench.
"So now what?"
Troy raised a brow and brought the French fry closer to her lips. "Texas. My guy has a place up there. We gotta meet up with him."
"Texas?!"
He huffed. "Relax, it's just a 13 hour drive, you'll be back to normal by Monday."
"But-"
"Look, this thumb drive might be the only way we can save Gabe's ass. That's gotta be why he gave it to me. But I can't let you go home and get kidnapped or worse. I'm not going to risk having to pick between you two when there's an option to keep you both safe."
"Just so you know, as far as options go, this one sucks."
He didn't smirk, didn't huff, he didn't even pull back an inch. He stood close, leaning in, the smell of soap and him clouding her space.
"Eat the damn French fry."
Gabriella gave up and let out a small sigh. leaning forward took the French fry from his offered fingers. Her bottom lip gracing the tip of his thumb, she pulled back and chewed quietly, watching him as he watched her lips with something unreadable in his gaze.
"Happy?" She said once she swallowed,
"Giddy," He said with a raised brow. He leaned back the air between them rushing into the vacant space. "With any luck, in two days this whole thing will be over and just a bad memory."
Finally she exhaled, shaky. "So if we can't use our phones, or our cards, how are we going to afford a two-day drive? I mean I'm pretty sure we can't use the Toyota anymore. It has to be reported stolen already."
"Yeah," he shifted a little. "Well, I have three thousand in cash, and tomorrow I'll borrow another car. Right now you should eat and get some sleep."
Gabriella's mouth dropped open. "You just carry three thousand dollars around. Could you be any more of a James Bond wanna be?"
"I had six thousand," he said, slanting her a look. "Still would if someone would have just got up and left with me when we had the chance."
She opened her mouth then shut it.
He smiled faintly. "Besides I thought this was a Jason Statham movie?"
She turned toward the TV, lips pressed into a line. "I hate you."
"Not as much as you want to."
And she hated that he was right.
Troy
The next morning, Troy leaned against the wall near the window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the bed. The moment Gabriella sat up with a sharp jolt, he saw it in her face, disoriented, confused, and then…the realization. It all came crashing back to her. The bar. The Red Crystal. Him.
Her eyes locked onto his like a heat-seeking missile, and he saw it flicker across her face: recognition, irritation, and something else he couldn't quite name.
She looked pissed.
He held up the two coffees he'd walked across the street to get. "Good morning to you too," he said with a half-smirk.
Her glare didn't soften.
Last night he spotted her the moment she sat down at the bar. Long dark hair, that fire-engine red dress hugging every curve she didn't have five years ago. She was stunning and if he hadn't known her he would have assumed she was one of the girls. She was seated there like she owned the place, alone, bold, and impossible to ignore. It had punched the breath right out of him.
And he hated how fast all those old feelings had slammed back into his chest.
And then she tried to pretend like she hadn't seen him.
What the hell had that been about? At first he thought maybe she was embarrassed about being caught at The Red Crystal, but something was telling him it was more about him than the situation they were in.
She was supposed to be off-limits. She was Gabe's little sister. His best friend's kid sister. The girl he left town to get away from because staying would've meant slipping up and doing something reckless.
And now here he was. Back for Gabe. Back for family.
And Gabriella Montez had grown up into a walking, talking challenge to his self-control.
Even in her rumpled dress, hair a tangled halo from sleep, she was stunning. Gorgeous in that effortless way that had always gotten under his skin. She growled a string of curse words under her breath that would make a trucker proud, then blinked at him like it had just occurred to her that he was still standing there.
He chuckled. "Someone should wash your mouth out with soap. And then maybe put you over his knee for good measure."
The image came uninvited, and way too vivid. He immediately shoved it aside.
Gabriella rolled her eyes and took the coffee from his outstretched hand like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to sanity. He noticed the little worry notch between her brows as she took a sip.
"You alright?" he asked, softer than before.
"Yeah." She paused. "Fine. How… are you?"
"I'm awesome." He grinned when he caught the blush rising to her cheeks. But damn, her face, those full lips, those eyes darker than sin, had no business being that captivating.
Jesus, Bolton. Pull it together.
She was nothing like the skinny teenager he remembered trailing behind Gabe at his basic training send-off. That version of Gabriella was all braces and attitude. This version? She looked like temptation itself. A full-grown woman in every sense of the word.
And he was so screwed.
Troy tore his eyes away and forced himself to focus. "You ready to go?" he asked, turning his back before his gaze betrayed him. "You've got twenty minutes."
"I need a shower."
"You should have showered last night," he muttered.
"And then I slept in this bed," she deadpanned. "I still would have needed to shower."
He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see her rise from the bed, cradling her coffee like a holy relic. Not a morning person, clearly.
"Be ready in twenty minutes or I'm kicking down the bathroom door and dressing you myself," he said over his shoulder. "We've got a long trip ahead."
She growled something unintelligible and shuffled toward the bathroom.
"No more dirty words," he called after her. "We're keeping it PG from here on out."
The bathroom door slammed shut. He chuckled and dropped onto the bed, letting out a breath as the sound of the shower filled the room. For a second, just one second, his mind wandered where it shouldn't, imagining her shimmying out of that dress, steam curling around her bare skin, water sliding down curves he hadn't been able to stop noticing since last night.
He dragged a hand down his face.
Don't go there.
He unfolded the map he'd picked up from the gas station and forced his brain to shift gears, plotting out a route, thinking about logistics. Not her. Definitely not her.
Fifteen minutes later, the door swung open. Gabriella emerged, looking even more annoyed than before.
"Now what?" he asked, already bracing.
"This is a nightmare," she snapped, combing her fingers through wet hair. "I'm stuck in this ridiculous dress. I can't brush my teeth, comb my hair, cleanse my face, use deodorant, nothing. All I have is a tube of cherry lip gloss."
Troy scoffed. "Talk about first-world problems."
She shot him a death glare, turned back into the bathroom for her coffee, and came out again to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Thank God I at least have you to get me through this."
He looked over, surprised at the tone. Was that… sincerity?
But then she caught his eye and added, "I was talking to the coffee."
He smirked.
That's more like it.
"You can make love to your coffee on the way," he said as he folded the map. "We've gotta get moving."
As they headed out of the motel and back to the battered Toyota, Gabriella glanced around. "How are we getting a car? Are we going to try to buy one?"
"Nope," Troy said, already walking. "Takes too long, and we can't risk something unreliable."
She groaned. "So what's your better plan?"
"You'll see. We just need a big parking lot, somewhere people leave their cars all day. No restaurants. No stores."
Her voice went flat. "We're seriously going to steal another car?"
Troy stopped and turned to her, eyes narrowing. "Little louder, why don't you?"
"It's illegal, you know."
He rolled his eyes. "This is all we've got. We don't have time for ethics."
She fell into step beside him. "Of course I don't mind walking," she muttered. "I walk all the time."
Her heels said otherwise.
By the time they reached the community college parking lot, she was limping, even though she was trying to hide it. He knew those blisters had to be brutal, but she didn't complain. That stubborn streak, always there, even as a kid.
"Now what?" she asked, arms crossed.
"Look for a staff sticker. Not a student."
She glanced around. "Here's one. One of those midlife crisis cars professors buy."
Troy walked over, examined it, then shook his head. "Too new."
She sighed. "So now we're stealing from good professors instead of sleazy ones?"
"What do you have against professors?"
"Nothing," she snapped, then gestured at the next car. "There. Old Ford. Rusted. Definitely all they could afford."
"Dramatic," he muttered, making his way over.
"And you're a car thief," she countered.
He tested the door. Unlocked.
"We're requisitioning this vehicle," he said dryly.
As he slid into the driver's seat, he glanced over at her. She was still pouting slightly, but the pink was back in her cheeks and her arms were no longer crossed. Damn, even when she was pissed, she was…
He cleared his throat and looked away.
He just needed to get through this trip. Just a few more days. Then he could go back to forgetting how much he wanted what he could never have.
Piece of cake. Right?
"Get in the car." He grunted. "I know your feet hurt."
Gabriella
Gabriella had about eight blisters on her feet, throbbing, angry things that pulsed with every step like tiny betrayals. But she'd sooner walk twenty more miles on hot gravel than admit it to Troy. She could already hear the grunt he'd make, that condescending first-world-problem sound that drove her crazy.
She groaned under her breath. If they got arrested, she was absolutely blaming the whole thing on him. She'd say he bullied her. Or blackmailed her. Hell, she'd make something up. Anything to avoid owning the fact that she was now an accessory to grand theft auto.
Reaching the car just as Troy unlocked it, she yanked the passenger door open with a little more force than necessary. She was only doing this because it was an emergency. A life-or-death emergency, the kind of chaos her brother Gabe had a special talent for landing in. What the hell had he gotten himself into while she was away at college?
Sliding into the seat, she popped open the glove compartment and began rifling through the contents, insurance forms, receipts, a pen missing its cap.
"What are you doing?" Troy asked, casually, like he hadn't just hotwired the damn car a second ago.
"I'm making a list."
"A list?" he echoed, shooting her a confused glance as he pulled out of the parking space.
She smiled, triumphantly pulling a piece of mail from the glovebox. "Of everything we steal. We're going to have to make it up to them somehow."
She didn't need to look at him to know he was rolling his eyes. She could feel the eye-roll. The air beside her practically vibrated with his disapproval.
"So what happens if the cops pull us over?" she asked, folding the mail and sliding it into her bag.
"By the time the guy realizes his car's missing, it'll be five o'clock," Troy said, merging onto the main road. "We'll be long gone."
Gabriella leaned back in her seat and stared out the window, fighting the urge to rub her temples. They were going to be stuck together for hours. Best to conserve her energy and ignore him. Selective silence. That was her new survival strategy.
In less than thirty minutes, they were on the highway, and the tension in her chest eased slightly. The rolling Tennessee hills blurred past in streaks of green and gold. The speedometer, however, made her stomach twist.
Troy was driving like he was in some low-budget action movie.
She leaned toward the dashboard, watching the numbers climb. Another too-fast turn. She instinctively clutched the door handle and tugged at her seatbelt to double-check it was locked in place.
Gabriella had never gotten a ticket. Not even a parking violation. She followed the rules, paid her bills, and kept her head down. And now? She was in a stolen car, running from what sounded dangerously close to a conspiracy, possibly being chased by law enforcement, and entirely too aware of the boy, no, man beside her who had a reckless streak and a stupidly charming smile.
"What's your problem?" Troy asked, irritation lacing his voice as he glanced over.
"Nothing," she muttered, eyes fixed ahead.
"Liar." His voice was flat. "You've always been a horrible liar. You're all stiff and twitchy. No one's following us."
Troy cut sharply between a tractor-trailer and a minivan, the latter honking in furious protest. She sucked in a breath.
"Do you think," she said slowly, "that maybe you could just… slow down a little?"
His brow furrowed. "Do you still get car sick?"
She shot him a look. "That was one time on the way to Myrtle Beach. And it was because of bad nachos, not the car."
He braked abruptly to avoid a car switching lanes, and her hand smacked against the dashboard. "You're going to kill someone. Or us."
He eased off the gas with a grumble. "Didn't know you were so uptight."
Gabriella bristled. She wasn't uptight. She was smart. And cautious. And fully aware that one wrong move could ruin her entire life. That didn't make her a buzzkill. It made her sane.
Especially compared to Troy Bolton.
Twenty minutes later, the fuel gauge was flirting with empty, and they pulled off at a travel plaza. Gabriella followed Troy inside so she could use the bathroom. The moment they stepped back outside, her heart lodged in her throat.
A police cruiser sat less than a dozen feet from the stolen car.
"Shit," she hissed, stopping in her tracks.
"Don't look so guilty," Troy said beside her, but he didn't move either.
"What if the car's already been reported stolen?" she whispered, panic clawing up her spine. "What if they're watching, waiting to see who gets in it?"
"They're probably just killing time." His tone was calm, but his feet were just as frozen as hers.
"We can't just stand here. We'll look suspicious." She reached up on impulse and began fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. "Just act normal. Like we're… talking. Or arguing."
"I am normal," Troy muttered. "You're the one playing dress-up with my buttons."
She rolled her eyes but didn't stop. The shirt he wore underneath was tighter than she'd expected, clinging to lean muscle she didn't want to be noticing. But her fingers brushed it anyway, and heat bloomed in her cheeks. Stupid. Stupid distraction.
Then his voice dropped.
"Or we could just do that."
Before she could ask what he meant, he cupped the back of her head and leaned down. His mouth met hers.
She should've pulled away. Wanted to. He was smug, cocky, the root of this entire disaster.
But his lips were warm and confident, moving over hers in a way that made her knees soften. It wasn't just convincing, it was good. Too good.
Her breath caught, and she instinctively pulled back. But Troy's hand kept her in place, his voice low against her lips. "They're walking toward us."
Of course. The cops. The kiss wasn't for her. It was a performance. A distraction.
She swallowed hard, fingers tightening in his shirt for a reason that had nothing to do with fear.
"Not in the middle of the parking lot, kids," one of the officers said as he passed with a grin. "At least make it back to your car."
They broke apart, and a laugh, giddy, disbelieving, escaped her lips. Her pulse was still racing.
"Sorry, sir," Troy replied with a sheepishness that somehow made her even more suspicious.
They walked back to the car in silence. Gabriella rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to erase the way her lips still tingled. She shouldn't have liked it that much. She shouldn't have liked it at all.
Feelings, especially feelings for Troy, would only complicate everything. She couldn't afford that.
Not now. Not when she was already in over her head, on the run, with every step forward feeling more dangerous than the last. There wasn't room for distractions, especially not the kind that came with messy history and unresolved tension.
And Troy, he was safe in the way a locked door was safe. Strong, steady, dependable in a crisis. But still closed off. Still the guy who left without looking back. Who let the silence between them stretch for nine years like it meant nothing.
She'd been heartbroken when he left. Devastated when he never responded to her letters or cookie tins. She's been an idiot hoping she mattered more than he let on. She never got the closure she needed, just a half-second glance across a crowded room and a nearly-there kiss that dissolved like it had never happened.
Now here they were, older, warier, carrying more baggage than either of them knew what to do with. He wasn't the same boy who laughed too loud at her jokes and offered her the last slice of pizza. And she wasn't the girl who thought a look could mean forever.
She knew better now.
Troy had his own path, his own code, and she wasn't foolish enough to believe she could be part of it, not for long. Once this whole mess was behind them, he'd walk away again. That's what he did. That's what he was good at.
Letting herself feel anything for him now wasn't brave or romantic. It was reckless. Stupid.
And she didn't have the luxury of being stupid. Not anymore.
"Sorry," he said, quietly once they were in the car again. "I thought we were on the same page. I wouldn't have done it otherwise."
"I know," she said quickly. Too quickly. "I didn't say anything, did I?"
He nodded once, and started the engine.
Gabriella turned toward the window, willing herself to be made of stone. She wasn't going to think about how good his mouth had felt on hers. Or the fact that she'd kissed him back.
She didn't say anything for several miles. She kept her arms crossed and her head turned toward the window, pretending to be fascinated by the blur of pine trees and the occasional rundown billboard. But her heart wouldn't settle.
Her lips still tingled from the kiss.
The worst part? It hadn't even been a real kiss. It had been an act. A calculated move to throw off suspicion. And still, it felt more real than any kiss she'd had in a long time. Her stomach fluttered in the most annoying way, and no matter how many times she tried to brush it off, mentally file it away as "just adrenaline", she knew she was lying to herself.
It wasn't just adrenaline. It was him.
It had always been him.
Troy. Her brother's best friend. The guy who used to pull her ponytail and call her "squirt." The one who vanished nine years ago and never looked back.
She remembered the day Gabriel came home from his second tour, safe, healthy, and finally done with the military for good. The house had been buzzing with energy, laughter, and relief. Gabriella had wrapped her arms around her brother and cried into his shoulder, grateful to have him home, whole.
But underneath that joy was a quiet, bitter pang she hadn't expected.
Troy wasn't with him.
He hadn't come back.
No calls. No messages. Not even a note. Just silence, the same kind he'd left her with all those years ago.
She told herself it didn't matter. That she'd outgrown the crush, the what-ifs, the memory of almosts. That she didn't care why he stayed, or what kind of war he'd decided was easier to face than returning back home.
But deep down, it stung.
Because even though it had only happened one time, he'd looked at her like she was something more than his best friend's little sister. Like maybe she was something worth staying for.
And then as soon as he had, he left.
Now she was in a stolen car with him, on the run, kissing him in a parking lot to avoid being caught, and her body still hadn't caught up with the fact that it was supposed to not be interested.
She shifted in her seat, turning slightly toward the window and tugging the hem of her dress over her knees, which suddenly felt too exposed. She didn't want him to see how flustered she was. Not again.
Troy
Troy let out a long breath, his fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel.
He shouldn't have kissed her. Hell, he knew he shouldn't have.
It had felt too damn good, dangerously good. The second his mouth touched hers, the world had gone silent, and all that existed was Gabriella. Soft, warm, intoxicating. She tasted like trouble and felt like home, and when she shifted just a little closer, something inside him short-circuited. His mind emptied, logic fled, and for a moment, he would've kissed her forever if she hadn't pulled away.
Thank God she had.
He'd snapped back to reality just in time to spot the two police officers walking in their direction. That sobered him right up.
Gabe was going to murder him. Slow and painful. Maybe with a baseball bat.
Or… maybe he'd never have to know.
It could stay buried, unspoken, just like that night after Gabriella's winter formal. He'd known something was off the second he saw her the next morning. She looked small, shaken. The sparkle that usually lived behind her eyes had dulled. Her smile didn't quite reach her cheeks.
Gabe hadn't noticed. Too busy rummaging through the fridge, cracking jokes about big dresses and curfews. But Troy had noticed.
When he confronted her later at school, away from Gabe's ears she tried to brush it off. At first she told him that nothing happened, then she said they got into a fight. Then her face fell and she told him about how the guy had tried to get handy with her.
How she ended up needing to walk home because the asshole had kicked her out of the car.
He saw red. His vision blurred when she begged him not to tell Gabe about it. She'd been embarrassed and hurt and maybe even thought she'd done something wrong.
He reassured as best as he could, held her for a moment while she cried about it. And then she'd gone to class.
But Troy.
Troy made a beeline for the guy. Straight to the gym where he worked out. Waited until he was alone.
Three punches. Maybe four. Enough to break the bastard's nose and make damn sure he wouldn't lay an unwanted hand on anyone again.
Most satisfying three day suspension of his life.
They never talked about it, Troy and Gabriella.
Didn't need to.
It was a silent understanding, the kind that didn't need words.
Maybe this could be the same.
This thing between them, the heat that sparked when she looked at him, the way she still invaded his thoughts when he was supposed to be focused on survival. Maybe it didn't need to be named.
Because if he said it out loud, it'd be real. And real meant responsibility.
Meant facing the fact that he left.
That he'd ghosted her.
And if she asked him why, why he never wrote, why he signed up for that third tour instead of coming home, he didn't know if he could give her an answer that wouldn't make her hate him.
So maybe silence was safer.
A pact made in glances and tension and things left unsaid.
Two hours later, they reached the edge of Tennessee, the silence between them stretched taut with everything unspoken.
"I'm getting hungry," Gabriella said, eyeing the blur of road signs advertising burgers, pancakes, and questionable diners.
Troy shook his head. "It's not even noon yet."
"Well, we didn't have breakfast. I need something of substance if I'm gonna be stuck all day and night in this car with you."
He smirked. As if being stuck with you is any better.
He kept that part to himself, barely. "It has to be cheap. We can't blow all our money feeding your bottomless pit of a stomach."
She gasped, eyes widening in mock outrage. "Are you seriously calling me fat?"
He glanced over. Her red dress hugged her curves like it had been painted on. No way anyone with eyes would call her fat.
"I wasn't insulting your body, princess," he drawled. "Just your appetite.
