A/N:

I imagined a darker, sadder past for Gavin that would have resulted in a dramatic, sad break-up between him and Mel. I decided to go in a lighter direction so scrapped that plan, but in case you're curious, here is a summary of Gavin's alternate past:

- Raised by a single mom, no siblings/extended family, dad died when he was young
- John Mattheson, the previous editor-in-chief of The Press, was a close friend of Gavin's dad and fostered Gavin's love for politics, writing, literature, and journalism from a young age
- in high school, Gavin's mum died of cancer
- Mattheson, a single workaholic with no close family of his own, took Gavin in and treated him like a son, just out of the kindness of his heart
- He gave Gavin a job at The Press, paid for his education, taught him everything he knew about journalism
- The Press became Gavin's family he never had
- Before Mattheson died, he asked Gavin to take care of his magazine for him, to keep it running well and to preserve his legacy
- Gavin, who felt completely indebted to Mattheson, worked his ass off as editor-in-chief to fulfil his mentor's dying wish
- When he and Mel got serious, he felt guilty and ashamed for potentially jeopardizing the empire Mattheson had built and couldn't sacrifice his commitment to his job and his sense of obligation towards Mattheson for Melanie. Also didn't want to ruin Mel's career, so when Mel confessed her love for Gavin, he shut her out

After all that drama, comes this scene.

Basic context behind this scene:

A very fancy journalistic work networking gala that Mel asks Dylan as her date to after all that Gavin/Mel drama.

I will repeat that this is an ALTERNATE event. Not real.

So. Enjoy.

***

When my front door opens and Dylan sees me, his lips part a little, his bright brown eyes flashing with surprise and something darker. He just looks at me, apparently speechless, for a long moment before he gives me a warm, crooked smile, and it's oddly endearing. "Bloody hell, Melanie." His voice is rough. "You might be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

And of course, I blush, because I know that Rowley has been with many, many women and such a compliment is simply impossible, but stupidly flattering at the same time.

And damn it, he looks really good, too. His dark suit clings perfectly to his broad shoulders, his thick hair is brushed into place but still faintly messy, the way I like it. His usual dark scruff is groomed to perfection and when he takes my hand in his large, calloused palm, leads me to his car, he's tall and warm and he smells clean and masculine and like some kind of subtle but heady cologne.

I really don't know what I've gotten myself into.

***

Near the end of the evening when we're finished schmoozing and networking, they start playing music and Dylan whisks me onto the dance floor.

He holds me by the waist, flush against him, my hands resting on his strong shoulders, and I can feel the incredible warmth coming off of his hard, muscular body, can feel how solid and sturdy and dangerous he is.

I know that we're pressed a little indecently close. But for the time being, it's comforting and it makes me feel desirable and feminine and his hands don't wander, he doesn't make any silly jokes, he just holds me, and it's... nice. Well-behaved Dylan is strange but pleasant.

That is, until I feel something hard straining against my stomach. Oh hell...

"Detective Rowley," I whisper near his face, slightly mortified, "Please tell me that you're carrying a gun in your trousers."

He chuckles softly, leaning closer to mumble into my ear, his breath a gentle tickle against my skin. "Sorry. Ignore him, love. He just can't control himself with you looking so stunning in that dress."

But unfortunately, my deprived, hormonal body is incapable of ignoring the, yes, very generous proof of Dylan's attraction as it presses stiffly against me.

My skin heats up and my heart beats faster, his hand travels down from the curve of my waist to rest against my hip, the tips of his fingers burning through the material of my dress.

"Dylan," I breathe, because we're swaying together to the soft, jazzy music and there's definitely an unbidden, inescapable tingling between my legs, because he's rakishly, ruggedly, rougishly handsome and he's here and he wants me and his lips are brushing like a whisper against the top of my head, because after everything humans are animals and it's wrong and this is wrong but neither of us pulls away.

"Don't look now, love, but someone is trying to murder me with his eyes." His voice rumbles through my forehead, and just that single sentence carries enough behind it that my heart starts doing somersaults, and that mushy feeling in the pit of my stomach that I associate with one person alone creeps back to haunt me.

I press my face gently into his shoulder, because thinking about Gavin is like a knife through the gut. "My heart hurts, Dylan," I confess, barely audible.

A small hum of acknowledgement. I feel the vibration down to the tips of my toes. "He told me what happened between you, darling." His words are soft, low and rough. "And I told him he's a fucking idiot."

More painful, aching emotion ripping through my poor, fragile psyche.

Both of Dylan's hands rest on my hips now, pulling those parts of us closer.

My mind and my body and my hormones and my heart are all so, so damn confused.

"Melanie," he says, gruff and ragged, leaning in so his soft lips brush against my ear. "If he can't see exactly what he's missing out on, love, he sure as hell doesn't deserve you."

