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Summary
“What?” McCree bites, face hardening into a twist of frustration. "You give me rules, then you— you make me break them. I was tryin'."
Gabriel squeezes his eyes shut tight against the wave of nauseating guilt that eats at him. He made moot all of McCree's hard fought progress in sobriety, and very likely destroyed what trust he had earned from the cowboy.
“It's not your f—"
"Let me be good," McCree whispers hoarsely, his hands suddenly sliding from his biceps to reach for Reyes' belt. "Please?"
