The Replay (Boys of Richland #3)

9. Gabriel

gabriel

. . .

Sunlight filters into the room, dragging with it memories of last night. I reach out blindly, searching for the warmth of Cecilia’s body. But I find nothing but cold sheets. My heart lurches, eyes snapping open. Where the hell is she?

Throwing the covers back, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud. The knot in my stomach tightens as I take in the empty room. She wouldn’t just leave. Right?

I yank on my discarded sweatpants, movements sharp, leaving my chest bare as I scan the clock—6:30 AM. Too early for anyone else in the house to be awake. The silence hangs heavy, and my pulse picks up.

I pause at the bathroom door, pressing my ear against it. Nothing. The quiet gnaws at me. I push the door open, only to find emptiness staring back at me. The space feels hollow, mocking me.

Fuck.

She doesn’t have her Jeep. She couldn’t have gone far. Panic starts to creep in, clawing at my chest. I jog downstairs, first checking the living room. Empty. My eyes flick to the front door, but something pulls me toward the kitchen.

And then I see her.

Cecilia, standing at the counter, her back to me. Her hair is a mess from sleep, dark strands tangled over her shoulders, and she’s wearing my shirt. Only my shirt. It hangs loose, mid-thigh, giving me a glimpse of her bare skin as she reaches up for the coffee canister.

Fuck me.

I stop in the doorway, adjusting myself because just looking at her undoes me. The knot of worry loosens, replaced by something primal. My heart pounds, and for a second, all I can do is stare. Everything about her—the way my shirt clings to her curves, her skin glowing in the soft morning light—grips me tight.

I step into the kitchen, clearing my throat to make my presence known. “Here,” I say, moving behind her and turning the coffee pot on, my fingers brushing hers as she pours the grounds.

She stiffens at my touch, her body tensing—a wall going up. “Thanks,” she mutters, brushing her hair back, revealing tired, red-rimmed eyes. She looks ... wrecked.

I frown, stepping closer, the warmth of her body pulling me in like gravity. The soft brush of her skin against my chest, the way her scent—coconut with a hint of vanilla—wraps around me is intoxicating. It tightens my chest, makes me crave more.

“Did you sleep okay?” I ask, reaching up for the mugs, but my eyes stay on her, watching every small movement. It’s like the air in the room shifts between us. Too much, too soon? Or not enough? Fuck if I know anymore.

Her fingers trace the counter, avoiding my gaze. “Not really,” she whispers, the words barely there.

My heart sinks. I want to pull her into my arms, but something in her posture stops me. She’s distant, closed off, and the ache in my chest intensifies.

“How come?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended. The need to fix this, to fix her, is overwhelming, but I can’t do that unless she lets me in.

She sighs, her eyes drifting to the window. “I had a lot on my mind.”

No surprise there. Holt getting out, the way she disappeared last night—there’s a lot going on. But knowing that doesn’t ease the knot in my stomach.

“About last night …” I trail off, searching her face for any sign she’s ready to talk, but she shakes her head, cutting me off.

“Not yet,” she mumbles, her voice hesitant. “But …” Her gaze flickers to mine for a brief moment before darting away again. “We do need to talk. About other things.”

That sends a chill down my spine. Nothing good ever comes from we need to talk . I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady. “Like?”

Cecilia hesitates, her shoulders slumping as she grips the edge of the counter. “Last night was …” She pauses, eyes briefly meeting mine.

“It was great,” I say, stepping into her space, needing to close the distance. I brush a lock of her hair behind her ear, tilting her chin up. “It was perfect.” Her wide brown eyes lock with mine, and for a second, I think I’ve gotten through to her.

But then she blushes, that pretty shade of pink staining her cheeks, and she shakes her head. “Yeah, but … what does it mean?”

It fucking means everything. I keep my face neutral. Does she want it to mean something? Because it means everything to me.

But if I say that, if I tell her it means we’re good, back on solid ground, and that she owns my fucking heart, will she freak out and push me away?