More relentless heartache. "It's not so simple, Dylan."

A humorless chuckle. "You two have told yourself that so many times that you actually believe it's true."

I know what he's saying, what he's implying, but my stubborn mind doesn't want to agree, doesn't want to admit that he's right.

A large palm skates teasingly from my hip around to my lower back, and the sweeping, open neckline of my dress leaves me exposed, and his bare skin touches my bare skin, sending blood rushing everywhere except to my brain. His lips are a flutter beside my ear, he moves them to my earlobe, just the subtlest touch, and shit, he's so close to me, our bodies are so close together.

I tilt my head to the side, away, and his mouth finds the space beneath my ear, he places the chastest kiss there that is somehow the most suggestive, taunting sliver of contact ever. His hand on my back splays to support me better, he probably knows my knees are going weak, the edges of his fingers tease near the top of my ass, and they could easy travel lower but they don't.

His scent and his warmth and his touch are everywhere but nowhere, he knows exactly what he's doing to me.

He speaks in the huskiest, deepest, quietest whisper that reaches right into the hot space between my legs. "It's not right, the way he's hurting you, love." My breath catches, my eyes press shut. "I could make you feel so good, Mel."

A helpless, surprised sigh falls from my lips against his face.

Dylan Rowley is officially seducing the breath out of me.

I should've listened to his warnings back when I still had a chance.

"Don't do this to me, Dylan." My voice sounds as weak and conflicted as I feel.

Is it stupid, horrible, wrong of me, that I know being with Dylan would hurt Gavin, would take away my pain, just for one night? I know, fuck, I know how well he would take care of me.

"Tell me you don't want to, darling." The hand on my waist trails a path upwards, comes to hold the side of my face with a kind of longing that I haven't felt from someone in a long time.

I look up at him, at the darkness that has captured his eyes. Oh. His thumb gently caresses the skin of my mouth, his lips just a few inches away.

I just watch him, feel him, completely overwhelmed and powerless, melting in his arms, wanting to be held. It would be so easy, to let him take me somewhere where it's just the two of us, let him peel this dress off my body and help him strip each layer of clothing off his, feel him run those strong hands over my skin, press himself into me, give me a few hours of distracting, blissful reprieve from all the confusion and inadequacy I feel. He would worship me, touch me in all the right places, whisper sweet but dirty things into my ear, let our tangled limbs ease away the pain. Make my heart race so fast and steady that I can forget it's broken. Damn it... I just want someone to love me.

He must see how lost and vulnerable I look because his intense, smoldering expression softens, something like doubt passes across the sculpted features of his face.

He leans forward, but not to kiss me. His forehead touches mine, resigned, his eyes float shut, he lets out a heavy, frustrated breath. "Ah, fuck, Melanie." He drifts a hand softly through my hair, pushing it away from my face. "You're in love with him."

It's not a question. As soon as he says it, my heart almost explodes in my chest from feeling too much.

And before I know what's happening, there are tears pooling in my eyes.

He pulls away from me just a little, uses both hands to swipe the wetness away from beneath each eyelid. "You two need to get your shit together, doll."

And he sifts a distracted, defeated hand through his hair, rearranging those thick dark waves into a tousled mess.

"It hurts, Dylan. I can't... I..." He lets me bury his head in his shoulder. His arms come around me, pulling me into the comfort of his chest, my silent sobs soaking into his suit-jacket.

With gentle touches and warm, steady hands he guides me to a seat in the corner of the room, sits next to me, gets me a glass of water and makes sure I drink it.

He stays with me until he's convinced that I'm stable. I feel like a terrible person, like I've used this man in front of me who has been nothing but kind and honest with me, who I know has real feelings for me. "I'm sorry, Dylan."

"Don't be sorry, love. You don't need to be sorry for anything." He gives me a soft smile but there's still a preoccupied hardness in his nearly black eyes. A fire in them that I know isn't directed at me.

He takes my hand, gives it a comforting squeeze. "Can you wait here for me a few minutes? I need to take care of something."

I bite my lip, knowing exactly what he needs to 'take care of', but I nod, offer him a small, watery smile. "Of course."

I wait until he's far enough away before I follow him.

He pulls out his cell-phone, leaving the room. He's too far for me to hear what he's snapping at the other person through the line.

I slip off my shoes so the sound doesn't give me away, weave through the expansive, shadowy halls after him. He rounds a nearly deserted corner and I stand on the other side of it, peaking around to catch a glimpse of him.

I watch, wide-eyed, as Dylan pins Gavin against a wall by the collar, something menacing and pissed in his hard, dark expression. "You fucking prick..."

"Dylan, what the f—"

Rowley leans in, an inch taller and definitely broader and heavier than Gavin. "Just shut your bloody trap and listen to me," he growls.