She looked down at herself and seemed genuinely relieved. "Good. I'm used to cheap food anyway. I'm a pre-med student, not a socialite."
"But that wardrobe?" Troy side-eyed her. "Not exactly giving ramen-budget vibes."
She groaned. "It's not mine. I borrowed it. The Red Crystal has… a reputation."
"Clearly," he muttered, watching her tug the top up a little.
"It worked," she said with a crooked grin. "Didn't even get stopped at the door."
Troy's hands tightened on the wheel. The idea of her walking into that sleazy club alone in that dress… it made his stomach knot.
"They didn't stop you because they had already marked you as a target. Which also tells me you don't have a damn ounce of sense."
She sighed and turned to the window. "You've got a lot of opinions for someone who hasn't been around."
He raised a brow. "What, you miss me or something?"
"I missed you less than he did," she said, voice softer now. "Gabe worshipped you."
A pang of guilt hit him hard. She wasn't wrong. Gabe had looked up to him, looked at him like he could do no wrong. But back then? Troy had been a wreck. Skipping school. Running away. Stealing stupid crap just to feel something.
He'd gotten pulled out of regular school just before seventh grade and stuck in some transitional program. That's when he met Gabe. It was some cheesy Big Brothers thing. He hadn't said a word the first time they met. He was pissed at the world. Gabe didn't care. He kept showing up. Just… sat with him. Hung out. Waited him out.
Eventually, he'd become part of the family. Gabe's parents welcomed him with open arms. His mom and Gabe's mom hit it off, and suddenly, he had this weird, warm thing he hadn't felt before, belonging.
And there'd been Gabriella.
She was nine then. Quiet. Wide-eyed. At first, he thought she was scared of him. But it didn't last long. She was curious and nosy and full of questions. Always tagging along like a little shadow. Gabe's annoying kid sister.
He never saw her as anything else. Not really.
Okay. Maybe that wasn't entirely true. She was a cool kid. Funny. Smart. Comfortable to be around. And sometimes, when Gabe wasn't around, it was just them, playing Jenga, arguing over brownies, laughing at retro movies.
Nothing had ever happened. Nothing ever would happen.
And just when he had noticed her a little to much for his liking he decided it was time to cut the cord. He left for deployment and never came back and that was the end of it. Gone before he could fall to temptation and fuck up the one good thing that had ever happened to him.
At least that's what he'd thought.
Now, she was sitting next to him in a dress that shouldn't be legal, with a face that looked like it belonged on a billboard, and a laugh that curled around his chest like barbed wire.
And suddenly he didn't know why the hell he thought running away from her would make him forget about her.
But he couldn't go there. Not now. Not ever. Gabe meant too much.
"Look," he began, voice quiet. "I know it sucked when Gabe came home and I decided to stay. But… I found something I was finally good at. And I am good at it."
His voice held an edge, like he was trying to prove it to himself.
Gabriella shrugged, eyes on the horizon. "You chose your life. No one can blame you for that. I just know he missed you. We all did."
He opened his mouth to respond, but something in the rearview mirror caught his eye. A dark sedan with government plates.
She must've felt the shift in his posture.
"Troy?" she asked, sitting upright.
"There's an unmarked car behind us," he muttered, checking the side mirror.
"Of course there is," she said, groaning. "They're coming to arrest us. You stole a car."
As if summoned by her accusation, blue lights flared to life and a siren wailed.
"Son of a—" Troy slammed his foot on the gas and swerved onto an exit, tires screeching.
"Another car chase?" she yelped, ducking low. "This is the second one in two days!"
He ignored her, heart pounding as he wove through traffic, cutting across lanes, horns blaring in protest. He didn't know the city layout, just took sharp turns, one after another, trying to lose the tail.
"We're going to end up on the news," she shrieked as headlights from oncoming traffic bore down on them. Horns blared. The Ford jolted as he hit the curb and darted into a narrow alley.
"We need a big parking lot," he said, scanning ahead. "Be useful and find one."
Gabriella peeked up. "The less I help, the more believable my story will be when I say you kidnapped me."
"If I could stuff you in the trunk, I would."
"There!" she shouted. "On the left—it's a mall!"
"Perfect." Troy cut across three lanes, ignoring the red light. Tires squealed behind them.
"They didn't see our faces," he said, yanking off his overshirt and tossing it to her. "Wipe everything—steering wheel, dash, doors. My prints are in the system. We can't leave anything behind."
For once, she didn't argue. Just did it. Silently, thoroughly. Then handed the shirt to him.
"Hat in the back," he ordered.
She grabbed it.
"We'll park, then run. Thirty seconds, tops. Once we're in the crowd, we blend. Just a normal couple out shopping."
He found a space near the edge of the lot and glanced over. She had her seatbelt off, hand on the door, ready.
"Here we go," he said, yanking the wheel and skidding into the spot.
They jumped out. Gabriella bolted first, Troy close behind. He tugged the cap low over his face, then slung an arm around her waist.
The unmarked cruiser skidded to a halt behind the Ford. Shoppers stopped and gawked.
"Relax," he whispered, hand brushing her hip. "They can't recognize us. Just play along."
"I think I got every print," she whispered back.
"Then stop looking terrified," he said gently. "We're just two people on a date."
He leaned in and gave her a quick, impersonal kiss on the cheek. "Your hair looks incredible today, honey."
She smirked and patted his cheek. "And that hat makes you look like a hick, my love."
Troy grinned. They slipped through the sliding glass doors of the mall, into the safety of the crowd, just another couple, killing time on a Saturday.
For now.
Gabriella
Gabriella sipped her soda with a content sigh, the cool bubbles a small comfort as she watched Troy flip through the classifieds like his life depended on it. They were tucked into a corner booth in the mall food court, the scent of greasy pizza and cinnamon pretzels filling the air. After thirty solid minutes of back and forth, she'd finally convinced him to stop trying to hotwire their way across state lines and actually buy a car.
She reached across the table and snagged one of his fries with a grin. "Any luck?"
"There are a couple of options," he mumbled, not looking up. "I won't know anything until I check them out in person. Hopefully one of them can get us to Texas without breaking down halfway there."
She stole another fry, crunching down thoughtfully. "It's the best shot we've got."
"Hey!" Troy finally looked up and batted her hand away. "Eat your own damn fries."
Gabriella pulled a face and leaned back, sipping her drink. "So now what?"
Troy picked up a fry, chewing on it while he thought. "I guess we're stuck here till I can get in touch with someone. Might not be until tomorrow."
She rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh. "Fine." She stood, brushing invisible crumbs off her dress, and held out her hand expectantly. "May I have some money, please?"
Troy raised a brow. "Why?"
"Because I need a toothbrush. And maybe deodorant. And shampoo. This impromptu road trip is lasting a hell of a lot longer than planned, and I refuse to keep going without the basics."
He sighed, then pulled out his wallet and handed over a crumpled fifty. "Alright. Grab me some stuff too, will ya?"
Gabriella folded her arms. "I don't know what you use."
"I trust you."
That surprised her more than it should have. Still, she turned and headed for the drugstore, her pace casual but quick, grateful for even a shred of independence. Inside, the air smelled like detergent and cheap plastic. She grabbed a basket and made her way toward the back, passing a rack of sunglasses and catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.
She froze.
Her hair, God, he wasn't lying earlier. It was awful. Tangled, oily, practically sculpted into a rat's nest. But that wasn't the worst part. Her eyes had dark circles under them like bruises, and her dress clung in all the wrong places. She looked cheap. Not edgy, not cool, just tired and grimy and used up.
No wonder he hadn't looked at her that way. Not that she wanted him to.
"This is not you," she muttered, narrowing her eyes at her reflection. "You don't look like this. You wear clean clothes. And usually you smell good."
After a pause, she yanked her gaze away and marched down the hygiene aisle. She threw in toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, soap, shampoo, and a comb. She paused at the men's section. Buying stuff for Troy felt strange. She'd never really done that before. When her mom sent care packages to the guys, Gabriella usually just smuggled in junk food for Gabe. Twinkies, Ding Dongs. Nothing that actually helped.
"What's taking you so long?"
She jumped, heart slamming against her ribs. Troy stood at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, watching her like a hawk.
"Jesus, you scared me."
He tipped the basket in her arms to glance inside. "When was the last time you had your period?"
Her blood ran cold. "What?"
"You heard me."
"I really don't think that's any of your business."
He met her gaze, calm but unyielding. "It is my business right now."
She glanced down, cheeks flaming. "A week ago. I'm on birth control. so it's pretty regular."
"Good." He nodded, stepping back. "I got a lead on a car. Guy won't meet until tomorrow morning."
She swallowed hard, trying to gather herself. "So what do we do tonight?"
"Cheap motel," he said, shrugging. "We're going to have to stretch our cash. Hope you don't mind sharing a bed."
Her eyes shot to his. For a second, she forgot how to breathe. She suddenly became very aware of how much taller he was, how much broader. How easy it would be for him to press her into that bed -
Whoa. Stop.
"I'm ready to go," she blurted, taking a step back. She needed space. And she wasn't going to get any.
—
Later that night, after a lukewarm shower in a motel that smelled like stale cigarettes and broken dreams, Gabriella stepped out in just her towel. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders, and she tried to ignore the sight of her panties drying on the shower rod behind her. Whatever. Better clean and embarrassed than filthy and miserable.
She didn't look at Troy as she walked into the room. Instead, she focused on her dress, laying it carefully over the chair near the TV. Her fingers brushed the fabric, and for a brief moment, she imagined being back home, warm and safe in her own room.
"I picked up some—" Troy's voice cut off abruptly.
She turned to see him looking down at the floor, avoiding her entirely. "What?"
He shook his head, his voice clipped. "Dinner. There's a slice of pizza in the bag on the bed. I'm going to shower."
He disappeared into the bathroom, the door shutting with a muted bang. Gabriella stared after him, confused, then sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Her heels were raw, her body sore, her patience hanging on by a thread. She opened the Styrofoam container and took a bite of pizza, grimacing. Awful.
She glanced at the TV and flipped it on with the remote. The old theme song of Hey Arnold filled the room, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. Gabe used to love this show. He always said he and Troy were like Arnold and Gerald of real life. They were each other's ride or die's.
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. She missed her brother. She wondered if he was safe. If he was being beaten. If he was scared. Her stomach turned with dread.
The bathroom door opened. Troy stepped out, shirtless, but still wearing jeans. She wasn't prepared for how he looked. He wasn't cut like a marble statue, his body was solid, warm, real. Soft in places, strong in others. Her eyes lingered on his chest, then his abdomen.
And suddenly she couldn't breathe.
"You're watching cartoons?"
His voice startled her. "Gabe likes Hey Arnold," she muttered, embarrassed.
He softened. "I remember."
"The pizza's awful."
"It's all I could do. Tomorrow, we'll find a diner."
She nodded, then stared down at the ugly motel carpet. "These have been the worst two days of my life. And I've had a lot of bad days."
He sat down on his side of the bed with a heavy sigh. "I'll get you home as soon as I can. Then you'll never have to see me again."
She should've felt relief. That was the goal, wasn't it? Get home. Move on. Leave him behind.
But her chest ached.
"Good," she said, forcing a shrug. "I can hardly wait to be rid of you."
Silence stretched between them. The TV kept playing in the background, but neither of them really heard it.
When she finished eating, she turned off the TV and wiped her hands on her towel. She walked over to the bed.
"You're going to sleep in that?" he asked, voice low.
She looked down at the towel wrapped around her and then at him. "You wouldn't be the kind of guy who lets a girl sleep in his shirt would you?"
He smirked and reached for his discarded button up handing her the shirt. "Knock yourself out."
"Thank God," she said as she pulled it around her, slipping her arms through the sleeves and then pulling her hair out of the neck. "I did not want to put that dress back on."
He raised a brow as she buttoned up the cotton shirt and then shimmied out of the towel. She looked up at him with a smile as she held up her hands in a tada like stance.
Then she frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing," he shook his head and made his way over to bed.
"I usually don't dress that slutty." she said with a shrug, she climbed into the bed and got under the covers. "I'm usually more conservative."
He grunted and then he switched off the bedside lamp. The room fell into darkness.
"No nighties for the boyfriend then?"
"I don't have a boyfriend," she said quietly.
There was a pause.
"Sorry. Last time I talked to Gabe, he said you had one. He was making a big deal about meeting him."
"He never got to meet him."
"Sorry," he said again, softer.
"It's alright. I wasn't that into it."
She shifted closer, sitting beside him. In the faint glow from the alarm clock, she could see the outline of his face. He looked calm, but something about the tension in his jaw made her wonder if he felt anything at all.
She wanted to rest her head on his chest. Wanted him to wrap an arm around her, to let her feel safe. She wanted to forget how complicated this all was.
But this was Troy.
And Troy didn't see her like that.
"You alright?" he asked.
Gabriella blinked. "Just worried."
"Gabe's going to be fine. We'll get this thumb drive where it needs to go. Everything'll work out."
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
"Let's try to get some rest," he murmured.
She slid beneath the sheets, careful not to touch him, even though every inch of her screamed to.
But Troy didn't make a move.
And that, somehow, hurt the most.
The next morning, Gabriella woke up to the sound of someone coming into the room.
She sprung up from her pillow, startled and immediately terrified. It took her only a moment to realize it was Troy and that she was in the bed alone. How long had he been alone? Where did he go?
Then she saw the coffee cup in his hands as he held it out to her.
"Thank you," she said, stretching out her hand for the cup.
He shook his head. "I decided not to risk your wrath this morning and didn't wake you up until I could face you with the right provisions." He seemed to be avoiding looking at her for some reason, but she was too absorbed in the caffeine to really care.
"Thanks," she mumbled over the lip of the coffee cup. After a few sips, she realized what she was wearing.
The shirt must have shifted open at some point and the covers were sitting in her lap. With a gasp she pulled the top of his shirt shut over her bare breast. Not that she had anything to worry about. He seemed to be looking everywhere in the room except at her. Most guys would have at least snuck a few peeks. She supposed Troy was so uninterested in her as a woman that he couldn't even bother to check her out.
A zing of hurt spread through her chest as she pulled the covers up higher. "I'm covered now."
"Good," Troy nodded as he reached for her dress and placed it on the bed. "I'll be outside, I met up with the guy about the car, and we got it." He was focused on her now that he wouldn't have to look at any undesirable flesh.
"Why didn't you wake me up?"
"You were giving an airplane motor a run for its money, I didn't feel the need to disturb you. Besides, I doubt you know much about cars."
"I know things," she said, a little insulted. She really didn't but she didn't like being this helpless damsel in distress he was making her out to be.
"Yeah," Troy nodded. "Sure you do. Be dressed and ready to go in fifteen minutes. Don't waste your time primping. I don't care how you look. I just want you in the car."
Troy
The Memphis air slapped him in the face the moment he stepped out of the motel room. Troy exhaled a long, gritty breath and adjusted his pants. Last night was a nightmare. Not just because she smelled like soap and flowers but because she'd fallen asleep beside him in nothing but his shirt.
And the damn thing came loose an hour later.
He hadn't meant to notice. But once he did, he couldn't unsee her. She was soft. Supple. All curves and quiet breaths, and God help him, she looked like everything he hadn't let himself want in years.
She was a glass of water after two days in the damn desert. His mouth literally watered. He'd had to get out of bed, sit in the chair across the room, and keep his eyes on the frayed carpet like it was his salvation.
What the hell was she thinking? Leaving her panties hanging in the bathroom, walking around in a towel, then sleeping mostly naked beside him.
Was she insane? Or just completely unaware of what she was doing to him?
He reached the Camaro and placed both hands on the hood, grounding himself. He'd left as soon as the sky lightened, just started walking with no destination in mind. He didn't know how much longer he could keep his shit together.
It had been too long. Too damn long since he'd had a woman. And there she was, curled up in bed like some forbidden gift just waiting to be unwrapped.
Gabriella.
Gabe's sister.
His best friend's little sister.
His loyalty was with Gabe. Always had been. Always would be. He couldn't throw away years of friendship because of some aching, needy fantasy.
But his gut knew the truth: Gabriella wasn't just a Fantasy.
She was a whole damn lifestyle. The kind of woman who came with a house, a couple kids, a white picket fence, and Sunday mornings at church. She was soft and warm, and he… wasn't worthy of any of that.
A voice cut through his thoughts.
"How much did that cost?"
He turned to see her standing there in that red dress, her hair loose from its braid, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She had a bag in one hand, a coffee in the other.
She looked incredible.
"Four-fifty."
Her eyes moved to the Camaro. "That's hideous."
He frowned. "It runs. That's all I care about."
Barely. The rust was creeping across the hood like a disease, the seats were torn to hell, and one of the windows wouldn't close all the way. The yellow was more "puke" than "sunshine."
"Is it going to make it?" she asked, coming around to the passenger side.
"It has to. We don't have another option." He reached inside and pulled out a bag. "Here."
She perked up as she took it. "You brought me food? Look at you, all thoughtful and shit."
"Pure efficiency. I'm not stopping in two hours to feed you. We've got ten hours of driving and we're already broke."
"So hitting an ATM is out of the question?"
He nodded. "They'll track us through debit cards."
They got into the car and it groaned in protest when he turned the key.
She grinned. "Well, aren't you the criminal mastermind? Think of a Plan B yet?"
Troy rolled his eyes and pulled out of the lot, scanning the rearview mirror. He wasn't a criminal. Not anymore. He didn't want to be.
Gabriella shifted in her seat. "So what about you? Any relationships gone sour?"
Troy glanced over, brows lifted. "What?"
"I told you about Eric."
"No, you didn't."
"Yes I did."
"All you said was you weren't into it. That doesn't count."
She smirked. "So you are capable of love."
"You're one to talk." He kept his eyes on the road. "What was so wrong with Eric?"
"He cheated. On his fiancée. With me."
Troy winced. "Ouch."
"I didn't know about her," she said softly. "Found out when I ran into them cake tasting outside a bakery."
He heard the hurt in her voice, the way she tried to brush it off.
"It happens," he offered. "Some guys are assholes."
"Yeah."
A silence settled between them. He glanced over. She was staring out the window.
"I guess I'm an asshole too," he muttered. "I don't really do relationships."
She looked at him. "Why not?"
"I'm Army."
"So?"
Troy gave her a sidelong glance. "There's no guarantee I'd come back. Let alone in one piece. Who the hell wants to sign up for that?"
Her eyes widened slightly.
"I watched what it did to my mom," he continued. "She became a widow before I turned seven."
"You surprise me."
"Why?"
She shook her head. "I thought I knew who you were. Then… you go and become someone else."
His voice dropped. Who did I become?"
She met his eyes. "Someone I didn't expect."
Silence again. Until she turned toward him.
"You serve your country. That's not something to be ashamed of. Loving an Army man isn't hard. The distance is hard. The fear is hard. But the love? That's easy."
He nodded, throat thick. "You've changed too, you know."
"I have?"
"Still short, though."
She laughed and shoved him playfully. "You're the worst."
He decided right then he liked her laugh. Raspy. Full. Happy.
Damn. She was one hell of a woman. And he had no business thinking about her the way he was.
"I think the speed limit is 70," she said, propping her feet up on the dashboard.
"I know," he muttered. "This is as fast as it goes."
She watched another car pass them. "And here I thought Chevys were decent cars."
"They are. This one's not."
A rattling sound rose from beneath them. She winced. "I've been thinking about getting a car. Something small and simple."
"At this rate, we'll get there in 18 hours."
"Well, let's just hope no one's chasing us," she said, fiddling with the radio. "At least this works."
He grunted.
Country music filled the car. He didn't mind it. What he did mind was sneaking a glance at her bare legs stretched up on the dash, sun catching on her healing scrapes. Her skirt had ridden up to where her thighs began, and Jesus…
"Put your legs down," he snapped, harsher than intended.
She blinked at him. "Seriously?"
"You're flashing the whole damn highway."