Fuck. I don’t want to brush it off as a one-night thing. We’re so far past that. But what’s the right answer here?

“What do you want it to mean?” My voice is calm, though every muscle in my body is taut.

Cecilia inhales sharply and takes a small step back. I can see her walls going up. She’s retreating again, pulling away.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What did I say wrong?

"I don’t want to keep doing this," she says, her voice a little stronger now, but there’s an edge to it. "Every time we get close, something happens. We mess it up."

Her words gut me, but I keep my face steady. She’s been through hell, and I don’t want to add to her burden. But god, I want to shake her and tell her I can’t go backwards. That I need her in my life—fully, completely. But what if pushing her sends her running? What if I mess this up before it even begins?

I feel the shift. She’s slipping, distancing herself. Before I can respond, she steps back completely, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield.

“We’re stuck in this loop,” she continues, pacing a few steps toward the sink. “I don’t know how to break it. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to try right now.”

Her words cut deeper than I expected. I can practically feel my chest squeezing tighter. She’s scared, running like she always does when things get complicated.

“So what are you saying?” My voice is tense, frustration leaking through.

“I don’t know.” She turns to face me, her voice shaking. “I don’t know what I’m saying, Gabriel. I just know that … last night …” She holds her arms tighter around herself, like she’s trying to build a barrier between us. “I don’t know where we stand and not knowing, it’s messing me all up inside.”

My stomach twists painfully. "I don’t know where we stand, either," I tell her.

What I don’t say is that I know exactly where I want us to be standing. That she’s my girl. The only place she belongs is by my side, but for some goddamn reason, I can’t get the words out.

Because what if she doesn’t want to hear it?

She stares out the window, sunlight casting her in a soft glow. It makes her look almost untouchable. Several seconds pass in silence, and I fight the urge to fill it.

When she finally turns my way, her expression is tired but resolute.

“I need to know what this is,” she says, but her voice wavers. “I don’t know if I’m ready for—”she motions the space between us, ”—whatever this is. But I do know that I need boundaries and labels and just … I need to know, Gabriel. I need to know what you want from me? Where you see this going if it’s going anywhere at all? I just need to know.”

I step forward, closing the distance between us, my hands itching to pull her close. Every instinct screams at me to hold her. "It’s whatever you want it to be," I tell her, my voice soft but firm. "Whatever you’re ready for. That’s what this is. It’s you and me, and yeah, baby, we’re a thing. But we’re moving at your pace. This is all on your timeline, okay? I’m not going to rush you, but I’m here. I’m in this."

Her lip trembles, and for a second, I think she’ll let me in. But then she steps back, crossing her arms again. The warmth between us fades as quickly as it came.

“My life is a mess right now, Gabriel. I can’t tell up from down, and with the trial stuff coming up … I don’t see things settling down anytime soon.”

A wave of frustration builds in my chest, crawling beneath my skin. “I know. But, you’re not in this alone. All you have to do is let me in.”

She stays silent for a beat, the smell of coffee filling the air, her eyes flicking between mine as if trying to decide how much to let me see.

“It’s just really bad timing,” she says, almost pleading.

I nod, jaw clenched, heart sinking. "Right." The word tastes bitter, but I swallow it down.

The coffee machine beeps, breaking the tension. I pour us both a cup, watching as she adds a splash of creamer. She takes a tentative sip, a small smile passing over her lips.

"So, friends?" I ask, raising a brow, trying to keep things light. Even though it fucking kills me to say it. My chest tightens at the thought, but if that’s what she needs, I’ll take it.

Her smile falters, her eyes dimming.

Shit. Did I read that wrong?

“If you want that, I mean.” My voice wavers, panic bubbling up. Fuck. I sound like such a simp but I can’t find it in myself to care. “I know you have a lot on your plate, but I’m here,” I reiterate. “For whatever you need. You can lean on me.”