Gavin narrows his eyes, confused and wary. Dylan points an angry finger in the direction of the main hall. "There is a perfect, perfect woman out there who is fucking heart-broken over you, you bloody tosser."

My heart is pounding so fast right now. Several painful emotions flash in waves across Gavin's gorgeous face, he slumps a little, his defensive guardedness softening. "Dylan—"

Dylan shoves him into the wall again, not giving him even an inch. "And you know what?" His voice is low, threatening, severe. "I almost took her to bed tonight. I could've shown her what it's like to be treated properly by a man who actually cares for her."

Oh Dylan... The look on Gavin's face is one of pure anguish and regret and I've never felt so simultaneously adored but hurt. My heart aches so much that I almost wish I didn't have one.

"But I didn't, mate, because I'm going to give you one last fucking chance to make things right with her." He eases his grip but doesn't move away. "And if you mess this up again, I fucking swear to God that I won't think twice next time." He lets out a huff of breath, some of his tension falling away. He takes a step back, gives Gavin room to breathe. "She's far, far more precious than some stupid job, Gavin."

Gavin runs a hand through his hair the same way I've seen him do a gazillion times before. "I know." His voice is hollow. "Fuck, man, I know."

Dylan looks away from him, still seething. "If you fucking knew, Gavin, you would have been the one in there wiping away her tears, not me."

This is just too much for one person to handle. I think I'm a bit too battered and bruised to listen to this. I watch as Gavin scrubs a hand across his face, and I don't miss the self-loathing, the shame, the regret, the ambivalence.

And then he turns, exactly in my direction, sees me before I can hide myself back behind the wall, and he looks so stricken and conflicted and hell, oh hell, his electric blue eyes burn into mine and I swear, I swear that from that incredible, raw, bright look in his haunting gaze that he loves me too.

That he's just been really fucking good at hiding it.

He pushes past a bemused Dylan and strides purposefully towards me. I want to rush away from him, to make him chase me, to see if he'll chase me, but all I manage to do is take a small, unsteady step backwards, and then he's caught me in his arms.

I pull away but he tugs me closer, I resist his touch because I am hurt and angry and betrayed but he doesn't let me go. Not this time.

I thrash and flail and shake, sobbing, I fight against him with every last breath I have in me but he doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't let me go, I claw and try to escape his iron grip until I have no power left to battle against him, until all I can do is collapse into the achingly familiar warmth of his arms.

I am an emotional, tearful mess pressed against his thousand-dollar suit, he just crushes me into his chest, whispers over and over in a hoarse, bleary voice, arched over me, that he's sorry, sorry, sorry, so fucking sorry.

"Sorry isn't enough, Gavin," I whimper into his shoulder. "I... I thought you didn't... that I didn't..."

"I love you, Melanie. I love you so fucking much." He's choking over his own words as he breathes them close to my lips, as he clutches my face up towards him, his fingers dinging into my cheeks desperately while my watery mascara stains his skin. "And I will explain why I was such a stupid, idiotic bastard. But I love you, Mel. Give me a chance to show you. Please."

He sounds as broken and destroyed and sick and needy as I feel.

I bury my head against him, emotionally and physically and mentally exhausted, more exhausted than I have ever been in my entire life.

"Mel," he breaths, holding my head tight in his hands, looking at me, his eyes roaming over every last millimeter of my face, taking me in like I'm the last thing he's ever going to see before the world falls apart, or like he's been blind and I'm the first real thing he has ever seen. "I love you and I'm sorry."

I am so tired that I don't stop him, I am just numb, as he kneels down to slide my shoes gently back onto my feet, takes his coat off only to wrap it around my bare, shivering arms. And then he doesn't stop touching me, can't stop touching me, holds me close to him and guides me out, out of the building.

I don't protest when he opens his car for me, helps me fold myself into the seat with a reverent tenderness, mumbles against my red cheek that if it's okay with me, he's gonna take me home, that we should talk but that I need rest, that he wants to explain everything, that he will make things right to me if it's the last thing he'll ever do on this earth.

Maybe he doesn't deserve this, deserve me, but I am incapable of saying no, not now, not about this.

When he slides into the driver's side, my brain finally catches up. "Gavin," I sniffle, reaching almost instinctively for his hand. Those same long, smooth fingers tangle with mine. "I..." My voice cracks. "I love you too."

And there's a real tear that slides from the corner of his eye down onto the sharp angle of his jaw. I wipe it away with a crooked finger and he leans into my touch.

***

A/N:

Being honest? I cried a bucketful while I was writing this. I had to stop just to get handfuls of Kleenex to wipe away the stream of tears.

How is everyone feeling?

XOXO Ami

***
Thanks for reading! Please consider voting if you're enjoying MIK. Votes help books do well in the Wattpad stats. ❤️