With a gasp she pulled on her skirt a little to hide some of her thighs from him. "You don't have to be so rude about it," she said quietly but not removing her feet from the dash. "Besides, everyone's flying past us, I doubt anyone's looking at my legs."
But he was. And Gabe was going to kill him. He clenched his jaw for a moment as he weighed his options in the current situation. Not only was he being passed up by a guy hauling tractors but he was also allowing his mind to wonder.
Five years of military training, gone in five minutes. All due to a pair of legs propped up on the dashboard. A great pair of legs. Legs he wouldn't mind sliding his hands along and-
"Gabriella, put your damn legs down. They're distracting, and I don't want to look at them." He snapped.
That startled her and she sat up right immediately.
Shit.
"Gabi," he said quietly, rubbing his face with one hand.
But then the engine sputtered.
Her eyes went wide. "Oh no."
"Damn it!" Troy swore. "Fucking piece of—"
"Hey!" Gabriella cut in. "Watch your language, young man, or I'll put you over my knee."
A growl slipped from his throat.
"I hate you."
"Ditto," she chirped. "So now what?"
Troy reached under the dashboard and popped the hood. "I'm gonna look at it."
"What good will looking at it do?"
He rolled his eyes and he got out of the car. "Stay put." He needed air. He needed space. He came around the car, lifted the hood and was greeted with a face full of smog and smoke. He needed to catch a damn brake. He looked out onto the highway. They were sitting ducks here. At least he didn't see any black sedans around.
"Working up your power-ray vision to magically put our engine back together?" her voice made him jump.
He glared back at her.
"You know, for an Army guy, you startle easily."
"What part of 'stay put' didn't you get?"
"Oh I understood it," she said, shifting her weight to the left and placing a hand on her hip. "But I'm not a dog either."
"This is ridiculous," Troy reached into his back pocket and took out his phone. "I'm gonna have to call someone."
"Would it be a good idea to use your phone? I thought the bad guys could trace it. And who would you call? Triple A? The police? Isn't that what we're avoiding?"
He narrowed his eyes again as he looked back at their engine.
"You squint a lot too, did the army teach you that or do you just need glasses and refuse to wear them?"
Troy raised a brow as he placed his hands on his hips. "Do you ever shut up?"
Gabriella smiled, "Look, we both have feet. And there's an exit with a couple of gas stations less than a mile from here."
Troy stared at her.
"The sign," she said with a pointed look as she motioned behind him.
Troy turned to see the sign for the rest stop up ahead. Now he really did want to kiss her.
"We can just walk to one of them and see if someone will tow our car and fix it, can't we?"
"You don't mind?"
She shrugged, "What's the other option? Wait here to be murdered?"
"Right," he nodded. He walked back over to the driver's side and took the keys. When he returned to her, she was rubbing lotion on her arms and face.
"What now?"
"Come here."
"Why?"
She reached up and smeared something cold and greasy on his cheeks.
"What the hell—"
"Sunblock. You'll thank me later, soldier. It's blazing out here." She patted his shoulder. "The sun doesn't care if you're military."
He just stared at her.
Gabriella
That comment got her a cool glare.
"Can we go now?" he said softly.
"Lead the way," she nodded as she tried not to think of her pretty, strappy sandals and the eight blisters on her feet. Just another first world problem.
They began walking, Gabriella did her best to keep up. It was sweltering hot, cars kept whizzing by, they both were sweating profusely, and Gabriella could feel her blisters starting to break open.
Before they had reached the exit, she was pretty sure all of her blisters were bleeding. She could feel wetness around the straps of her sandals, and it felt like the leather was rubbing against raw skin. But she didn't look down to see. She wasn't about to call Troy's attention to her injuries. He'd probably smirk and tell her about a time when he got stuck in the desert with nothing but a plastic spoon and dental floss. Not that it had ever happened, but knowing Troy she wouldn't put it past that he'd survived a few nearly impossible moments.
Once they got off the exit the nearest gas station was still a distance away. Every step felt like hell. It was all she could do to keep from sobbing from the pain.
But she'd always been stubborn. Always been proud. And there was no way she was going to act like a poor, weak, defenseless female in front of Troy.
He grumbled a few times about her not keeping up, but in general, he was too focused on their crisis situation to pay much attention to her.
At last, the gas station they approached was full service and there was a garage and tow truck available. By the time they stepped onto the lot Gabriella was gasping from the pain, and there were tears in her eyes, but she refused to brush them away. Not in front of Troy.
A middle-aged man in a dirty work shirt greeted them. "Howdy," he drawled. "Y'all have some trouble."
"Our car broke down on the highway," Troy explained. "How much for a tow?"
"From the highway," The man said, eyeing Gabriella then looking back at Troy. "Fifty dollars."
"Deal," Troy let out breath, "Is there anywhere for us to wait?"
"Some chairs next to the desk there. And there's a Coke machine inside. Looks like y'all could use a cold drink."
"Yeah," Troy turned to Gabriella, "Come on, let's get you inside the air conditioning."
"Actually," Gabriella asked in a little voice. "Do you have a restroom?"
"Outside. Round back. They're not locked."
Gabriella nodded and hurried around the back of the building as fast as her injured feet could take her.
At least the bathroom wasn't horrible. It did however smell pretty bad so as quick as she could she rushed in, hovered over the toilet so she could pee without contaminating herself on the seat, then flushed and opened the door again.
Glancing around she reached for a big rock nearby and propped the door open so she could have some fresh air as she tended to the impending disaster that was her feet.
She wet some paper towels and wiped off the toilet seat so she could prop her foot on it. Then she wet some more towels, took off her right sandal as gently as she could and looked down at the bloody mess that was her foot.
"Shit," she whispered. She seemed to have developed more blisters along the way, and those had broken open as well. She began wiping some of the blood away. Wincing as the cold rough paper towel grazed her open blisters.
"What the hell?"
That was the last thing she wanted to hear. But there was no way around it, in a heartbeat Troy was inside the bathroom, wrinkling his nose at the smell. And he looked downright furious. "Damn it Gabriella, why didn't you tell me your feet were hurt?"
Gabriella opened her mouth to argue then stopped. "What good would it have done to whine about them?" she settled as she let out a sigh.
"Of all the stubborn, stupid, annoying …" And then he stormed out of the bathroom.
Gabriella stared at the empty doorway. "Talk about stupid and annoying," she muttered. "Come in and yell at me, and then stomp away in a hissy fit."
She started mopping the blood some more, since more had seeped out of the torn skin. Before she could do much more Troy was back and setting a box of Band-Aids, a bottle of antiseptic wash, and some gauze on the vanity counter.
"Oh," she murmured. He was going to help her.
He was shaking his head as he walked over to her muttering under his breath as he reached out and lifted her up bridal style.
"Oh wow," she gasped as she fell against him, quickly wrapping her arms around him so she wouldn't fall. He was still sweaty, and he smelled musty and like the woods. And for the first time ever Gabriella legitimately wondered if there was something to the whole sweaty man fantasy.
He set her up on the counter next to the supply. "New rule." He barked as he poured some of the antiseptic wash onto a piece of gauze. "You so much as get the sniffles you say something," he said, pinning her still with a glare.
"Troy, it's not that big of a-"
"It is to me." He said before she finished. He took her ankle in his hand and started treating her injuries.
"I can do this myself," she said gesturing at the first aid supplies.
"Well, you aren't going to do it yourself," Troy gritted through clenched teeth. "You're damn well going to suffer through my touch long enough for me to make sure you don't get an infection."
Gabriella bit her lip as she remained quiet and watched him apply the antiseptic, which stung the raw flesh. The tears that had been lingering in her eyes started falling and she wasn't so sure it was all because of the pain. She really wasn't sure why she was crying but she just sat there and stood quiet. Troy was so focused on her feet she took it as a small relief and brushed away at her tears. She didn't think he'd notice.
He covered her right foot with Band-Aids, helped her back into her sandal, and then started on the other foot. They were quiet. She sat there watching him feeling his strong clasp on her ankle, the way he handled each wound with the utmost care and caution. Lucky her, injured and helpless with a big strong, capable man like him around. God, this was embarrassing.
When he put the last Band-Aid on he stared at her bandaged foot for a few more seconds. Then he picked up her sandal and studied the leather straps that were bloodied in several spots. He glared at the sandal like he wanted to murder it.
Then he put it back on her foot.
"Why do women wear the most unreasonable and insensible footwear?"
"I wouldn't know; I mostly wear my flip flops everywhere."
Troy smiled at that as he shook his head. "Flip flops are not sensible."
"Don't you talk about flips flops like that," she said just as seriously.
Troy stepped over to her left side and sighed as he looked down at her feet. "Gabriella," he said in a low voice.
"I know, I know," she said quickly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my feet." Was it too much to ask for if the floor just opened up and swallowed her whole.
He lifted a hand and with his thumb he brushed away a stray tear. Her eyes met his and she lost her breath at not only his touch but at the intense expression looking back at her. "I'm sorry that I lost my temper. I'm having trouble… controlling myself. But I never wanted to get you into this, and now there's nothing we can do about it. We're in this together, though. That means that we have to help each other."
She nodded, almost mesmerized by his husky voice and blue eyes. Seriously, did they teach him this in the army too?
"But it also means we accept help from each other. I don't want you to hide something from me that I should know about. How do you think it makes me feel that I made you walk more than a mile on bleeding feet?" he asked quietly. "And then I complained that you were walking too slow."
Suddenly seeing his perspective, Gabriella felt a wave of guilt wash over her. "I'm sorry. I guess I was just being stubborn; I didn't want you to think I was a wimp or say that I had first world problems."
At that Troy rolled his eyes, "I'd never think that. I know how strong you are. I taught you how to throw a punch, remember that?" he shook his head. "You beat the shit out of that guy who was kissing Sarah Brewer at your sweet sixteen."
Gabriella smiled, finally they were back in familiar territory. "Gabe told you about that?"
"Are you kidding? He sent me pictures."
Gabriella laughed, "Yeah, I guess I am a little bit of a bad ass."
"Woah, slow down kid."
Gabriella had been sitting on the vanity, but in that instant she felt like she had been tripped. Kid. Of course, they were five years apart. He'd always referred to her as a kid, little girl, Gabe's sister, but for some reason at the moment. The word stung.
"You know, if you asked me too, I would have brought you better shoes yesterday."
"I didn't think we'd be stranded and walking for miles," she said with a shrug, "you made it sound like we'd be in Texas today. I didn't think it mattered."
"Well, let's hope they can fix the car up in couple of hours." He said placing his hands on her waist and helping her down from the vanity. "How's your feet?"
"They hurt," she said standing on them, "It doesn't feel like I'm going to die anymore."
"Good," then he turned around, "Hop on?"
"What?" Gabriella stared at him as he motioned to his back.
"I'll give you a lift to the waiting room."
"Don't be ridiculous, you're gonna hurt yourself."
Troy let out a sigh, "On my back voluntarily or over my shoulder kicking and screaming. Those are your options."
"I can't believe I'm doing this."
A couple hours later, the mechanic informed them that the car couldn't be fixed for at least three days and it would cost at least three thousand dollars.
Troy let out a sigh, "Alright, fuck it. Can I buy the old pick up truck off you?"
"No."
"What if I sell you the camaro, give you 300 dollars and … This?" Troy frowned as he looked down at the item he pulled out of the bag. A bottle of sunblock. This was not going well.
"Look, that Camaro is a pitiful excuse for a classic."
"But you can fix it up to look like those," Troy pointed to the line of old restored muscle cars lined up in the back. "You can have it looking like new in no time."
"500."
Troy pressed his lips together as he looked at the pickup truck. The truck wasn't in much better shape than the Camaro, it looked about as old, but it did run. That was all they needed.
"Your girlfriend thinks it's a good idea, don't ya Honey?"
He seemed to be talking to Gabriella and she immediately perked up at the assumption. "I do think it's a good idea, Can't we just make the trade?"
Troy stiffened as Gabriella placed her hand on his arm. Now she wanted to play the dotting lovebirds gig. "Gabriella-"
"All this fussing and heat isn't good for the baby," she said, placing a hand on her stomach. "I know that this is the last of our money, but Honey he doesn't care about us. And why should he? It's none of his business that you're about to deploy in three weeks and leave your newlywed wife alone with a baby. And homeless."
"Oh. Now, hold on a minute," the old man said just as Troy was about to grunt at Gabriella's dramatics. "Maybe we can work something out."
"Seriously?" Troy raised a brow more in shock than relief.
The old man nodded, "The $300 is fine, and I'll take the trade." His face seemed momentarily torn. "And my wife would kill me if she ever found out I let you two go off hungry and tired. Why don't you come on over, the least we can do is give you a good meal and a place to sleep tonight."
Just as Troy was about to refuse.
"Oh thank you!" Gabriella leaned forward to hug the older man. "You're so kind."
When the old man stepped away to make a phone call, Troy let out a frustrated groan. "We need to get back on the road."
"We need a break. We need to rest. Seriously, one of us isn't a Government trained robot."
Troy let out a growl. "We don't even know this guy?"
"It's called hospitality, maybe you've heard of it."
"Gabriella, do I have to remind you that our lives are on the line here."
Rolling her eyes she turned around to see the old man returning and quickly grabbed Troy's arm to wrap it around her waist. "We'll leave first thing in the morning."
The old farmhouse smelled like cinnamon, wood polish, and something warm that reminded Gabriella of childhood. The kitchen was modest but charming, with weathered cabinets, yellow-checked curtains, and a long wooden table worn smooth from decades of family dinners. Helen bustled around the kitchen with practiced ease, humming a soft tune while her husband, Ricky, carved the meatloaf with careful precision.
Dinner was spectacular, meatloaf with a brown sugar glaze, buttery mashed potatoes, tender collard greens, homemade biscuits still steaming, and glasses of sweet iced tea that clinked with ice every time someone took a sip.
Gabriella leaned back in her chair, her hands protectively resting on her small bump. She felt so full she could barely move.
"You poor thing," Helen said warmly, patting her own rounded middle out of habit. "How far along are you, sweetheart?"
Gabriella perked up, caught off guard. "Oh, um… about four weeks."
Helen placed a hand to her chest with a wistful smile. "I remember when we found out we were pregnant with Jenny." She reached across the table, placing her hand on Ricky's. "Do you remember, Rick?"
"I do," Ricky said with a quiet chuckle, turning his kind gaze to Troy. "We thought Helen had the stomach flu. Turns out it was our miracle."
Troy offered a polite nod, but his attention was half on his plate. He'd cleaned off the meatloaf and greens, but his mashed potatoes sat mostly untouched. Gabriella noted the way he moved his fork without focus, like he was more present in his thoughts than at the table.
Helen turned her attention to them again. "So, what were you two doing out on the road?"
Troy stiffened, just enough for Gabriella to notice. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. She could practically hear the internal alarms blaring in his head even as he maintained a calm expression and reached for his tea.
"We were heading back to Texas," Gabriella said before Troy could answer. "My folks have a place there."
Helen tilted her head. "You didn't have any bags with you. That seemed odd."
Gabriella felt the cold sweat start to bloom at the back of her neck. "Well…" she hesitated, sensing Troy's glare from across the table without needing to look at him. "We were visiting his parents to tell them about the baby. It didn't go so well. We got into a huge fight and left in a hurry… didn't even pack."
There was a sharp clink as Troy set down his glass a little too hard.
"Oh dear," Helen breathed, horrified. "What on earth were they upset about?"
"They don't think I'm good enough for him." Gabriella forced a small shrug and a humorless smile. "They think I got pregnant to trap him."
Troy looked like he'd been punched. His jaw tightened and he stared at the table, stunned.
Helen gasped and put her hand over her heart. "That's awful."
"I try not to hold it against them. They want what's best for their little boy." Gabriella gave a dry laugh. "He's a big army hero, after all. They'll come around eventually."
"I'll go pull out some clothes for you," Helen said, rising and already stacking plates. "Jenny left some things last time she was here, and I think you two are about the same size."
"Pie's in the oven," Ricky added, standing with a grunt. "Hope y'all like peaches."
As the couple bustled into the kitchen, Troy exhaled.
"Why are my parents assholes?" he asked under his breath.
"Because we're on our way to see mine," Gabriella replied flatly, grabbing another biscuit.
"I don't like this."
"Yeah, well the whole 'runaway with your best friend's pregnant sister' plan was mine, so don't beat yourself up too much." She glanced at his plate. "What's up with your mash?"
"It's heavy. I'll probably fall asleep if I eat it. I can't afford the distraction."
Gabriella paused mid-chew. "Are you for real? So what, you're just not going to sleep?"
He didn't answer. The realization hit her like a cold splash, she hadn't actually seen him sleep since they'd left.
"What the hell have you been doing at night?"
"Keeping watch," Troy said, taking a sip of tea like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"From what?"
Troy's only answer was a noncommittal shrug.
"Anyone want pie?" Ricky reappeared, cheerful and oblivious, holding a perfect peach pie and a carving knife.
Dessert passed with quieter conversation. Troy and Ricky talked about old Chevys, and Helen, ever curious, asked Gabriella questions about the wedding, their love story, their plans for the baby. Gabriella wove together an elaborate lie, charming Helen with every new detail. The more she lied, the more ridiculous it all felt. There was nothing romantic about their arrangement. Not really. Not yet.
Upstairs, Gabriella collapsed onto the bed with a groan. The room was simple, cozy, faded floral wallpaper, a dresser full of forgotten trinkets, and one window that overlooked a wide stretch of fields.
"How's your feet?" Troy asked as he moved to the window, checking the lock.
"They hurt, not gonna lie. I'm hoping like hell Jenny has a pair of flip flops I can have." she said, watching him. He scanned the room like a soldier doing a sweep. Her stomach twisted, was he ever going to let his guard down?
"I'm gonna get ready for bed… unless you want to check behind the shower curtain first?"
"I'll just wait by the door," he said, holding up the neatly folded clothes Helen had left out.
Gabriella blinked. "Are you insane?"
"No. Are you?"
"These people have been nothing but nice and you're acting like they're gonna harvest our kidneys."
"We don't know them."
"We barely know each other."
"I know where and when you got your first period."
She stomped her foot and immediately winced in pain. "I hate you."
She stormed toward the hallway. Troy followed.
"You are not standing outside the bathroom like a bodyguard."
"I'm not standing outside of anything. You're not leaving my sight."
"You're what?"
"I'm going in with you. Relax, I'll close my eyes and wait by the door."
He walked ahead, shoulders set, confident in a way that made her heart flutter against her will.
Once inside the bathroom, she hesitated. He locked the door behind them and turned his back.
This was surreal.
She stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut and beginning to undress. She was hyper-aware of Troy standing just a few feet away.
"Do you think Gabe's okay?"
"Yes," he answered quickly.
She smiled faintly, knowing he couldn't see it. "Good."
After a pause, he spoke again quietly, almost unsure. "You know I'd never… try anything with you, right?"
The words made her still as she reached for the knob to turn on the hot water.
"You're Gabe's little sister."
"Aren't I a little old for that title?" She turned on the water shifting a bit as the chilled spray barely missed her.
"Well, you're still his sister."
"I know." Her voice was soft as she held a hand under the spray. Testing the temperature.
"I'm a man of my word Gabi, I'd never do something he asked me not to do. I wouldn't want to piss him off."
She pulled the curtain back a little to see him as he stood there facing the door. Ever the perfect gentleman. "What did Gabe tell you not to do?"
Silence.
"Troy?"
"Listen, I don't want to start anything, I just want you to feel safe. I just don't like the idea of you being worried about that."
"I wasn't worried." She said softly. "I've always felt perfectly safe around you Troy. You've never done anything to make me feel otherwise."
He shifted. His shoulders slumping a little in what looked like relief.
"Good."
She let the curtain go and focused on cleaning up. "Honestly, this all feels like something out of one of my middle school diaries," she murmured.
"How's that?" He asked. "Did you have a thing for crazy sleepovers in strangers' houses?"
She laughed at that. "I had a you thing."