She shakes her head, her lip trembling again. “Yeah,” she stammers. “Friends is fine. Great even.”

Bullshit.

If friends was fine she wouldn’t look like she was two seconds away from crying. My heart swells in my chest. I hate seeing my girl upset, but does that mean she wants more? That she wants me?

I take her mug from her hands, setting it aside before grabbing her chin gently, forcing her to look at me. “What is it, baby?”

Her eyes drop, and she tries to pull away, but I’m not letting her. I pull her closer until her chest is flush against mine.

“None of this works if we lie to each other.”

She buries her face in my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, resting my chin on top of her head. Her body trembles against me, and my heart feels like it’s breaking for her. "I thought … I thought you’d want to give things a real shot. I know I already said things are a mess. And I know my problems don’t need to be yours. Right now is the worst possible time to start a relationship. Trust me, I know. And I get that it’s a lot to ask."

Her words sink in like a slap upside the head and I cut her off mid ramble. “You’re joking, right?”

Her brows furrow, and she hastily wipes at her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Sorry. God. I’m such a mess. I don’t know what I was thinking. Just ignore me, okay? Friends is great. It’s more than I?—”

“Cecilia, we’re getting our wires crossed.” I tilt her chin toward me again, needing her to hear me. “You said your life was a mess. I thought that meant you weren’t ready for a relationship.”

“It is a mess,” she stammers, her voice shaky. “And I’m not 100% ready. Not in the ‘lets be responsible and jump in feet first’ kind of way. I think I’m more of the ‘let's go head first and hope for the best’ sort of way. But that’s okay, right? Life is messy. We have ups and downs but umm … I’m not really sure where I’m going with all that but—” Her watery smile meets mine.

“Tell me what you want,” I say, needing to hear the words. “I’m all in, baby. Friends, dating, hell, marriage—you name it. Whatever you want, I’m in. Just tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

Her eyes widen, vulnerability shining through. She looks at me like I’m offering her the world.

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” I brush a tear from her cheek. “But I’m gonna need you to talk to me. I’m not a mind reader, and we’ve got a history of getting our wires crossed.”

Her lip quivers. “I don’t deserve you.”

I pull her tight against me, my hands gripping her waist. “You deserve everything, Cecilia. Fucking everything.”

She clings to me for a long moment, then pulls back just slightly. “I want a fresh start,” she says softly. “Like, really start over. Date each other. But slow. I think I need slow with everything going on, but I want to give us a try.”

I nod, my heart slamming against my ribs. "We’ll take it as slow as you need. I’m not going anywhere."

She exhales, the tension melting from her shoulders. “And … maybe no sex for a while,” she adds quickly. “I just … I want to make sure we’re building something real, you know?”

The no-sex part stings a little, but I get it. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Her smile returns, and this time it feels real. “Really?”

“Really.” I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb across her skin. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, resting her head against my chest.

We stand there, wrapped up in each other, the smell of coffee and the warmth of her body grounding me like a blanket. For the first time in a long time, it feels like we’re on the same page. Like we actually have a shot at making this work.

“I’ll take you out,” I murmur into her hair. “Proper dates. Dinner, movies, whatever you want.”

She chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through my chest. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Because I’ve got a lot of making up to do, and I plan on spoiling you rotten.”

Her laugh is soft and genuine, and it’s the best sound I’ve heard in weeks. “I’m looking forward to it,” she says, her fingers tracing the edge of my jaw.

We’re interrupted by the sound of shuffling feet, and we both glance toward the doorway to find my roommates lingering awkwardly.

“Uh, hey,” Atticus rubs the back of his neck, his face a little red. “We didn’t want to interrupt, but …”

Felix pushes his way into the room, Julio right behind him. “But we’re starving,” Felix says. “And we need caffeine before practice.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. It’s so typical of them that I can’t help but grin. “Alright, alright. Pancakes, bacon, and eggs, coming right up.” I turn to Cecilia. “You up for it?”

She grins, nodding. “Absolutely.”