Page 26 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter twenty-six

Tess

T here is a rhythm to my existence.

Rising pain.

Ebbing pain

Throbbing pain.

Painful white light when I crack my eyes open. When I move my wrist. Moments of blessed relief when the pain is chained, yet lurking, waiting for the next release.

Pain.

That’s my reality.

Currently its creeping toward me, but not quite unleashed.

I know I’ve been here a few days. I know Amelia and Conor have been my constant companions. They say I was attacked at the Rusty Spur, but I don’t remember any of it. The last memory I have is picking out the dress I was going to wear, for once excited about my birthday.

Then...nothing.

Until I woke up in a hospital bed with the worst headache I’ve ever felt, like someone took a mallet to my head. Maybe they did. I don’t know.

Something niggles in my broken mind, another memory of a man standing at the foot of my bed looking down on me with a different sort of pain lodged deep in blue eyes. But that’s probably more dream than memory.

I’m lying as still as I can with my eyes closed, having just come up from a deep sleep that I’m sure is drug induced. Moving anything hurts, but I sense a presence next to me that’s different than Amelia or Conor or any of the nurses and doctors that have been in and out the last few days.

I can hear deep breathing. I can feel warmth wrapped around my good hand. I think I’ve woken up to this before, but the cycles of waking and sleeping are a blur.

I open my eyes slowly, then slam them shut. The bright fluorescent of the overhead light is like a dagger to my brain. A small whimper escapes me.

“Hold on.” The words are growled softly but with intent. I’ve heard this voice before, in either that dream or memory of the man with the blue eyes. The presence moves away. I hear a soft click, then it’s back, my hand reclaimed and gently squeezed.

“The lights are off, Spitfire. You can open your eyes now.”

I squeeze the fingers afraid to open my eyes again. Not trusting.

“I promise they’re off. Open those beautiful eyes for me, Tess.”

It takes me awhile but eventually I try again. He’s right. The lights are off, dousing the room in shadows, and I breathe out a relieved, pain free sigh.

I focus on the ceiling for a few blinks before lowering my gaze to the big, masculine hand covering mine.

Blunt fingers, short, clean nails. Veins indicating strength. A large, solid gold watch on a thick wrist.

My gaze travels up the wrist, up a strong forearm, past the folded cuffs of a white dress shirt, over the outline of solid muscles, a bicep that looks like it was sculpted from stone, a rounded shoulder, thick neck, dark beard liberally sprinkled with gray surrounding beautifully shaped lips.

By the time I get to the sapphire blue eyes I’m breathless and not from pain.

I’ve never seen this man before, but I know who he is.

I know him.

Why is he here? Am I dreaming again?

His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “Hello, Tess.”

I lick dry lips but my tongue, just as dry, is stuck to the roof of my mouth. Keeping a firm hold on my hand, he reaches to the side with his other hand, his dress shirt stretching across an equally sculpted chest. He returns with a cup with a straw.

“Drink.” It’s more command than request. I comply because I’m parched, and I don’t know what to say to this man who I’ve only ever texted and emailed.

When I drink my fill, he pulls the cup away and places it out of my sight, still without letting go of my hand.

As he settles back into his chair, intent, direct, blue eyes pin me in place. Does he realize his thumb is casually brushing across my wrist? I concentrate on the feel of his thumb, on the warmth of his hand. When was the last time someone offered me the comfort of their touch?

“You didn’t check in on Sunday morning to tell me you got home okay. I got worried.”

My head snaps toward him causing me to wince.

“Careful, Spitfire. You took a nasty bonk to the noggin.”

“Y-you flew all the way from Colorado because you were worried about me?” My voice is scratchy, weak.

He hesitates. Indecision and secrets cloud his expression. “I heard you were hurt.”

“So you flew to Ohio?”

“So I flew to Ohio.”

My eyes narrow but even that small movement hurts.

“You need more pain meds?”

“I don’t want pain meds.”

“Admirable, but not practical.”

A surge of anger takes me by force and surprise. “You don’t have a say in anything, Mr. Strong.” I yank my hand from his and bury it under the blanket. The action jostles my injured wrist, and I hiss in a painful breath.

Calmly he digs my hand out from the covers and threads our fingers together again. I’m not going to lie, I like him holding my hand. It makes me feel less alone. My irrational and sudden anger dissipates as fast as it came, leaving me exhausted.

“Don’t be obstinate, little fighter. You’re in pain, take the relief.”

Concern is etched in the downward turn of his lips. He’s not what I expected. I know what he looks like from my internet snooping but Gabriel Strong in person is so unlike the man who composed those terse, direct emails.

However, there was the other Gabriel Strong, the weekend Gabriel Strong, who told me about Pax and Jack and their dog River. Who discussed books and plots and made me check in when I was out with my friends.

Maybe, like me, there are two Gabriel Strongs fighting for control inside the same man. Just like there are two Theresa James—one who craves affection, and one who’s forced to shun it.

“Tess?”

“I’m okay.” I’m not okay. I’m not okay at all and I don’t know how to tell anyone that I’m afraid to leave this hospital, that my head hurts so bad even crying makes me want to throw up.

That I’ve never in all my life, in all the shit I’ve been through during my childhood, have felt this helpless or scared.

A tear leaks out of my eye but I’m too weary to hide it.

Gabe shifts and swipes at the tear with the pad of his other thumb. “Ah, Tess. I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

I draw in a shuddering breath and close my eyes, letting him catch each tear as they drop.

“I’ll be okay.” I wipe my face with the corner of the bedsheet.

He withdraws his thumb and gives me the space I need to fold my emotions back into the darkness inside me.

Because I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself.

I need to get out of here, pack, and leave.

Run. Again. Like I’ve been doing my whole life.

“You can go back to Colorado now,” I say, relieving him of whatever obligation brought him here. “It might take a few days for me to catch up on your inbox and travel arrangements, but I’ll get there.”

“You think I’m leaving you?” His voice is soft and low. It takes a few beats for me to understand what he’s saying.

“You have to.” He can’t stick around here. He has a corporation to run. He has to be in England in... I don’t know how many days, but he has to be in England soon.

“I’m not leaving, Tess. I’m here to ensure you get the best care available. To make sure they catch the asshole that did this to you. And to keep you safe until they do.”

No, no, no. Doesn’t he understand? I can’t have him here. “Mr. Strong—”

“Ms. James.” He grins and my simmering anger starts to boil over except his grin is distracting. It brings out the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and lights those baby blues into shimmering sapphires.

Stop thinking about his eyes!

The pain is creeping in. I’m exhausted just from this conversation. How am I going to relocate when I can’t even have a conversation without falling asleep?

“Why? Why do you want to help me?” I try to pull away from his touch. He slides his other hand under our clasped hands, trapping mine between them and damn it, it feels too good.

“You haven’t heard?” His grin is now a full-blown smile and it’s sexy as hell and I should not be thinking of sexy smiles.

I yank my gaze from his lips but looking in his dancing eyes isn’t much better. “Heard what?”

“We’re engaged, Tess. I’m your fiancé and I’m here to take care of you.”