He grunted. "Oh." One little sound and yet she could almost hear him blushing. "That."
That made her smirk. "Yeah, that." She rinsed off some soap and reached for the shampoo. "Back when I was just the annoying puppy who used to have a crush on you." she said as she scrubbed her hair.
"You were never annoying."
"Yes I was," she huffed, "You guys used to hate it and tease me mercilessly for it."
"Did not."
She rolled her eyes. "God, I thought you were so cute back then. And now here you are all heroic and army-strong…and-" she stopped herself. Crap. Now who was blushing?
"And?" His voice sounded.
"And a complete asshat." She supplied.
"Yeah, well you're still a spoiled brat." He let out a low breath. And they were quiet for a moment as she rinsed off.
"Hey," she said, turning off the water. "Did you need to shower? I could return the favor and stand watch," she teased.
"You would," he murmured.
"Aw come on," She said, pulling back the curtain a little to grab at the nearby towel. "You don't trust me?"
"I do." He said, "I also trust that you'll flush the toilet on me or take off with my clothes."
"You know despite what you think, I've actually matured."
"Oh, I'm sure."
"I have," Gabriella wrapped the towel around herself before pulling the shower curtain back. "Can I get those clothes please?"
He shifted slightly, as if he just realized he was holding the garments from earlier. "Oh," he shifted, passing them over his shoulder.
"Can't wait to wear something other than that dress."
"Or my shirt."
She huffed. "God, I can't wait to be home and in my own clothes."
She was quiet a little longer before she let out a sigh of relief as she looked over at the mirror at her reflection, admiring the pair of clean cotton leggings and a loose-fitting tee that smelled like lavender dryer sheets and the faintest hint of someone else's perfume, Helen's, maybe, or her daughter's. Either way, it didn't matter. They were real clothes.
"Okay, I'm finally decent."
At that he turned, eyes meeting hers. His eyes shifted over her, giving her a long look. When his eyes returned to hers something shifted between them, unspoken, and electric.
"Wow," he nodded.
"You mean holy crap," she sighed, running her hands down her thighs like she was smoothing out a ball gown. "I feel human again."
"You look like you've just returned from war."
"I have, soldier. A war against form-fitted satin and shame."
He smirked. "That bad, huh?"
"You have no idea," she said dramatically, stretching out like a cat with an arch in her back. "I think that dress developed a personality. It was starting to argue with me."
"Can't imagine why. You're a joy."
"Don't sass me, Troy. I am reborn." She turned her face to the back of the mirror and let out a muffled groan of joy. "God bless Helen and her daughter's stretchy pants. This is the softest shirt I've ever worn. I think I might cry."
"You cry, I'm calling Ricky."
She shifted and shot him a look. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me. He seems like the type who keeps butterscotch candies in his pocket and unsolicited advice about pregnancy."
"Oh my God, you're so right. He'd come in here, sit on the closed toilet seat, pat his knee and say something like, 'Y'know, back in my day, my wife gave birth standing up in a canoe.'"
Troy chuckled, as he pulled his shirt off. "And I'd believe him."
Gabriella laughed so hard her belly bounced. "I needed this," she said, wiping a happy tear from the corner of her eye. "I needed to feel normal for five minutes."
He looked at her for a moment, quiet, warm. "You are normal. Just… with bonus features now."
"Bonus features?" she raised a brow.
"You come with heartburn and mood swings."
She rolled her eyes, but then paused to admire the broad span of his shoulders as he began undoing his pants. Apparently the man didn't have the same sense of modesty she'd had about her own nudity.
He was standing in his boxers now and making his way towards the shower.
"I will fight you," she warned half heartedly.
"I've seen you try to open a peanut butter jar." He said, stepping into the tub and pulling the shower curtain shut. "I like my odds."
She gasped. "Low blow, Benedict Arnold."
He laughed again, a softness there that hadn't been there before. "Well, you do look good. Comfortable. More like yourself."
Her breath hitched just a little. As his boxers came in over the top of the shower. The water turned on and she leaned against the vanity. The idea of him just a few feet away, naked and relaxed under the sprays.
She brushed out some of her fingers with her hair. "I almost forgot what that felt like," she admitted. Then, to keep herself from getting too sentimental, she added, "And don't think I didn't notice you ogling my leggings."
"I was not."
"Please, you were barely blinking."
"What can I say, I'm trained to scan for threats."
"Mm-hmm. Say 'threat' one more time and I'll assume it's a code word for 'thighs.'"
"More of a leg man."
At that her breath hitch a little as she remembered earlier today in the car, when he told her to put her legs down because he was distracted.
She quirked a brow, suddenly curious about how he was distracted.
"Well, don't take too long in there," she said, stretching again. "I need you to come back out and stare at me some more so I know I still got it."
"Believe me," he said from behind the curtain, "you never lost it."
Gabriella blinked as a goofy smile creeped across her face before she could stop it.
Troy
A long time ago, before Gabriella had even started high school, Gabe had pulled Troy aside after practice and laid down a rule in that dead-serious way of his.
"You're not allowed to fuck my sister. I mean it. So help me God, Troy, I'll murder you."
Troy had scoffed, shrugged it off. "Yeah, got it."
"She's not like those girls you date," he said with serious expression. "Gabi's gonna be a doctor one day. One of those fancy ones with the fucking white coats and shit. She doesn't need distractions."
"Dude, I get it. You're sisters off limits."
It had been easy enough to say back then, when he didn't really think of her in that way. Gabriella was a scrawny, quiet kid with oversized glasses and a backpack that was bigger than she was. He'd been a walking hormone with a chip on his shoulder and enough bad decisions under his belt to keep his mom up at night. The idea of her had never even entered his mind.
Until it did.
Now, she was lying beside him, her head resting on his chest, her hand warm over his heart like it belonged there. And all he could think about was how Gabe would probably try to kick Troy's ass if he knew.
Troy hadn't slept much. Not with the way she curled into him like she trusted him with everything she had. Not with the memory of her in his shirt, or a towel, or that stupid red dress.
She stirred against him now, her breath soft against his skin, and tilted her face up toward his.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, voice still laced with sleep. "I must've rolled over."
"Seems that way." He smiled lazily, keeping his hand resting gently on her arm. Her hair had shifted against his chest and it took every ounce of control not to run his fingers through it.
"You should've rolled me back to my side," she said, brushing hair out of her face.
"I tried," he lied, deadpan. "But you're a very insistent snuggler."
She rolled her eyes, pulling back just enough to sit up. "That's not true. I'm not snuggly. I like my space when I sleep. I must've been cold or something."
"The room felt warm to me," he teased. "I think you're a covert snuggler. Operating under the radar, but deadly effective."
Her laugh hit him square in the chest. God, he'd missed that sound. Not that she'd ever laughed like that around him before.
"We should get ready," he muttered with a groan, sitting up slower than he needed to. He didn't want to leave the bed. Didn't want to leave her.
"Did you even sleep?"
"I rested."
"You're psycho," she said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
That's when the sunlight hit her, and the shirt was already soft and light on her skin was damn near translucent in the light, hugging all the wrong (or right) places. His throat went dry, and he had to grip the sheet to keep from doing something stupid.
"I'm gonna check out the coffee situation," he said quickly, forcing his eyes away.
"Yes, please." She reached her arms up in a long stretch, her back arching, and he swore under his breath.
Troy grabbed his shirt and tugged it on like it would fix the problem. It didn't. One last glance, because he was weak, then he was out the door.
The kitchen was quiet. Too quiet. A pot of coffee steamed by the counter. He moved toward it like a man in a desert stumbling on an oasis… until the soft static of the little TV on the counter caught his attention.
He turned, mug in hand.
"Once again, police are on the lookout for Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez, said to be armed and dangerous…"
The mug almost slipped from his fingers.
Sketches of their faces. On screen. On the news.
His stomach dropped. "Well… shit."
"Oh good, you're up," came Helen's voice behind him. Troy jumped and hit the power button on the TV.
He turned, forcing a smile. "Yes, ma'am."
"Let me get that for you," he said, reaching for the laundry basket in her arms.
"You're sweet. You remind me of my Rick when he was younger."
Right on cue, Rick came in from the back door, newspaper under his arm. "Truck looks good. Should get you where you're headed."
"Appreciate it," Troy nodded, grabbing his cup and edging toward the stairs. "Just gonna make sure she's ready to go."
"Oh, stay for breakfast! We're making pancakes."
"You've both been so kind to us," Troy said quickly, "but we've really gotta hit the road if we want to make it to her parents' by nightfall."
"Well then I'll make a to-go basket. Do you like blueberries?"
"Love 'em," Troy said, already halfway up the stairs.
He took them two at a time.
He didn't knock. No time for it. He burst into the room, eyes wide.
"We have to go. Now."
Gabriella jumped, clutching her shirt closed. "Knocking! Maybe you've heard of it?!"
She wasn't wearing pants.
His brain short-circuited. The world momentarily lost all sound.
She glared. "Seriously?"
Troy blinked. "We gotta go," he muttered.
"Can I put on my pants first?"
"Uh—yeah. Pants are a solid plan."
She rolled her eyes and turned her back to him. "Turn around!"
He obeyed, staring at the door, trying not to picture her bare legs or the way that shirt clung to her in all the ways it shouldn't.
"What's the big hurry?" she asked, wrestling with a zipper.
"Apparently, we're wanted criminals."
"What?!" Her voice shot up an octave.
"They had our pictures on TV. Probably at every gas station from here to the border."
"Troy! I can't have my face on TV! My mom's going to kill me!"
"If someone doesn't beat her to it," he muttered.
"Not helping!"
"Are you dressed yet?"
She let out an aggravated groan. "Since running into you, I've been mistaken for a prostitute, had my mom's car destroyed, been shot at, been part of two stolen vehicles, my feet are shredded, I've eaten more carbs than any person should legally consume, and now I'm a fugitive. Great, happy stinking birthday to me."
He raised a brow, fuck. How had he forgot about that. It was her birthday. He let out a sigh, "Hey, I know this is stressful—"
"This is torture. This is a nightmare road trip from hell. This is worse than applying for medical school!"
"I really need you to stay calm," he said, turning around just as she yanked her hair into a ponytail.
"I really need to freak out right now," she said, chucking her bag to the side.
He crossed to her in two steps, hands on her shoulders, grounding her. "Breathe."
"Stop telling me what to do," she snapped, then took a deep breath anyway.
And somehow, even while spiraling, she looked stunning. Tired. Frustrated. But beautiful.
"So…" he said, lips quirking, "you think I'm cute?"
Her eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Last night, in the shower, you said you used to have a crush on me. Thought I was cute."
"Thought, past tense. Don't get excited."
"Still, if someone were to have a birthday wish granted today, would seem pretty convenient to be with the object of your girlhood fantasies." He grinned.
She snorted, brushing his hands off her shoulders. "What did I ever see in you?"
"Don't know," he said lightly. "But I'd love to hear about it one day."
"You're impossible," she grunted. "And don't think I don't know what you just did there?"
"I don't know what you mean?" Troy responded with a shrug.
"That distracting tactic," she slipped into her flip flops. "You're annoying but effective."
He grinned. "Ready to go?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Nope," he said, slinging her bag over his shoulder. "Now c'mon, our adoring fan base awaits."
Gabriella
Two hours later, they were back on the highway, the sun already climbing higher into a pale blue sky that did nothing to warm Gabriella's mood. At least she had on clean clothes now, thank God for that. A soft cotton T-shirt, a pair of fitted jeans that hugged her hips just right, and a borrowed flannel she wrapped around her waist. It helped her feel a little more human again, a little less like someone who had just escaped with her life.
But no amount of fresh laundry could scrub away the sting of this morning.
She'd woken up wrapped in a warm tangle of limbs and sleepy breath, her body humming with the buzz of expectation. Stupid, really. She knew better. Troy wasn't interested in her. Not like that.
But try telling that to her hormones.
When he'd slipped out of bed with nothing more than a teasing smirk and a muttered "morning," Gabriella had rolled to the edge of the mattress and caught her reflection in the cracked mirror above the dresser.
It was the first time she actually woke up and didn't look like a train wreck impersonating a woman. her hair wasn't too wild, her pajamas weren't skewed up or fell off of her.
She looked like herself. And she's been all wrapped up in Troy.
And Troy? Not even a twitch in his pants.
She hadn't looked, of course. Not directly. But a girl notices things. He hadn't looked flustered or bashful or even mildly turned on. Just… calm. Amused. Like waking up next to her was no different than waking up next to a Golden Retriever.
After a night of sharing body heat in a too-small bed and brushing her legs against his, the least the man could do was offer her the decency of a morning erection. Was that too much to ask?
Gabriella rolled her eyes and turned to the window, watching cars pass by. She didn't even know what she wanted from him. Just… something.
"We're going to need gas soon," Troy said, breaking into her stormy thoughts.
"Already?" She turned to him. "Can we do that?"
He gave her a sidelong glance, one brow raised in that slow, teasing way of his.
"Being America's most wanted and all," she added dryly.
"We're not on America's Most Wanted, Gabriella."
"Our faces are on TV," she reminded him with a shrug.
"So we find a rundown place. One that probably doesn't even own a fax machine."
"How do we do that? It's not like you have Yelp open."
"Little Rock, Arkansas," he muttered, veering off the highway. "We'll look."
The place they found looked like it had last been cleaned during the Nixon administration. Rusted pumps, a leaning roof, and a flickering neon sign that buzzed like a dying fly. Of course, Troy pulled right in.
"We might as well stock up. Next stop's Dallas."
Gabriella eyed the tiny store attached to the station. "Do you think we'll have to give a kidney for entry?"
"Don't be dramatic." He smirked and started toward the building.
"Says the guy with a bullet scar," she muttered, sliding into her flip-flops and trailing after him.
Inside, the air smelled like stale cigarettes and beef jerky. The man at the counter didn't even look up from his magazine. Gabriella gave him a wide berth, grabbing a few bags of chips and water while Troy paid for the gas, then bolted outside.
"Sure, back at the house he's playing secret service," she grumbled under her breath, "but here he leaves me with senior creepy."
Just then, Troy reappeared and handed her his wallet. "Pick up what we need," he said, nodding toward the bathroom.
Two minutes after he disappeared, the bell over the door jingled. Two men stepped inside, and Gabriella felt a bolt of unease skitter down her spine.
"The man is about six feet, blue eyes. Early twenties. The girl's young, brown hair. Gorgeous figure."
Her stomach dropped. She ducked behind the magazine rack, her heart slamming into her ribs like a battering ram.
"Yeah," the cashier said slowly. "They were just in here. Didn't pay much attention to the guy. But the girl…" He gave a low whistle. "Damn. Little firecracker. Legs for days."
A hand clamped over her mouth.
Gabriella nearly screamed, until Troy's voice rasped into her ear.
"Don't make a sound. Follow my lead."
He smelled like aftershave and motor oil, and the solid press of his chest behind her sent adrenaline coursing through her.
He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her back his body curved protectively around hers like a living shield. At the back door, just as he opened it, a voice called out from inside:
"I'll check the bathroom."
"Run."
It was the last thing she heard before the door burst open behind them.
Gabriella took off, feet slapping the gravel. Gunfire cracked behind her and something pinged off the ground near her heel.
This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.
Another shot rang out. A sharp grunt behind her.
"Troy!" she shouted, fear tightening her throat.
"Keep going!"
She reached the truck and flung the door open, diving inside and ducking. Her lungs burned as Troy vaulted into the driver's seat, blood staining the right side of his shirt.
"You're bleeding!" she cried.
"Imagine that," he muttered, grinding the gear shift into drive. The engine roared, tires screeched, and more bullets pinged off the truck.
"They're still shooting at us?"
"They tend to do that," he said through gritted teeth.
Gabriella twisted to glance behind them. A black sedan was barreling down the road after them.
"This would be a great time for a plan!"
"Left or right?"
"What?"
"Left it is."
Troy yanked the wheel and Gabriella shrieked as the truck fishtailed. The sedan was gaining on them.
They weren't going to make it. No way to hide. No way to escape.
"Troy," she whispered, "I'm scared."
His voice was calm. "Seatbelt. Now."
She clicked it into place right as the sedan rammed them from the side. The truck veered, tires skidding. The sedan pulled up beside them just as Troy turned onto an old country road. The man in the passenger seat aimed the gun out the window. Gabriella huddled down in her seat as she heard the shots ring out, although he wasn't aiming at her or Troy.
The truck swerved wildly and the tires exploded. Troy tried to keep the Truck steady, but it veered off the road. They were still going too fast, and Gabriella screamed as she saw the trees up ahead. They weren't going to stop in time.
Gabriella felt her neck snap back painfully as they smashed into the tree, her seat belt grabbing her painfully in the midsection.
"Gabi," Troy gasped, "Get out. Run!"
She didn't think. She unbuckled, shoved the door open, and ran into the brush, across jagged roots and low branches. She sprinted like a madwoman where she had no idea but she was in a fierce run into a corn maze, feeling her arms and legs get whipped as ran through branches and leaves. Her heart felt like it was going to burst, her chest burned and she could hear someone behind her. A flip-flop flew off. She stumbled, scraped her knee, and didn't stop.
Somewhere ahead, a clearing. A barn. Safety.
Then she heard him.
"Over here!"
Troy. He pulled her inside a small shed, slamming the door behind them. Dust filled her lungs. Spiderwebs clung to her arms. She was trembling.
He pressed her into a corner, his body a shield once again. She could barely breathe with how close they were.
"You did really well," he whispered. His breath was warm on her ear. His voice made her knees weak.
She nodded, trying not to melt. He wasn't even winded. What was he, a machine?
Gabriella nodded, not able to speak just yet. A sign she was indeed very human.
Then voices.
"Where the hell did they go?"
"Check the barn, find that little bitch he's with. I bet if we make her scream loud enough he'll come running."
Gabriella felt Troy's entire body tighten, if that was even possible. And she gripped his shirt hard just as he moved.
"Don't." She whispered. Not even sure she could be heard.
For a moment she thought he might leave her. That he might do something incredibly stupid. Like get himself killed just to save her but he didn't move.
They stayed like that, silent, pressed together, hidden. The heat in the shed grew unbearable, sweat sliding down Gabriella's back.
Her thoughts spiraled. Gabe. Her parents. What they'd do if they lost her.
And Troy. She risked a glance upward. His eyes were already on her.
"I'm going to check the exit," he murmured.
"Check it for what?"
"We can't stay here."
He gently pried her fingers from his shirt. She hadn't even realized she was still holding on.
"You better come back," she whispered.
His thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn't felt fall.
"I will," he promised, and for the first time, she wanted to believe him.
Not because he was her protector. Not because he was strong. But because when she looked in his eyes, she saw something that hadn't been there before.
He wasn't just protecting her anymore.
He wanted her safe, because she meant something to him.
Troy
Troy stepped out of the shed, muscles taut, eyes sharp as he scanned the clearing. The only sound was the quiet hum of the afternoon sun baking the earth. He shut the door behind him with care, crouched, and grabbed the first hefty rock he could find.
He should've taken Gabe's message seriously when he got the thumb drive. He hadn't known what he was walking into what he was dragging Gabriella into.
As he moved toward the barn, he pressed a hand to his side. Blood. A lot of it. The heat wasn't helping. He needed water, but first, he needed to keep her safe.
Keeping to the barn's shadow, Troy moved silently along the side, invisible to whoever might be watching. Inside, muffled voices drifted out.
"She's not in here."
"You sure?"
"Well, I haven't sifted through the horse shit, but be my guest."
"Shut up."
Troy edged closer to the open door.
"Let's check the shed and move. We're wasting time."
The first man stepped into view and Troy swung. The rock connected with a sickening crack, dropping him instantly.
"Alright, that's enough." The sharp click of a gun hammer froze him in place.
"She means nothing to you," Troy said calmly, hands slightly raised. "Take me. Leave her out of this."
"We need both. They want you alive. Cooperate, and things go easier, especially for the girl."
Troy's jaw tightened. "You're not taking her. And I'm not going with you."
He moved first.
His fist shot up, catching the man under the chin, knocking the aim of the gun. It fired, wide. Troy closed the distance fast, grabbing the man's arm and twisting, then slammed a punch into his kidney. The man doubled over, perfect. Troy spun in behind him, yanked his arm straight, and used the gun to shoot the first man, who was groaning and trying to sit up. The bullet hit his shoulder.
With the last burst of energy he had, Troy landed a final punch to the second man's face. The guy crumpled, leaving Troy standing, breathless, with the gun in his hand.
"I don't get paid enough," he muttered, catching his breath.
He bent over, pulled a pair of handcuffs from the guy's belt, and snapped them on both men. Then he patted down their pockets, finding car keys.
"F…fuck," one of them groaned.
"Maybe later," Troy said, tucking the gun into his waistband. "But not with you."
He headed back to the shed, heart pounding, not from the fight, but from the crying he could hear inside.
He opened the door. "You alright?"
Gabriella threw herself into his arms, sobbing. The force of her hug nearly knocked the wind from him.
"I thought they shot you. I thought you were dead."
Her body was warm against his, her voice like a balm. He should've pulled away, should've said something reassuring and practical. But he couldn't. Not yet.
"I was so scared," she whispered.
He didn't respond, just held her tighter, his hand tangling in her hair. She smelled like hay and dust, but there was something sweet beneath it too. Her hand traced gently across his back, and his entire body tensed with restraint.
"I told you I'd be back," he said, finally.
He loosened his hold, forced himself to step back, creating a solid foot of space.
"Come on. I got us a new ride." He pulled the keys from his pocket.
"Maybe I should drive," she said, reaching for them. "You know, since you've been shot and all."
He gave a small nod and handed them over.
They slipped through the corn maze in silence until she started asking questions.
"So what did you do back there?"
Troy glanced over his shoulder. "You really wanna know?"
"No."
He smiled, catching the curse she muttered under her breath.
"Did you kill them?"
He hesitated. "No. Just stabilized the situation."
She blinked. "Is that army guy code for something?"
"No."
"Are they gonna come after us?"
"Not for a while."
They stepped out of the maze into the clearing, and saw the sedan parked beside their truck, now engulfed in flames.
Gabriella stared, stunned. "This has got to be the worst birthday ever."
Troy shook his head. "Can't be that bad, we're alive." And just then his left side gave and he staggered a bit but caught himself.
Gabriella's gaze dropped to his side. "How bad is it?"
"Just a scratch."
"That's a hell of a scratch." She stepped toward him, but he held up a hand.
"Let's just get out of here."
As she headed for the car, she asked, "Let me guess, no hospitals?"
"No hospitals."
"So where the hell do we go?"
He opened the passenger door. "Next town over. We ditch the car there."
"Why not keep it?" she asked, sliding behind the wheel.
"It's got a tracker. I'll disable it when we get there, but after that we've got maybe five minutes before the engine shuts off."
"So they'll know where we are?"
"Not if we stash the car and hike to a motel."
She sighed. "You're not gonna pass out on me, are you?"
He settled back in the seat, eyes heavy. "Don't think so."
Gabriella
He looked like he'd just lost a fight with a freight train and won, but only barely. His body was stiff, his movements sluggish. Still, when Gabriella returned and stepped into the motel bathroom, he turned toward her with that same infuriating glint in his eye, only now it was softened, touched with something she couldn't quite place. Relief?
"That was longer than twenty minutes," he said with a tsk of his tongue.
"I couldn't find tweezers," she said, holding up the bag. "Had to ask for help."
"From?" His gaze narrowed.
"Relax, it was the old man at the pharmacy desk. We're fine. No one caught on to me."
She removed the baseball hat and sunglasses she'd stolen from the sedan before they trash it.
"I got everything you asked for," she said gently, holding up the bag.
"Thanks, I can handle it from here," he murmured, not quite meeting her eyes.
"No, you won't." She stepped closer, frowning. "Do you remember what you told me in that gas station bathroom? About being in this together, and accepting help?"
He cracked a tired smile. "So, you were listening."
Gabriella rolled her eyes, even as her lips curved. "I was."
He was leaning on the vanity, his shoulders slumped. Her mighty protector tired and weak. He Needed her help. He wouldn't admit it, but he did.
She reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, careful, steady. Her fingers brushed the warm skin of his chest, and the moment stretched out between them as her fingertips brushed over a bruise on his shoulder.
She shifted her gaze further across a scar, a tattoo of compass over his left pec. Further down to his side where gash from a stray bullet stared back at her angrily.
"Does it hurt?"
"Just when I breathe." He shrugged, followed by a wince.
"Idiot." She mumbled.
"Do you know how to do stitches?" he asked quietly.
Her confidence wavered slightly, as she gave him a nervous laugh. "Barely. I practiced on my teddy bear last month. Pre-med is mostly anatomy and theory. Other than that I've mostly only watched the doctors do it and practiced on artificial skin in the lab. This is my first real field test."
Troy huffed. "That's cute."
She glanced up, and the expression on his face wasn't teasing. It was something else, gentle, unguarded, almost awed.
Her hands stilled. "Maybe you should drink some more water."
As she cleaned and prepped the wound, the silence between them settled into something tender. Her focus was razor sharp, her hands surprisingly steady. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, taut with pain, but he didn't flinch, just watched her like he was memorizing the shape of her. He even guided her through a few of the trickier stitches, his voice low and calm, his breath grazing her cheek once or twice.
When it was done, Gabriella exhaled as she shook out her hands. Her eyes examined the freshly cleaned and closed wound.
"That was… surprisingly successful."
"You should still get that checked when this is over," she said, starting to pack up. "I'd rather not be your sole medical provider." She gathered some trash from him to toss it out. "I'll help you to bed."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He chuckled, and the sound sent a little shiver down her spine. He shifted so he was standing up straighter and winced.
"Whoa," Gabriella came to his side offering herself under his left arm for weight support. "You're not Superman you know."
He clicked his tongue. "Just standing up with character.
"It's called ignoring medical advice."
Troy smirked, "If I took every piece of advice you gave me, I'd be covered in bubble wrap."
"Tempting. Might finally keep you from bleeding on everything," she bit out as she helped him hobble to the bed.
"But then you'd miss patching me up. Admit it, you like playing nurse."
She let out a sigh as she braced her weight to help him gently lower himself onto the bed. "No, I just like not watching you die slowly."
"Could've fooled me with the way your hands linger when you're stitching me up."
She could feel the pink on her cheeks, luckily he wasn't watching her with his usual calculated expressions. Maybe he wouldn't notice at all. "I'm just thorough."
"You're soft."
"Excuse me?"
He shrugged, his voice quieter. "Your hands. When they're not stabbing me with needles, they're soft. It's nice."
Despite all the reasons she shouldn't have smiled at that, she did. "You're such a weirdo."
"You like that about me."
She grinned. "I tolerate that about you."
As she got him settled onto the bed she made to move away from him only his hand caught on her wrist.
"That's a lie."
She stilled, the ends of her braided ponytail shifting over her shoulder and grazing his bare chest. "And if it is?"
"Then maybe I'm not the only one lying."
She inhaled, her eyes meeting his. "And what exactly are we lying about?"
He shifts up a little and leans towards her, their faces close, his breath fanning her bottom lip. "You still think I'm cute," his lips pulled into a cocky and soft smile.
Rolling her eyes she moved away from him, coming to sit by his side now. "You should rest."
"Can't," he let out slow even breaths, his eyes closing slightly.
"I think you can," she said softly. "For at least a little while. I promise, I can stay out of trouble just long enough for you to rest up."
"That'll be the day," he mumbled.
She leaned over him, her fingers gently shifting up into his hairline and rubbing at his temple softly. "You know you don't have to stay up and keep watch all night. We're not in a war zone."
His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his head leaning into her hand. "Old habits."
"Let me guess. Army training?"
He opened his left eye, his blue eye watching her with amusement. "Nah. Childhood trauma."
At that she let out a small laugh. "Wow. You really know how to keep the mood light, huh?"
He shut his eyes again. "What can I say? I'm a delight at slumber parties."
She grinned, "Yeah, I bet you were the kid who ruined truth or dare with deep existential questions."
"Or kissed all the girls and then pretended I didn't care."
Gabriella "Did you care?"
The motel room was quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional car passing by outside.
"Only about the one I never did kiss."
She paused, her smile fading into something gentler. The air between them felt charged, heavier somehow.
"Must've been some girl."
"She was. Still is."
She shifted, propped herself up on one elbow and came to lay beside him. Her voice barely above a whisper. "You never say what you really mean, do you?"
He met her gaze. "I'm saying it now. You just don't want to believe it."
She swallowed. "I don't know what I believe anymore."
He shifted, wincing slightly as he settled beside her. "Then believe this… if it were up to me, you'd never have to sleep in a shitty motel again. You'd never have to run. Or stitch up bullet wounds. Or pretend you're not the smartest, bravest person in the room."
She bit her lower lip as she thought about that. Then she returned his gaze. "If it were up to me… you'd stop pretending you're not scared. Or tired. Or hurting."
Troy exhaled, slow and long, like the breath had been caught in his chest for days. "If I let myself feel all of it, I'm not sure I'd be able to stop."
"Maybe you're not supposed to."
Silence stretched again, but this time, it felt warm. Like something unspoken had finally been heard.
He shifted. "You should probably sleep."
She smiled at him softly. "You always do that when you're trying to dodge intimacy."
He chuckled, "It's not dodging. It's… a strategic retreat."
"Coward." She teased.
"Only with you."
They were quiet after that, she laid beside him, her hand reaching up again to stroke his temple softly. It took a while but finally he did drift off to sleep. She was filled with relief, gently she rested her head on his chest. Snuggling in slightly so as to not disturb him.
She drifted to sleep shortly after.
Troy
Troy woke slowly, the kind of slow that felt rare and undeserved. The ache in his ribs had dulled, no longer a screaming reminder of everything gone wrong. His limbs felt heavy but relaxed. His mind, for once, was quiet.
It was her breath he noticed first, soft and warm against his chest, a steady rhythm that matched the rise and fall of his own breathing. Gabriella. Draped over him like they'd been like this a thousand times before. Her leg tangled between his, her arm resting across his stomach, her face tucked perfectly against the curve of his shoulder.
God, he could've stayed like this forever.
He didn't move, not really, just lifted one hand and brushed a few strands of hair away from her face. His fingertips barely skimmed her skin, but it was enough. Enough to remind him she was real. That this was real. That somehow, through everything, fear, danger, the damn flash drive in his pocket, they'd ended up here. Together.
Her lashes fluttered before her eyes blinked open. She looked up at him, a little groggy, a little confused, but she didn't pull away.
"Hi," she murmured, her voice rough with sleep.
Troy smiled, the kind that started slow and tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Hey."
They just stared at each other for a while, faces inches apart, breathing in the same patch of air. Her palm still rested over his heart. He wondered if she could feel it pounding like it was trying to escape his chest.
"Are you feeling better?" she asked quietly, fingers brushing over the blanket where his skin lay underneath.
"Yeah." His voice came out softer than he intended. "You're a hell of a medic."
Her lips quirked into a smile. "Guess the teddy bear training paid off."
He chuckled, a low rumble she could probably feel through his ribs. He lifted his hand again, this time letting his knuckles graze along the edge of her jaw. Her breath caught just slightly, but she didn't move away.
"I meant what I said earlier," he murmured. "About the way I feel."
Her eyes didn't leave his. "I know."
That was it, two words, but they landed in his chest with the weight of everything he'd tried not to want.
He leaned in, slowly, giving her time to stop him. But she didn't. Her hand slid up, fingertips threading into his hair. Her lips parted slightly, and their noses brushed. The air between them thickened with something old and new all at once.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
But she didn't say a word.
So he kissed her.
It was cautious at first, a question more than an answer. But then her mouth moved against his like she'd been waiting for this as long as he had. She kissed him back with a sweetness that undid something in him. Her hand cupped the side of his neck, holding him close like she meant to make up for every second they'd lost.
When they finally broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the quiet hush between them.
"That was… overdue," she whispered.
Troy smiled, brushing his thumb against her cheek. "No arguments here."
He leaned in again, taking her mouth with his and letting his hand sink into her hair angling her head. His need for her building with every swipe of his tongue against her.
She moaned against him and he shifted his hand, caressing her neck, her collar bone, her breast. The weight of it in his hand. After fantasizing about all the filthy things he wanted to do with her breast, he could hardly think about anything else.
His lips trailed down from her lips to her jaw and neck. Taking in her scent, her softness, her heat. He nipped and sucked on her neck and she arched into him. Her hips wiggled slightly against him as she gave into him.
"I want you so much that it's making me crazy." he whispered against her skin. "I keep picturing you beneath me, over me, writhing against me. When I hear your voice, I think about how it will sound when you're moaning my name. I keep imagining how you'll feel when I'm inside you. I can't think of anything else. I'm always aroused, and I constantly want you."
She moaned, her hands coming to the back of his head, sinking into his hair. A ripple of pleasure shooting through him at the feel of her so responsive to his words.
"I thought you didn't like me."
He shifted his hands tugging down the zipper of her jeans. And shoving his hand inside them with urgency. Now that he'd cross the line he didn't want to waste time. Didn't want to wait another minute without claiming her as his.
"I've been rock hard all week because I want you so fucking much."
She gasped out his name as his fingers found her core, she was already wet, slick with her need for him.
"So wet already and I've barely touched you." He moaned, unable to stop he continued leaving kisses on her neck. Everything about her was as soft and sweet as he imagined. Her wet bundle of nerves was so responsive to his touch and so warm. The thought of sliding into her made his dick strain against his pants.
She shifted, and he took advantage of the space, he shifted his own weight he was leaning over her now, his hand rocking slowly as his fingers moved over her sex. Each swipe over her core making her hip arch up into his touch.
"Troy," she mumbled, "don't stop."
"Not a chance." He mumbled, his fingers keeping the same rhythm, as he swiped over her center again and again. Mesmerized by her light brown eyes watching him in a lustful haze.
"Oh god," she mumbled, rocking her hips a little more. "I think I'm going to…"
"That's right baby," he applied a little more pressure in his touch. "When I slide inside this pussy I want you dripping wet for me."
"Oh," she arched up, her eyes going wide as she took a few deep breaths, her thighs squirming as she reached out her hand looking for something to hold onto. "Oh." She was shaking and breathing hard. "Shit, Troy please."
He took her mouth with his, swallowing her gasp as her orgasm crested, enjoying the way she wrapped her hands around him and dug in her nails. The heels of her feet pressing into the mattress as she arched into him. Her whole goddamn body shivered and he felt all in his chest. That triumphant moment of a job well done.
"Take off your clothes," he mumbled against her lips a moment later.
She shifted up, her fingers reaching for the hem of her blouse then pulling the material up and over her head exposing her bare breast to him.
He moaned at the sight and then he reached for his own jeans, undoing the button and reaching inside to grab his dick. It was like a fucking stone, rock hard in his hand. Desperate to be inside her.
"It's been a while," she said quietly. "Eric was the first and there hasn't been anyone since."
He nodded in understanding. His grip around his dick a little tighter. "It's been a while for me too, and I'm clean. Last check up was a full bill of health."
She stood up, wobbly on her feet but determined. She pushed her jeans the rest of the way off and then she was climbing back up on the bed. Her eyes on his dick with interest. "You're… hard already,"
She reached out a hand and then paused, her eyes darting up to his. "I'm probably not as experienced as you're used to."
He smiled softly. "You're perfect."
She smiled at that. "You're horny."
He laughed, completely caught off guard by her comment. Then she leaned forward and all his laughter died when she slid her tongue up the base towards the tip.
His head fell back and he let out a groan, "fuck." When he glanced back at her, she was slowly bobbing up and down on his cock. His breath came out shaky and he thought he might lose it at the sight.
"Fuck baby," he murmured his hand reaching out for her. "You feel so fucking good."
She sat up, wiping the side of her mouth. Then she smirked as she lifted a leg over him, her sex coming over his dick. He could already feel her warmth. His hands came over her thighs, his eyes taking her in as he tried to commit everything to memory.
She shifted, aligning their sex as she reached down and guided him to her making him arch a little. The tension in his side pinched, a reminder of his stitches.
Damn injury. He wouldn't be able to really take her the way he wanted to, not for a while.
The irritation vanished the moment she sank down over him. His hands grip her thighs, holding on to her. She was so wet, the glide up and down his shaft so fucking smooth.
Gabriella
Her entire body melted on the spot as she sank down over him, gasping at the feel of him inside her. Then she started to move over him as best she could, his hands tight on her thighs.
All her senses are focused right there where they were connected, on the surging feel of him filling her up where she's tight and wet around him.
Troy's head rolls back on his shoulders.
"Your pussy is heaven." He holds her hips for leverage, thrusting. "Literal heaven." The sound of his voice, the color of his eyes, the taut contraction of his muscles, the relentless breach of his cock, the feel of his solid hips under her thighs. She loves how his big hands hold her waist, guiding her down on top of him, angling her to take all of him inside.
"Ride me." His voice is jagged and raw. "Make yourself come all over my cock."
She shudders a breath as her hips work, grinding into him and feeling her pleasure building.
"That's it. Ride me, Gabi."
She straightens her back, arching, her hair falling loose from its braid. A complete mess of wavy curls all around her shoulders now. And she swivels her hips and squeezes her muscles hard around him, he's so deep inside her, filling her up completely.
Troy grips her ass in his large hands, sliding her back and forth. And she loves the way he looks up at her, the heavy-lidded heat in his eyes and the harsh rise and fall of his chest makes her feel every bit as beautiful as he said she was.
God, she loved all of it. Every moment of this wild rollercoaster of perfect, aching, pleasure.
Troy lifts up, licking her breast, kissing her neck. Then he cradles the back of her head as he shifts, taking them down, so he's on top. And he glides back and forth into her-riding her in smooth, steady strokes.
"Christ, you feel-"
He presses her into the bed, going deeper, fucking her faster-pushing the breath from her lungs with every thrust.
"I'm gonna come." His voice is a mirror of hers-urgent and clinging. "I'm gonna come so hard."
It's his words that get her there-those words.
A moan comes from the hollow of her throat, and she reaches up, her nails at his back, wrapping her legs around his waist. It feels like a whirlwind is building inside her, swirling and stretching. So close, so close...
And he feels it too. She knows it in the way his thrusts go wild, in how he rocks forward and forward, pushing like he can't get close enough, pressing in so deep she feels the liquid heat of him spill inside her.
Golden stars burst behind her eyelids as perfect white-hot pleasure tears through her body and pulses in her veins. Troy drives into her one last time, groaning her name into her hair.
It's a moment before she comes back to languid awareness with the feel of him nibbling on her lips. A minute later, she open my eyes to see that sexy, dirty-boy smile aimed down at her.
"You okay?." He says softly. "I didn't hurt you did I?"
"No," she said with a small smile on her face as she watched him shift so he was lying beside her on the bed.
"It's been a while, I wasn't sure if I seemed too eager," he murmured.
She shook her head as he reached for her and pulled her closer so that she could rest her head on his chest. His breathing was choppy. Not at all like when they had been in the shed. Her own breathing was slowing as she rested a hand on his bandages, then she noticed it was a little wet. "I think you're bleeding."
"I don't care."
"Troy," she shifted to get up and he held her tighter.
"Worth it," he said with a grunt as she shifted beside him.
"I don't want you to get hurt."
Troy kissed the top of her head and held tightly for a moment. "Baby, I've been blown up, I've been shot at by missiles and captured and tortured by the enemy … one tiny cut is not going to hurt me."
They were silent for a long time. Gabriella was relaxed, sated, content, and happy. But she felt something inexplicably heavy growing in the pit of her belly. She didn't quite know what it was.
"You were blown up?"
He nodded, "flew about 5 feet with all my gear on."
She shuddered. "Thank god I didn't know."
He huffed, shifting and bring his hand up to his temple brushing some of his hair back to expose a scar. "Landed on the humvee and when through the windshield. Got a gash right here over my left eye."
Gabriella shifted her eyes narrowing in on the scar there and gentling bringing up a finger to touch it. "It's almost like your proud of it."
Troy shrugged, but his gaze drifted toward the ceiling like he was looking far beyond it. "I'm not proud of it," he said slowly. "But it reminds me I made it back."
Gabriella stayed quiet, her fingers still ghosting over the scar. He didn't flinch under her touch.
"They said I shouldn't have," he continued, voice low, almost like he wasn't sure he meant to say it out loud. "Lost two of my guys that day. I was the only one who walked away… if you can call it that."
Gabriella felt the weight settle deeper in her chest, pressing into her lungs. "Troy…"
He looked at her then, eyes darker than usual, shadowed with something old and worn. "You asked me once why I never talk about that time. It's because I still wake up hearing them. Still see their faces. You don't walk away from that clean."
Her heart twisted. She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his, and he let her.
"I hated the idea of you seeing me like that," he said after a moment. "Broken. Messed up. Not the guy your brother trusted with everything."
"You're not broken," Gabriella whispered. "You're human."
He gave a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, well. That's up for debate some nights.
Gabriella shifted closer, laying her hand flat against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath it. Strong. "You've never pretended with me, Troy. That means more than anything else ever could."
He exhaled slowly, as if releasing something he'd held tight for too long. "I don't deserve you."
She sat up just slightly, brushing her lips over the scar above his brow, soft and reverent. "You're getting me anyway. Sorry, soldier."
That drew a smile. A small one, but real.
"You know," he murmured, voice cracking just a bit around the edges, "I used to dream about this. Not just the sex, though… okay, yeah, that part too. But mostly… just this. You. Safe. Close."
Gabriella leaned her forehead against his. "We're here now."
"Yeah." He closed his eyes. "But I'm scared as hell it won't last."
They lay like that, tangled in warmth and ghosts, with the silence holding them gently but tightly, like a fragile kind of peace, always on the verge of slipping.
Outside, the world continued on, cars passed on the highway, a dog barked in the distance, and somewhere a siren wailed faintly. But in that cramped motel room, time seemed to stretch and still. The only sound was the soft rhythm of their breaths, the occasional creak of the old bed frame as they shifted. It should've felt safe. It almost did. But even wrapped in each other's arms, surrounded by the aftermath of whispered truths and shared scars, there was an edge to the quiet, a sense that the day was holding its breath.
Gabriella traced a lazy finger along the seam of the motel blanket, the warmth of their love making still humming beneath her skin. But reality had a way of creeping in, even when you didn't want it to.
"So what's the plan?" she asked, her voice low, cautious.
Troy's eyes were fixed on the cheap ceiling tiles, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. "Hiding out here until nightfall."
She followed his gaze to the window, where sunlight streamed through the broken blinds, striping the stained carpet in gold. "Right." Her tone wavered. She bit down on her bottom lip as thoughts of her brother swirled in a tangled storm.
Gabe had always been a pain in the ass, stubborn, hotheaded, impossible to reason with once his mind was set. But beneath all that, he'd had a code. A kind of quiet honor, even if it got buried under all the bullshit. And somehow, even in the middle of this chaos, he'd followed it. He'd sensed something was off, long before any of them had. He tried to dig, to stop it before it spread. And now he was paying the price for seeing too much.
Her voice cut through the silence again, soft but probing. "Penny for your thoughts?"
Troy turned his head toward her. "You still owe me three grand."
She gave a small eye roll, lifting her leg to fold it beneath her as she sat up straighter on the bed. "You're not getting it."
"Didn't expect to," he muttered, pulling the flash drive from the inside of his pocket, turning it over in his palm. "This thing has leverage. The kind that can take down Halberd Group. But it's encrypted. Coded in a way I don't understand."
Gabriella's brow furrowed. "So, it's useless?"
"Not to your brother. Assuming Jude told him how to use it. If all else fails I'm sure my friend can make sense of it."
"The one we're going to Dallas for?"
Troy's jaw clenched and he nodded. "He told me Gabe's being held at Blackridge. Got picked up this morning. No one's officially said why yet, but I got a ping from my guy coded message through our old comms app. Gabriel's name was on the roster. They're saying 'awaiting sentencing,' but that's just shorthand. It means they're gonna bury him unless we move fast."
Gabriella inhaled sharply, her spine going ramrod straight. "But he's alive."
"For now."
He shoved the flash drive back into his pocket and sat on the edge of the bed. The tension in his shoulders hadn't left, but his tone had softened. "He left a trail, Gabriella. He trusted me to follow it. Problem is, the more I follow it, the more dangerous it gets, for you too."
She leaned forward. "So what? We stop now and let them win?"
Troy glanced at her, eyes dark with conflict. "I'm not stopping. I just…" He sighed. "I don't want you to get hurt."
"Well, it's a little late for that," she said, not unkindly. "But I'm still here. And we're closer than we were yesterday. We're still alive."
He barked a laugh, dry and humorless. "Barely."
She shrugged. "We haven't had a car for three days, Troy. And we've been winging it ever since. This isn't exactly new territory."
He pushed to his feet and crossed to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to get a view of the parking lot. A red pickup sat three spaces down, engine cold, hood dusty. A man sat in the driver's seat with his head leaned back, possibly asleep. A woman in pajama pants dragged a toddler across the lot toward the vending machines.
"So, we're just stuck here till nightfall?" Gabriella said softly.
"Yeah," he said stepping away from the blinds and sinking into a chair nearby. "We're only four hours away form the met up."
Troy
He let out a sigh as he flexed his fingers. They still ached from the fight earlier, though he'd never admit it. He'd made it through worse. Always had. But his body was starting to feel like a patchwork of old wounds and stubborn willpower, each movement slower than it should be, each breath a little heavier.
His ribs throbbed when he twisted too far, and his knee, blown out in Kandahar and stitched back together with more grit than grace, was swelling again. He rolled his shoulder, feeling the grind of old scar tissue catch. The mission wasn't just weighing on his mind, it was grinding him down, inch by inch. Sleep was a joke, adrenaline his only fuel. And beneath it all was the constant, dull reminder: he wasn't as invincible as he used to be.
He leaned back in the chair, resting for a moment. The bed creaked and he shifted his eyes toward her as Gabriella climbed off the bed with a slow stretch, the sheet trailing down her back like a whisper. She shot him a look, playful and teasing, before padding over to where he sat, muscles taut and tired.
"Well," she said, voice light as she straddled his lap, arms draping around his neck, "you're clearly falling apart, old man."
Troy huffed a laugh, but it was soft, almost sheepish. His hands instinctively found her hips, holding her there like she was the only thing grounding him.
She leaned in, brushing her nose against his. "Think I could be your nurse?" she murmured, eyes sparkling. "I hear I'm very hands-on. You know, for healing purposes."
Troy smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Pretty sure I'd recover a lot faster with you around."
Gabriella softened, tilting her head. "Then let me help. Let me take care of you for once."
His throat bobbed, and for a moment, he weight the pros and cons of what it was they were doing. If it was real or just some childhood crush fulfilment on her part. Her hands began to move along his shoulders and he released a breath he'd been holding. He hadn't said yes, but he wasn't going to say no either. He just leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, letting her hold the parts of him he kept hidden, even from himself.
Later that evening, the room was quiet except for the low hum of a flickering neon light outside the window and Gabriella's slow, even breathing behind him. The motel smelled like mildew and cheap pine cleaner, but all he could focus on was her, the warmth of her against his back, the way she curled around him like she belonged there. Like she'd always been meant to fit just like that.
She stirred, and he didn't have to look to know what memory had pulled her from sleep. He felt her gaze before he heard her groggy voice.
"I'm up and still tired," she mumbled, rubbing one eye. "I'm also sore and tender."
He smirked, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in his voice. "I'd say sorry, but I'm not."
He stood, grabbing his pants from the chair and tugging them on. Behind him, he could hear her shifting, adjusting the covers higher, modesty reasserting itself now that the adrenaline had cooled.
"We need to get moving," he said, zipping up. "By now, they've pieced together what we're up to. If they're not waiting already, they will be soon."
"My left leg is still asleep," she groaned.
"That's because you insist on wrapping yourself around me like an octopus every night." He started hunting for a clean shirt. "Last two nights I've had to either spoon you or sleep like I'm being held at gunpoint."
"You poor thing," she said, voice dry as bone. "I hope you haven't been too annoyed. I know how guys are about their space."
Troy turned around, caught her eyes, then reached for the blanket folded near the foot of the bed. With a flick, it slid from her hands. She let out a surprised yelp as he grinned down at her like he'd just unwrapped a gift. Which, in his mind, he had.
"I wasn't complaining," he said, voice quieter now. "If I hadn't wanted you next to me, I would've moved you. I've had a lot of practice dislodging clingy bed partners. But you…" He shook his head. "You stayed."
Her eyes softened, lips parting slightly. "I love you."
His breath caught, not from surprise, but the certainty in her voice. No hesitation. No doubt.
"Yeah?" he said, reaching for her ankles.
She laughed as he yanked her closer in one smooth tug, and when she kissed him, he didn't hold back. Her hands slipped up around his neck, her lips warm and urgent. He leaned into her, pressing her back against the mattress, and for a few minutes, nothing else existed. Just her breath in his mouth, the curve of her body under his, and the small, perfect sound she made when he deepened the kiss.
He pulled back reluctantly. "We need to stop."
She smiled softly and nodded in understanding. "Time to face reality."
Troy nodded, even though he wanted to stay there another hour, another day, another lifetime.
He stood, grabbing his shirt. "Let's get ready to hit the road."
Gabriella sighed. "How exactly are we going to do that without a car?"
"Let me handle that part."
She narrowed her eyes. "Troy, please tell me we're not stealing another car."
"I'm not stealing a car."
"Why don't I believe you?"
He didn't answer that one, just reached for his boots and sat down.
"You're so bossy," she muttered, stretching out.
Troy chuckled under his breath. "You didn't mind it earlier."
A pillow hit him in the back of the head.
He let out a laugh. "Hey now," he said turning towards her. "That's not very nurse like behavior."
She tossed another pillow at him, a soft thump on his chest before it slid down to the floor.
"You're kinda testy without your coffee aren't you?"
This time, all out of pillows to throw at him she flipped him off and got out of bed. Running her hands through her tousled hair as she shuffled to the bathroom.
"I'm gonna go get us some wheels, I'll be back. Don't open the door."
"Yeah, yeah!"
Two hours later, they stepped out of the motel room with their makeshift supplies, two rolls of toilet paper, a half-used tissue box, all the towels they could grab, and the blanket from the bed folded neatly under Gabriella's arm.
Then she saw the car.
Her steps slowed, her eyes wide with barely restrained horror. "This is it?"
Troy didn't even pause. He moved to the back of the rust-covered station wagon and opened the hatch. "I should've known you'd complain."
"Complaining implies I'm surprised," she said, eyeing the peeling paint and cracked window like it had personally offended her. "How did you get this car?"
"I won a bet," he said, tossing their things into the back.
"With who?" she asked, squinting at him.
"You really want to know?"
Gabriella frowned. "Depends, was there blood involved?"
Troy gave her a tight smile. "Just ego."
"Yours or his?"
"Both."
She peered into the window and let out a sigh. "It smells like… mold and dead hope."
"I did try to clean it," he said, walking around to the driver's side.
"Please tell me you didn't touch anything with your bare hands."
"I'm not an animal," he muttered, climbing in.
Once inside, the car groaned with age and disapproval as he started the engine. They had four hours ahead of them until Dallas, and he didn't like the odds. Not anymore. Not with his injuries and the people after them growing more desperate by the day.
He just hoped his buddy could deliver the intel in time. He trusted Chad Danforth, a man who served alongside them.
He remembered the last time they had all gotten together, just over a year ago, maybe a little more. It had been one of those rare nights where everything felt easy. No threats to neutralize, no missions to prep for, just beers around a fire pit in Chad's backyard. The three of them, Chad, Gabe, and Troy sat in plastic lawn chairs like a bunch of dads, watching the stars come out and telling stories they'd promised never to repeat.
They'd met Chad in the army, all three thrown together in their early twenties Gabe and Troy from the same basic training unit, and Chad coming in later as their new team lead on a tour in Kandahar. There'd been tension at first, Chad was blunt, no-nonsense, and had zero patience for the sarcasm-laced banter that Troy and Gabe survived on. But when the bullets started flying and they watched each other's backs more times than they could count, the friendship came fast and deep. Brotherhood, really.
Chad was the first to get out. He'd always been the most level-headed of the bunch, the one with a five-year plan and a mortgage spreadsheet even when they were sleeping in the dirt. After retiring, he'd started a private security company in Dallas, clean-cut and successful, the type of guy who made being normal look good. Then he met Taylor, his client at first, a high-powered attorney with a sharp tongue and an even sharper jawline. Somehow, she'd seen past Chad's stoic exterior and called him out on his crap until he couldn't stop falling for her.
Troy remembered that night in their backyard, how Chad had looked at her like she hung the moon, and how, for the first time in a long time, Troy felt something close to envy. Not jealousy, really. More like longing. The kind of bone-deep ache you don't talk about. He'd laughed along with the others, even helped Gabe burn the steaks on the grill, but deep down, he couldn't stop thinking about how nice it would be to have something like that. Someone who saw you for everything you were and stayed anyway.
Of course, that wasn't in the cards for guys like him.
He wasn't built for the quiet life. Not with everything he'd done. Not with the ghosts still tapping on his shoulder every night. But still… seeing Chad happy, seeing Gabe finally relax after years of grinding duty and responsibility, it made Troy wonder, for just a second, if he could ever have that too. Something real. Something that lasted.
Maybe something like that with Gabriella.
Then he thought of Gabriel. The ache tightened his chest. He'd need to tell him, shit, what was he going to tell him. Well he had to tell him everything. That his sister had been with him. That she'd stayed with him. That she had been in danger. And even worse… that Troy had crossed a line. He'd fallen for Gabriella. Hard. And it wasn't a crush. It was something heavier, more urgent. More dangerous. If Gabriel ever found out…
Troy's eyes flicked to Gabriella. She was fidgeting, tugging at her shirt, crossing and uncrossing her legs, messing with her hair. He hadn't touched her once since they started driving, and hadn't said a word. But now he was watching her unravel in his peripheral vision.
"Alright," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "What's wrong?"
Gabriella blinked. "What?"
"What's going on over there?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Nothing."
"You're fidgeting."
"I'm allowed to move, aren't I?" she said, shifting in her seat. He didn't say anything for a moment, just waited, giving her patience. "Fine," she said finally. "If you must know, I was thinking about sex."
Troy raised a brow. "What about it?"
"Well, I was thinking that if something happens and I die today, at least the last time I had sex wouldn't be with my loser ex who couldn't find a clitrous to save his life." she sneered.
Troy tilted his head in mock confusion. "Thank you?"
Gabriella huffed as she folded her arms across her chest then shifted to brush her hair back behind her ear. "I also can't believe that we had sex. On my birthday."
"Four times," he replied with a grin.
She lets out a breath as she settles in her seat. "It just feels so weird, given what's happening? We're literally running for our lives and yet we stopped to have afternoon sex."
"We also had some evening sex too."
That earned him a playful swat on the arm. He laughed to himself softly before reaching across the console, placing his right hand gently on her thigh with a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sorry. I just… when you go quiet like that, I worry. And right now, I can't afford to worry."
She stared down at his hand, then placed hers on top of it. "I'm also scared."
"I know," he said quietly. "But I'm going to keep you as safe as I can."
"And what about you?" she asked, her eyes resting on him with concern.
"I'll be alright, I always am."
A quiet moment passed between them, filled with warmth and charged with a heavy emotion. He felt her relax beneath his touch, just a little.
She glanced sideways at him. "So… tell me about this crush."
He gave her a sideways smirk. "What crush?"
"The one you've clearly had on me all this time."
He scoffed. "If I recall correctly, didn't you have one first?"
"Hardly," she said with a grunt. "I was well over you when we ran into each other again."
"Oh please, you really think I didn't notice how out of breath you got over that little ass grab back at the bar."
She bursted out laughing, her face lighting up. "That's rich coming from you. You were all too quick to make out when we were avoiding being caught by those two cops."
"Yeah, because you were giving me that little pout of yours," he shot back, grinning now.
Gabriella smiled, shaking her head. "Fine. I had a crush. A tiny one. Like… fun-size."
He raised a brow. "Fun-size? That's what we're calling full-blown motel room hookups now?"
"Don't flatter yourself," she muttered, blushing. "That wasn't about a crush."
"No?"
"No," she said, lips twitching. "That was about heat and hormones and not wanting to die without having an orgasm."
"Or six," he muttered.
"Oh my god," she lifted her hands out in front of her and made a mock strangling motion. "You are so annoying."
He couldn't help but smile to himself, turning back to the road. "It was the summer before we deployed on our first tour."
She shifted in her seat, her expression staring at him with concern. "What?"
"You were wearing this little pink tank top and ripped blue jean shorts. You had come back from the beach with some of your friends and walked into the garage for a soda from the fridge." Troy explained, "Gabe and I were working on his truck and you made some wisecrack about it being an extension of Gabe's penis."
"Because it was."
Troy nodded, his chest flooding with something warm and sweet at the memory. "It was the first time I ever got a good look at your legs. And like an asshole I wanted them wrapped around my waist."
"Seriously,"
"Yeah," he said a little more softly. "I felt like a pervert almost immediately. But it didn't stop me from jacking off later that night."
"I was seventeen."
"You were Gabe's little sister."
"You can call me a little all you want. But we're only three years apart, you know."
"I know…" He smiled softly. "Later that weekend at that party, there was a moment. I almost slipped up and gave into it. But that wouldn't have been fair to you. To start something and then leave. You had your whole life ahead of you and I was just some blip in your life. If I didn't come back, if you met someone else… It was just easier to go."
She huffed, "nothing about that felt easy."
"It wasn't. I imagine for either of us. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. Even when I should be thinking about everything else. You were always with me."
"Troy…"
"So, if that's what a crush is, then yeah, I guess you can say I'm pretty much gone for you."
Gabriella didn't respond at first. She looked out the window, but her fingers stayed tangled with his.
Then finally she spoke. "I hated you so much for pulling away from me like that."
He nodded. "I know. I'm sorry for that."
A long silence stretched between them.
"What happens when we get to Dallas?" she asked softly.
"We stay sharp," Troy said. " Just do everything I say and when we find Chad, we give him the evidence, and hopely Taylor can clear Gabriel's name."
"Who is Taylor?"
Troy smirked, "Chad's wife. She a very powerful and smart attorney. She'll know exactly what to do with the drive."
Gabriella nodded in understanding. "And then?"
"Then… we figure the rest out."
Gabriella turned to him, her face serious now. "You're going to tell him about us, aren't you?"
"I have to."
"He's probably going to hit you."
"I know."
"But you're still going to do it?"
He met her gaze. "Some people are worth taking a punch for."
"You're an idiot." She swallowed.
He chuckled softly. "Yeah, I kinda am when it comes to you."
She was quiet for a long time. Then she nodded. "Okay then. I'll follow your lead and hope it doesn't get us killed."
Troy gave her hand a firm squeeze of reassurance. "It's going to work out."
"I trust you," she said.
That was the most dangerous thing she could've said.
Because now he had everything to lose.
Gabriella
They stopped once to get gas. Just two hours left until Dallas.
Gabriella slipped into the gas station bathroom with her bag slung over her shoulder, suddenly aware of how worn she looked. She reapplied deodorant, combed her hair into a high ponytail, and tried, unsuccessfully, to scrub the exhaustion from her face. Her plain white T-shirt clung to her like a limp apology, and she sighed at her reflection.
Troy's words from earlier still echoed in her mind: Do everything I say. So direct. So final.
Not cruel. Not even sharp. But the command had landed like a stone in her chest.
Trust me, he'd said.
And she did. That was the terrifying part, how easily those words had rooted themselves inside her. He hadn't earned her trust through speeches or promises. He'd earned it by standing between her and danger, by looking at her like she was more than just Gabe's little sister. He'd earned it when he pulled her out of the flames.
But trust wasn't the same as surrender. It wasn't the same as losing herself in his world.
She splashed water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. What scared her wasn't the gunfire or the people chasing them. What scared her was what happened after.
When it was over.
When Gabriel was safe.
When the rush of adrenaline faded.
When she went back to a world of textbooks and lesson plans.
What did trusting Troy mean in that world?
Would he still look at her the same way when she wasn't in danger? When she wasn't someone to protect?
Would she still look at him the same when she wasn't leaning on him just to make it to the next day?
She let out a shaky breath. The truth was, she didn't want to go back to how things were. And maybe that was the real problem.
She looked down at her shirt, then at her pale, serious face in the mirror. Her red dress was gone, burned in that explosion. Her old life felt like it was burning too.
A knock on the door startled her.
"I'll be out in a minute," she called.
The knock came again, more insistent this time. She rolled her eyes, snatched up her bag, and yanked the door open, only to find Troy standing there.
"You were taking a bit," he said, eyes scanning her face. "Are you alright?"
She blinked. "I wasn't aware I was on the clock."
"You're not," he replied, lips twitching. "Just… wanted to make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine."
He caught her arm gently as she tried to walk past him. "See, that's the lie people tell the most. 'I'm fine.' It almost always means the exact opposite."
Gabriella felt her shoulders slump. She wasn't fine. And she wasn't ready to say it out loud either.
"This," she said finally, motioning between them. "What happens when it's over?"
He turned to her, brow furrowed. "Gabriella—"
"I'm serious," she cut in. "We clear Gabriel, and then what? We just go back to our corners? I go back to class and pretend none of this happened while you disappear into whatever classified thing comes next?"
Troy's expression shifted, something caught between confusion and hurt. "I'm not walking away from this. From you."
"Then stop making all the choices for me," she said, her voice softer now but still steady. "You don't keep me in the loop. You act like I'm just… along for the ride. That's not a partnership. That's not how I work."
He stood there for a second, as if weighing her words carefully. Then he exhaled slowly and met her gaze head-on.
"You're right," he said. "I've been moving fast, calling shots, but not because I think I know better. It's because I've done this before, and I don't want you getting hurt on my watch."
She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a hand gently, not to silence her but to keep his thought from slipping.
"But that doesn't mean I don't see you. You've kept up with me through every hit, every shift in the plan. You adapt, you ask the right questions, and you challenge me when I need it. That's what makes us work, why I trust you. I've never had someone who could read a situation like you do and call it straight."
He took a step closer, voice lowering.
"I'm not trying to lead. I'm trying to survive… with you. And if I've made it seem like I don't trust you to make your own calls… that's on me. But don't ever think for a second that I don't need you right there beside me. We don't make it this far without each other."
She blinked, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. By the way his hands twitched slightly like he wanted to reach for her, but was waiting for her to make the next move.
"I'm not looking for someone to follow me," he added. "I want someone who runs beside me. And that's you, Gabi."
Her breath caught. And just like that, the noise in her head quieted for a moment.
She didn't have the words. So instead, she nodded. Just once.
And he smiled, small but real.
"You're not just Gabriel's sister to me. You're mine," he said, quieter now. "I want to build something with you. A life. You gave me your heart, your body, everything. Don't act like that didn't mean something."
Gabriella's throat closed, her heart doing somersaults in her chest. "It meant everything," she admitted. "But I don't know how to make it work. We live in two different worlds, Troy."
"Maybe," he said, running a hand through his hair, "but this past week? This madness? That's not my world either. It's a one-time detour. Just like it is for you."
She frowned. "So… we go back to pretending we're normal people after this? Just… what? Go on dates? Buy groceries?"
He smiled softly. "Why not? I can learn to love Target runs and burnt toast. I've seen worse missions."
Her lips twitched despite herself.
"I just…" she hesitated. "I'm scared. That when the adrenaline fades, this won't feel real anymore. That we won't feel real."
Troy didn't answer. Instead, he stepped closer, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her into a kiss, warm, deep, tender. It was quiet and grounding and not at all what she expected. But God, she melted into it.
When he finally pulled back, he kept her close, whispering kisses across her forehead, her temple, her cheek.
"Does that feel real to you?" he murmured in her ear.
She nodded, dazed. "Yeah. Not a joke. Message received."
He smiled against her skin. "Good. Anything else I'm screwing up?"
Gabriella gave him a teasing glance. "Your kiss is a little sloppy."
Troy pulled back, eyes wide with mock offense. "Sloppy? I'll have you know that's how my girl likes to be kissed."
She laughed, and before she could say anything else he kissed her again. His touch is soft and sweet. Tender and passionate. Their lips slowly pressing against each other and wiping away any lingering doubts about how real this was.
"I have a favor to ask, normally I wouldn't suggest this but I have hunch about this."
"Anything."
Troy
They arrived at the Dallas World Aquarium just after 8 a.m., the city still rubbing the sleep from its eyes. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a few early staff vehicles and a bus idling near the curb. The glass façade of the building gleamed in the soft morning light, reflecting a sky that didn't yet hint at the storm brewing beneath the surface.
Gabriella stared at the building from the passenger seat, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The closer they came to their destination the quieter she became. Not that he could blame her. There was a lot riding on the line here.
Back at the gas station he'd helped her into a better pair of shoes, and brushed her hair out for her, pulling it back into a secure army bun at the nape of neck. It made him think about life outside of all this. How he wanted to be with her, take care of her.
"So… now what?" she asked, her voice quiet.
"Chad said he'd meet us here," Troy replied. "They open at nine."
She checked the dashboard clock. "It's only eight."
"I know," Troy said, quieter this time. He glanced around the half-full lot. "Crazy, we made it so fast. Only took us five days to do a thirteen-hour drive."
Gabriella laughed dryly. "Guess we're lucky."
Troy didn't echo her laughter. His gaze stayed on the other parked cars. Checking the plates and looking for any signs of someone who didn't belong. "Not sure how lucky we really are."
She looked around too, scanning the lot, seemingly hyper-aware of every person, every movement. "Would they really try something here? In public?"
"I don't know," he murmured, turning the key to shut off the car. "I don't know how far they'll go to get this drive."
Gabriella nodded and stared straight ahead, releasing a shaky breath. "So… we wait."
"Yeah."
Fifteen minutes passed in silence, filled only by the hum of nearby traffic and the occasional squawk of a bird. The quiet started to grate on his nerves and he reached for the radio. Turning it on and letting the slow murmur of the meldy wash over him.
"So…do you want kids?" she asked suddenly.
Troy blinked, turning toward her in a slow but disbelieving look. "I mean… someday. Maybe. Why?"
She shrugged, eyes fixed on the windshield. "We had unprotected sex. A few times."
"Four," he corrected, as if it mattered.
Gabriella shot him a look. "Right. Four times. I was just curious. You didn't seem all that panicked about it."
He stared at the steering wheel. "Your on birth control. We talked about it."
"Right," she interrupted as if she hadn't remembered.
"You are on birth control, right?" he asked, narrowing his gaze.
"I am. It's not permanent. Just five years. Enough to get through school."
He looked back out into the lot, his eyes scanning the new arrivals. "So, how many did you want?"
"Three," she answered without hesitation.
Troy smiled, his eyes sweeping back over to her. "Just three?"
She smiled too, then looked away, her gaze drawn back to the building in front of them. "Maybe we should have warned Chad we were coming. Considering our stupid luck."
Troy huffed a laughed. "Hopefully we can just get this over with."
"What are we going to tell Gabriel? About us."
Troy exhaled slowly. "I don't know."
"We don't have to tell him right away."
"Yes, we do." His voice was firm. "At least, I do."
They were quite for the rest of the time, both of them watching the parking lot with laser focus. When the dashboard finally said nine fifteen he shifted towards her.
"You ready?"
She jumped, turning toward him in confusion.
"It's nine fifteen."
"Oh." She nodded, then added with dry humor, "Remind me why we're meeting this guy here again?"
Troy reached over and placed his hand on hers. "He thought a public place would be safer."
Gabriella let out a breath. "I don't think anywhere's safe anymore."
"Come on," he said gently, getting out of the car. He waited a beat for Gabriella to follow after a long, grounding breath.
Gabriella
The inside of the aquarium was cool and quiet, the air thick with the scent of water and moss. She tried to focus on the signs, Mundo Maya this way. Orinoco ahead. Tanks full of flickering fish, seaweed swaying like dancers in slow motion.
"Where are we meeting him?"
"By the Harlequin Shrimp."
She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
Troy picked up a map. "Apparently."
Thankfully, tickets had been left at the front desk. No sign of anyone suspicious yet, but Gabriella wouldn't have recognized danger if it walked past her in a polo shirt.
They found the exhibit, almost too easily. Just one family nearby, pointing at the glass. Harlequin shrimp. Beautiful, strange little things.
Troy read from the sign on the wall like they were actually tourists. Gabriella stared at him.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to look normal."
"For how long?"
He smirked. "Until it's over. Come on, sit. You look like you're about to pass out."
They sat on a bench just outside the exhibit, the glowing blue light casting flickering shadows across the floor. Gabriella pressed into Troy's side, her hand resting on his thigh, grounding herself in the steady rise and fall of his breath. The distant murmurs of visitors and soft bubbling of water surrounded them, almost peaceful if you didn't know what they were waiting for.
"Troy," she whispered, barely audible. "I'm scared."
"I know," he said, and his arm tightened around her just slightly.
"And I'm hungry."
"I know."
She hesitated, then let the smallest smile tug at her lips. "I don't want to die in a building full of seafood."
He gave a soft huff of laughter, but it was hollow, distracted. "Fair."
Fifteen minutes. No sign of Chad. No shadow creeping around the corners. No flickers of movement. No alarms. Just… nothing.
Too much nothing.
Gabriella's muscles stayed tense, her senses stretched taut like piano wire. She kept her eyes scanning, her thoughts racing even though she had no idea what to look for. The wait was unbearable, like holding your breath under deep water, wondering how long until your lungs gave out.
Then her stomach dropped. A lurch. Instinctive.
"Troy," she said, straightening, voice sharp.
"I see him," he answered, already on his feet, pulling her up with him. His tone changed, tight and controlled. "That's not Chad."
A man was approaching, too quickly to be casual. Slacks, dark button-up shirt, no smile. Eyes locked on them with predator focus.
Gabriella's pulse kicked up, thrumming wildly in her throat. "How did they find us?"
"Not sure. They could've followed us." Troy's hand gripped hers tight. "Doesn't matter. We need to move. Now."
They ran.
They took off through the crowd, weaving past families and couples, past colorful tanks and glowing walls. Gabriella nearly tripped over a child's stroller, catching herself on a railing. Her breath came fast and hot, panic rising like bile in her chest.
The aquarium had become a maze, bright and surreal, with sea life floating calmly behind glass while everything in her reality shattered. The blue tunnels curved around them like dreamscape corridors. Sharks glided overhead, unbothered. Oblivious.
Then the stairwell.
Gabriella barely caught sight of the man before he was there, climbing up. Her heart stuttered.
"Troy!"
He pivoted. They turned and sprinted back. The door behind them burst open. Another man lunged out, Troy met him mid-motion, slamming the heavy door into his face with brutal force. The man crumpled.
Gabriella squeaked, stumbling back. But then she saw it, gleaming metal in the attacker's hand.
The gun.
She didn't even have time to scream. But Troy moved, fast and without hesitation, diving for the weapon, knocking it from the man's grasp. It skittered down the stairs, and Troy scooped it up mid-stride.
"You have a gun?" she gasped, half in shock, half in awe.
"Better me than them," he said grimly, already pulling her by the wrist.
They barreled through a "STAFF ONLY" door into a kitchen. Pans clattered. A chef yelled something unintelligible. Steam rose from giant pots, and the floor was slick beneath her flip flops. They slipped and pushed forward, dodging prep tables and trays.
Gabriella didn't know where they were going, only that she couldn't let go of him.
They burst into the lobby, and for one breathless second, it was silent. Still.
Then, She felt it. Cold metal. Pressed into the base of her spine.
Her scream caught in her throat as a strong arm yanked her back, hand clamping over her mouth.
Troy spun, gun raised. His eyes locked on hers, steady, calculating, but Gabriella could see the war in him. The rage. The restraint. The helplessness.
"You don't want someone to get hurt, do you?" The voice was deep. Slow. Too calm.
Troy froze, gun raised and locked on the man holding her. The man didn't flinch.
And then the worst moment of her life unfolded.
A second figure stepped from the shadows, tall and terrifyingly composed. His suit was spotless. His eyes pale and lifeless. He looked Gabriella over like he was evaluating a specimen, not a person.
"Mr. Bolton," he said smoothly. "You've been quite the handful."
Gabriella's blood went cold.
"Troy," she whispered. "Who is he?"
"Viktor Rane," Troy said. His voice was pure loathing. "He's not a fixer. He's an eraser."
Rane smiled without warmth. "Where's the drive?"
Troy didn't answer.
They were separated. Searched. Threatened.
Gabriella's hands shook as two men dragged her away from Troy. Her mind screamed that this wasn't how it was supposed to go. Her stomach churned, Chad should've been here. Troy had told her he wouldn't have set them up. So where was he?
Viktor watched them both with the cold patience of a man who always gets what he wants.
And Gabriella had the terrible feeling that today, something was going to break completely.
And she didn't know if she'd survive it.
Her mind was a void, no coherent thought, just a looping reel of Troy's face as they shoved him into the back of that blacked-out sedan. The way his eyes locked on hers until the door slammed between them. The way he didn't fight, not because he couldn't, but because he knew it would put her in more danger.
She told herself not to cry. Not to think about Troy. Not about Gabe and how miserably they'd failed to save him. Focus. Survive. Think.
Her cheek pressed against the rough carpet of the trunk. The space was small, cramped, hot, and silent, except for the hum of the tires on asphalt. She squinted into the darkness, willing her brain to work. Wasn't there supposed to be a glow-in-the-dark safety latch in new cars? She twisted around, searching, pushing at seams, her fingers frantic. Nothing. Either this car was too old, or too customized. That figured.
Then a memory surfaced.
Her first day of college. Gabe had pulled her aside, playing the overprotective big brother. He'd given her a pink pepper spray keychain, lecturing her on safety and saying something ridiculous about bashing out taillights if she ever got stuffed in a trunk. It had made her laugh back then. He'd winked and added, "You'd better remember that if some creep ever tries anything."
Gabriella's heart kicked into overdrive. That was it. She repositioned herself, twisting painfully until her legs braced against the back of the trunk. Then she kicked.
Once. Twice. Again.
The impact rattled her bones. She wasn't sure where the taillight was, but she aimed for where she thought it might be. Her foot slammed the metal again and again until, finally, crack. A sound like shattering glass. Her chest lurched with hope.
The car hit a bump, jostling her sideways. Pain flared through her ribs. Still, she didn't stop. She turned her foot, pressing into the broken space, kicking through the last plastic remnants. Sharp pain bit into her skin — she was bleeding. She didn't care.
She kicked again until her foot found open air.
Gritting her teeth against the agony, she began wiggling it through the busted tail light hole, hoping, praying, someone was behind them. That someone saw.
Each second felt like an eternity. She was just about to give up hope when a siren wailed behind them.
Her body jerked as the car slowed, then stopped abruptly. Shouting followed. Footsteps. Another car door. Something banged against the trunk. Gabriella tensed.
Then, blinding light. The trunk swung open with a metallic groan.
A uniformed officer looked down at her, wide-eyed. "Ma'am?"
She could barely breathe. "Please tell me you're one of the good guys."
"Yes, ma'am," he said quickly, reaching in to ease her leg free from the jagged frame. "You alright?"
"My friend—" she rasped, her throat dry. "They took him. In another sedan. Please. You have to help him."
The officer looked confused. "What other sedan?"
"There was another car! Black, no plates. His name is Troy Bolton, someone named Viktor Rane. They took him. You have to go after him!" Her voice cracked with desperation.
Another officer was already on the radio, calling it in.
But in her gut, Gabriella knew it was too late.
Whoever had taken Troy wasn't sloppy. They didn't make mistakes.
She didn't know who they were yet.
But she was starting to understand just how terrifying they could be.
Troy
Troy's head pounded. The trunk of the sedan reeked of oil, rubber, and rust, a bitter cocktail that clung to the back of his throat as he lay on his side, wrists bound behind him with zip ties so tight his fingers were starting to go numb.
He hadn't screamed when they jumped him. He hadn't begged when they beat him, either. He'd gone silent, calculating, memorizing every face, every sound. That's how you stayed alive. He counted turns. Marked potholes. He knew they were headed out of the city away from the aquarium, away from Gabriella.
He just didn't know where.
The car came to a halt. Doors opened. A moment later, the trunk did too, bright light burning his eyes.
Rough hands grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him out. His boots hit gravel, then concrete. Something metallic clanged as they dragged him through a hallway that smelled sterile and cold. Underground, maybe. Some kind of bunker or facility.
They tossed him into a chair. Zip ties stayed. His muscles screamed in protest.
Then everything went still.
The sound of boots echoed.
And then he saw him.
Viktor Rane.
He wasn't loud. He didn't need to be. He entered like he owned the oxygen in the room, tall, built like a soldier, scars like stories stitched across his knuckles and cheek. His eyes were the worst part, pale blue and sharp as broken glass. Detached. Cold.
Predator eyes.
"I've heard a lot about you, Bolton," Viktor said, removing black gloves as he approached. "Decorated. Loyal. Tough. That last part's about to be tested."
Troy didn't answer. Didn't flinch.
Viktor smirked and leaned in close. "Where's the drive?"
Silence.
He backhanded Troy. Fast, deliberate. Troy's jaw snapped sideways, blood filling his mouth. Still, he didn't speak.
Viktor sighed and pulled up a chair, sitting across from him like it was a therapy session. "You know," he said conversationally, "I used to respect guys like you. The mission. The code. Serve and protect, all that. Then I realized it was bullshit. You're all just men pretending honor still matters."
He leaned forward. "You're not going to die today, Bolton. Not unless you want the girl to take your place."
Troy's heart kicked. He kept his expression blank.
Viktor saw it anyway.
"There it is," he said softly. "There's the crack. Let's keep picking at it."
He stood and signaled to the guards. "Put him in Holding. Don't be gentle."
Troy didn't resist as they lifted him again. The pain was manageable. He could take it. But his mind was on Gabriella.
He had no idea where she was.
Or if she was safe.
He just knew he had to get out.
Because Viktor wasn't done.
And next time, he wouldn't just be asking questions.
Gabriella
Three hours later, Gabriella sat numbly on a thin hospital bed, the paper beneath her crackling with each slight movement. She wore a borrowed T-shirt and shorts provided by the nurses, her own clothes ruined by blood and dirt. Her body throbbed with dull aches, a stitched leg, bruised ribs, a jaw that throbbed every time she breathed too hard.
The cold compress in her hand had gone warm.
She was exhausted. Hollow. And still somehow wide awake, every nerve lit up and waiting for a report that wouldn't come.
The door opened quietly, and a man stepped inside, tall, solid, with close-cropped hair and eyes that had clearly seen too much. He wore civvies, but he moved like military. Gabriella straightened instinctively, wincing at the stab of pain in her side.
He closed the door softly behind him.
"So," he said, setting a folder down on the counter. "Troy Bolton."
Gabriella sat forward. "Did you find him?"
"No," the man said. One word, steady. Final.
Her stomach dropped. The last little flicker of hope inside her chest sparked… and died. Troy could be dead. Right now. Somewhere far away. Because she hadn't been able to stop it.
She bit back the sob crawling up her throat. But it must've shown on her face, because the man pulled up a chair and sat down across from her, elbows resting on his knees.
"Hey. I can't let you do that," he said gently. "That's my partner out there. My brother. And we're not giving up until I say we're done."
Gabriella blinked, tears threatening again.
"Chad?" she asked quietly.
He smiled. "So he told you about me. All good things, I hope."
She didn't answer, just nodded, lips pressed tight. Trust didn't come easy anymore. Not after everything.
But Chad didn't seem offended. "Look," he said, voice low. "I know you've been through hell. I'm not here to push. But I need you to tell me everything you know. Everything you saw. Anything that could help me find him."
Gabriella took a breath and let it out slowly. Then she told him all of it. The aquarium. The chase. The men with guns. The way Troy had shoved her behind him and fought without hesitation. How he'd been taken. Her escape from the trunk. She left nothing out, not even the illegal parts. None of that mattered now.
What mattered was getting him back.
When she finally stopped, her throat dry and raw, Chad was still scribbling notes.
Then something clicked. A memory, fast and sharp.
She gasped and looked up. "The Dallas Plaza."
Chad blinked. "What?"
"That's where they took him. One of the guys said it right before they slammed the trunk. 'Meet us at the Dallas Plaza.' That's what he said." Her hands gripped the bed as she started to push herself up. "We have to go. Now."
"Whoa, whoa, hey." Chad was beside her instantly, a strong arm wrapping around her waist to keep her upright. "You're not going anywhere. I'll go. You stay here. Let the docs patch you up."
"You don't understand," Gabriella said, nearly frantic. "I can help. I know what they look like. I was with them."
"I've seen the surveillance. I know their faces, too." He turned her gently but firmly back toward the bed. "Look, I get it. You're a firecracker. But right now? You're hurt. You'll be no good to anyone out there with a busted leg."
She stared at him, breathing hard. Her nails dug into her palms. "I can't just sit here."
"I know. But you're not useless. You made it out. You survived. And that counts for something."
She hesitated.
Then her hand went to her head to the mess of tangled hair matted from sweat and blood. Her fingers found the bun, or what was left of it.
Gabriella's voice was shaky. "He put something here. In my hair."
Chad's brow furrowed.
"In the gas station," she said. "Troy, he fixed my hair. Said it was to help me look less conspicuous. But he tucked something inside the bun. I didn't even think about it until now."
She reached up and gently unraveled the twisted knot, fingers searching until something small and smooth dropped into her palm.
A flash drive.
Chad's eyes widened slightly, and he took a careful step closer.
"That's what they were after," she whispered. "That's why they took him."
Chad took the drive from her and stared at it, something unreadable passing across his face. Then he looked back up at her, something resolute in his voice.
"I'm going to find him," he said. "I promise you that. Whatever's on this, we'll use it. And we'll bring him home."
Before she could answer, he opened the door and motioned for a nurse, then signaled to three men waiting in the hallway, men dressed in combat boots and tactical gear.
Gabriella watched them go, a lump rising in her throat.
"Be careful," she whispered.
She wasn't sure if he heard her.
But she was sure of one thing.
They'd just declared war.
Troy
Troy sat slumped in a heavy metal chair, wrists cinched behind him with zip ties, ankles lashed to the legs. His right eye was swollen shut, the skin around it ballooned and dark from a punch he'd earned trying to lunge at one of his captors. His mouth tasted of blood. Again. The room stank of mildew, sweat, and motor oil, like death was lingering in the corners, waiting.
Time slipped by in a fog. Minutes? Hours? He didn't know. His thoughts kept drifting to Gabriella. The way she screamed when they grabbed her. The way she kicked. Fought. He could still see her being shoved into the trunk of a car.
That had been the last moment. The last glimpse.
And he'd failed her. He'd promised to keep her safe. One damn job, and he hadn't done it.
Rage burned in his gut, sharp and sick. He yanked against the restraints. They bit deep into his skin.
"I wouldn't do that," a voice warned, calm and cold.
Troy barely had time to brace before a stun baton drove into his ribs.
Pain tore through him like fire. He doubled over, choking on a scream.
He could hear the footsteps. Measured. Leisured.
Then Viktor Rane stepped into the low light, the silhouette of a predator. He wore all black, tactical gear, gloves, boots. Efficient. Unbothered. Dead-eyed.
"Feel like talking yet?" Viktor asked, his tone detached, almost bored.
Troy didn't answer. He kept his head down, eyes closed. Focused on breathing.
Viktor clicked his tongue and moved forward, crouching beside him like he was examining a specimen. "You're tougher than most. I'll give you that."
Troy's eyes flicked open. A muscle in his jaw jumped.
"Still quiet, huh?" Viktor sighed and stood, dragging a chair closer. "Here's the thing, soldier boy. This doesn't have to be your fight. Hand over the drive. I get paid, you get patched up, she walks free. Everybody wins."
"You don't believe that," Troy croaked, his voice wrecked. "You wouldn't be here trying to scare me if it were that simple."
Viktor's eyes narrowed. A flash of something darker moved behind them.
"You think this is fear?" he said, stepping forward slowly. "This isn't fear, Troy. This is me being polite. You don't want to see what I look like when I stop trying."
Troy lifted his head, blood on his teeth. "Fuck you."
Viktor didn't respond. Instead, he cracked the butt of the stun baton across Troy's face. The blow snapped his head sideways. Copper flooded his mouth.
"I'm not here to prove myself," Viktor said, low. "I've killed presidents' sons for less."
A knock echoed.
The door opened.
Chief Bingham stepped inside, flanked by two men in plain clothes with badges clipped to their belts, crooked smiles, twitchy fingers.
Troy felt his stomach drop.
So it's true.
Bingham looked like a man walking into his own living room. Tan suit, gold watch, smile like a knife.
"So you're the thorn in my side Montez wouldn't shut up about," Bingham said, shutting the door behind him.
"He's holding out," Viktor said stiffly. "Says he doesn't have the drive.
Bingham raised an eyebrow. "And you believed him?"
Viktor didn't respond. The air between them crackled.
"Take a walk," Bingham ordered.
Viktor's jaw clenched, but he obeyed. He took his time leaving, brushing shoulders with one of the agents on the way out.
Bingham stepped forward and crouched next to Troy, like they were old friends catching up.
"You know," he said conversationally, "I actually respect what you're doing. Sticking your neck out for something that matters. Noble. Stupid as hell, but noble."
Troy glared at him through his good eye. "What do you want?"
Bingham smiled again. "The drive, sweetheart. The one created by that idiot who decided to talk to Montez. The one you've been running across state lines with like a goddamn action hero."
Troy didn't speak.
"See, you don't understand who you're dealing with," Bingham continued. "This drive? It doesn't just burn me. It burns senators. CEOs. The kind of men who build cities. One little file, and it all goes up in smoke. You think they'll let that happen?"
Troy lifted his chin. "Maybe they won't have a choice."
Bingham's smile thinned. "Wrong answer."
A sharp blow from behind knocked the chair sideways. Troy hit the concrete hard. His head cracked against it. Stars burst behind his eyes.
"You don't get to be in my position without learning to crush problems early," Bingham said, circling. "And you, my friend, are a problem."
Troy blinked, trying to stay conscious.
"Where is it?" Bingham asked.
"Go to hell."
"You first."
He pulled a knife from his belt and knelt beside Troy.
That's when the door slammed open.
Gunshots rang out, two sharp pops. One body dropped. Another thudded hard to the ground.
Silence followed.
"Troy?"
The voice. Familiar.
"Chad," he rasped.
Boots scuffed the floor. Chad stepped into view, lowering his weapon. He kicked the knife away from Bingham's twitching hand.
"He's alive," Chad muttered, glancing over at the agents hauling Bingham up and snapping cuffs onto his wrists.
Troy coughed. "Where is she?"
"Hospital," Chad said. "Safe and sound."
The words knocked the breath out of him. Relief crashed over Troy like a wave, violent and healing. His head dropped forward as he exhaled, one hand still clenched into a bloody fist.
"She's alive," he whispered. "Thank God."
Chad moved to untie him, hands steady. "They trashed my car. Took me forever to get to the meet up. But I wasn't leaving you behind."
Troy grimaced as the binds came loose. "How's my face?"
"Looks like hell."
"Hurts worse."
Chad chuckled. "That's how you know you're alive."
Behind them, Bingham was still shouting. "This is a sanctioned op! I have immunity!"
"Not anymore," Chad muttered. "We've got the drive. Taylor decrypted it. You're done."
Troy grinned weakly. "She get everything?"
"Yeah. You were right to hide it in the hair bun, by the way. Smart move. Your girl's a beast she kicked out a taillight and led us right to her. You two are ridiculous."
Troy laughed, then winced. "That's my girl."
Chad clapped him on the back, steadying him as he staggered upright. "Come on, soldier. DA's pressing charges. Gabe's release is in motion. Bingham's going down."
Troy nodded. "I'll testify."
"You sure?"
"Hell yes."
Chad grinned. "Then let's get you cleaned up. You've got someone waiting."
It felt like hours of questions, debriefings, bloodwork, IVs, and cold metal instruments prodding at his ribs. A steady stream of officials and medics came and went, but Troy didn't really hear them. The only thing that mattered was the one question no one would answer directly.
When can I see her?
Every time the door creaked open, his chest tightened, hope flaring like a struck match, only to sputter out again.
Finally the door swung open and this time, it wasn't another tech or clipboard.
It was him.
Troy straightened, wincing. His one good eye widened as he locked eyes with the man in the doorway.
"Gabe?"
Gabe stood there, leaner than Troy remembered, his chestnut curls pulled into a tight knot at the back of his head, facial hair rough like he hadn't shaved in weeks. The resemblance to Gabriella was undeniable in the bone structure, the determined line of his jaw,but Gabe's energy had always been more stormy than sunrise.
"Hey," Gabe said quietly, stepping inside with his hands shoved in his jean pockets. "Doctors said you took one hell of a beating."
Troy gave a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah, well. You should see the other guys."
A flicker of something passed over Gabe's face, regret maybe, or guilt. He moved farther into the room, resting both hands on the foot rail of the hospital bed.
"I'm sorry," he said after a long pause. "I never wanted you to get caught up in this. I didn't think it would escalate like this. I should've known Viktor would escalate."
Troy looked him in the eye. "I'd do it again. You know that, right?"
Gabe stared at him, jaw tight. "You almost died, man."
"You were rotting in a cell for something you didn't do. What was I supposed to do? Sit back and hope your name got cleared before you got convicted or taken out?"
"Still…" Gabe hesitated, working his jaw like he wanted to say more.
Troy beat him to it. "Besides, I didn't just do it for you."
Gabe looked up slowly.
"I did it for her too."
The silence between them thickened. Gabe's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak. Didn't need to. There was a weight behind that silence, a long, tense understanding neither of them wanted to acknowledge just yet.
"She's… amazing," Troy said finally, his voice low. "Being around her these last few days, it wasn't just survival. It mattered. She matters."
Gabe let out a dry, humorless laugh. "So you two didn't kill each other after all."
Troy didn't smile. He just looked at him, letting the unspoken truth hang there.
Gabe exhaled through his nose. "Somehow I was afraid of that," he muttered. "But I can't blame just you. She's always had a soft spot for you. Even when we were kids."
Troy took a breath, then winced. "I didn't plan for anything to happen between us. But now that it has—"
"You're in love with her," Gabe said flatly.
Troy nodded without hesitation. "I am. And l'm being open and honest with you because she means something to me. She gets it. All of." Troy sighed, "She's the one."
There was a long beat where Gabe didn't react. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
"You know," he said, "if you'd said that two weeks ago, I would've put you through a wall."
"I'm still recovering, so if you're planning on it, maybe aim for my good side."
Gabe shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Relax, hero. You already took a beating from Viktor's dogs for both of us. That's enough for one month."
Troy's expression darkened slightly at the mention of Viktor. "He's not done. Not really. You don't do the things he's done and just disappear."
Gabe nodded. "He was working with Bingham and at least two other names that aren't on any books. Taylor's team is digging, but the rabbit hole keeps going. You and Gabi stirred up something ugly. And it's not just about that thumb drive anymore."
"I know."
"Then you also know it's not over. You're not just choosing her. You're bringing that danger that comes with you now."
Troy looked up at him. "Yeah. I am."
There was a moment. Just one. Where Gabe looked at him, not as a fellow soldier, friend or a brother, but as family. As someone who'd fought and bled for them both.
He nodded once. "Alright. Then don't be an asshat."
Troy cracked a small smile. "My word."
"Good." Gabe turned toward the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. "She's awake now. Asked for you, of course. Just try not to make her cry, alright? She's been through enough.
Troy's breath hitched in his throat, emotion surging up too fast to stop.
"I won't," he said. "Not if I can help it."
Gabe glanced over his shoulder and gave a half-smile. "Just remember, she cries when she's happy, sad, or out of snacks. So don't take it personally if she starts bawling the second she sees your face."
Gabriella
Gabriella's mother gently tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. "What on earth were you thinking?"
It was the question of the day, asked by every nurse, officer, family member, and now her mother. Since Chad had left the room, Gabriella hadn't had a second alone. Her father had pulled her into a crushing hug, her mother had burst into relieved sobs, and from there, the flood of worry had turned into a full interrogation.
"What happened to the car? Where were you? What were you thinking going there? Are you hurt? Who did this? Did anyone hurt you? Are you okay? Why didn't you call us? Don't you ever scare us like that again!"
Gabriella hadn't been able to answer a single question. Her thoughts were too tangled, looping constantly back to one person.
Troy.
She hadn't even realized she was crying again until Chad returned. When the door opened, she surged up from the bed, but her parents quickly eased her back down.
"How is he?" she asked, her voice cracking as panic and hope collided in her chest.
"Alive," Chad said with a gentle smile. "He's safe. He's getting treated now it'll be a while before they let anyone see him. But he gave his statement, and they're patching him up."
"And Gabe?"
"Gabe's been cleared. All charges dropped." Chad said, walking to the bedside and lowering his voice.
Gabriella's heart thundered in her chest. Her mother pulled her into a trembling embrace, and for a moment, they just cried, silent tears of relief, disbelief, and long-overdue peace.
"You guys really came through. And not just for Gabe," Chad said, resting a warm hand over Gabriella's. "You kept your head when it mattered. Because of you a lot of bad people are going away for a long time. Lots of victims will get their freedom back."
Gabriella blinked up at him, her vision swimming.
Chad squeezed her hand. "I'll be nearby. Get some rest. I'll come get you when he's ready for visitors."
Then came Gabe, arms wide and eyes brimming. Her parents erupted into fresh cries of joy as the family reunited in a tangle of hugs and heartfelt apologies. Gabe sat by her side and held her hand tightly, whispering endless thanks between choked-up words and watery smiles.
The joy was real, but so was the ache. Even surrounded by her family, she felt incomplete. Like part of her heart was still out there, waiting.
Troy.
Was he really okay? Did he still want her? Or had he realized somewhere along the chaos that this. Them. That it was too complicated?
That night, after visiting hours ended and her family returned to a nearby hotel, Gabriella couldn't sleep. The silence of the hospital room pressed against her chest. Machines hummed. Moonlight spilled across the floor. But her heart remained restless.
When the door creaked open, she sat up with a gasp, reaching for the nearest object, a vase of flowers, as a makeshift weapon.
"And here I was worried about bringing you flowers."
His voice hit her like a thunderclap. She dropped the vase.
"Troy?" she breathed, disbelieving.
He stepped into the soft light, a slight limp in his walk but that same infuriatingly gorgeous grin on his face. "Hey, beautiful."
Gabriella didn't hesitate. She sat up and launched herself forward at him, her arms flying around his neck. "You're here. You're alive."
He shifted awkwardly into her grasp, laughing softly as he leaned over the bed railing to hold her close. "We're both alive. And it's finally over."
She cupped his face, brushing her thumb gently over his swollen lip. "You're hurt."
He glanced at her bandaged leg. "You're not exactly unscathed yourself."
She didn't wait. She kissed him, desperate to feel something real, to feel him. He groaned into the kiss, pulling her closer, grounding her in the one truth that mattered: he was here. With her.
"I thought I lost you," he murmured into her hair.
"I'm right here," she whispered.
When she looked up again, his lips found hers once more, slow, aching, full of everything left unsaid. Her back hit the mattress, his weight pressing gently over her, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else existed.
Then Troy pulled back with a frustrated groan. "Damn it."
"What?" she asked, breathless.
He ran a hand through his hair. "I can't ravish you properly in this damn hospital bed."
Gabriella laughed. "I'm okay with making out."
He gave her a lopsided smile. "I'm glad you're alive."
"I'm glad you're alive too." She smiled back, eyes locked with him. "So what now?" she asked.
Troy exhaled slowly. "Now… we tie up loose ends. After that, I'm going home."
Her smile faltered. "Home to Tennessee?"
He shook his head, reaching out to touch her hand. "Home is wherever you are."
Epilogue
Two years later
The courthouse was buzzing with press, attorneys, and a handful of curious onlookers all waiting for a verdict that had been nearly two years in the making. Inside the packed courtroom, Gabriella sat between her brother and Troy, her fingers laced tightly with his. She'd worn navy scrubs under her coat, having rushed over straight from her hospital shift. She was two months away from finishing her residency. Exhausted. Hopeful.
At the front of the room, the judge read out the final counts. Guilty. On all charges.
Gabriella let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Viktor Rane, his web of goons, the corruption, the fear, it was finally over. Official. Sealed in the eyes of the law. Gabriel reached for her hand on one side. Troy squeezed the other.
Outside the courthouse, a small crowd gathered. Reporters shouted questions. Cameras clicked. But none of it mattered. The storm was done. The cleanup had been long, exhausting, brutal at times. But it was done.
They found a quiet bench under a dogwood tree, just far enough away from the noise.
"You did it," Troy said, brushing a piece of lint from her coat sleeve. "You made it through hell and med school."
She laughed softly. "You make it sound like they're the same thing."
"Aren't they?"
They sat in silence for a few moments, watching people filter in and out of the courthouse doors.
"You know," Gabriella said, leaning back against the bench, " I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even this morning, I woke up with a pit in my stomach."
"Why?"
"Because it was all coming to a close, you know, full circle, what started off two years ago was finally all wrapped up in this perfect tiny bow. it scared me that we wouldn't have this thing between us anymore that our relationship would finally be free of it. I used to think we only worked because of the adrenaline. The chaos."
"And now?" he asked, turning to face her fully.
"Now I know better and can't believe I was such an idiot." She looked at him. "We work because we want to."
"It's funny you should say that, because I've been counting down the days for today."
Troy reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. Her breath caught before he even opened it.
"Oh my god."
Troy smirked. "I had a whole thing planned," he said, suddenly a little nervous. "Dinner, candles, probably a cheesy playlist. But when do any of our plans ever go accordingly? and this actually feels right. Right now. After everything."
He opened the box. A simple gold ring with a small, brilliant diamond.
"I want to build a life with you, Gabriella. I want to see you in your comfy clothes, your sexy clothes, preferably always in no clothes. That's actually my favorite outfit."
Gabriella let out a laugh.
Troy took her hand, his voice steady but full of feeling.
"I don't want to spend another minute of my life just surviving. I want to be all in, with you. More than I already am."
He paused, eyes searching hers.
"No more sleepovers and scattered weekends. We need a home base, a routine. I want to be the one who makes you coffee every morning. I want a life with you, the real kind. So…"
With that he stood up and then dropped to one knee. His hand holding up the ring between them.
"Will you marry me?"
She stared at him, eyes wide. Then, without hesitation, she nodded. "Yes. Of course I will."
He slipped the ring on her finger and she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.
They sat there for a while longer, curled into each other beneath the afternoon sun, the world finally quiet around them.
And for the first time, it wasn't about what they'd run from or fought through.
It was about what came next.
Together.
The end.
