Page 28 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter twenty-eight

Tess

I t’s almost comical to see Gabe’s and Amelia’s mouths slam shut. Amelia busies herself with opening her computer and feverishly typing. Gabe lays his laptop to the side and stands with a forced smile that makes him look one hundred percent guilty.

“Hey there, Spitfire. How’d the CT go?”

The nurse pushes me all the way into the room, and I sigh in relief now that we’re out of the bright hallway. “What are we going to do about what?” I repeat.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says.

I grind my back teeth together. My head throbs.

My wrist aches. My ribs hurt. My body looks like an artist’s palette painted in bruises.

I’m angry at my limitations. I’m angry because I need to get out of here and I can’t even walk without my head spinning.

I’m frustrated that I can’t ever live my life on my own terms.

Unfortunately for Gabe, his patronizing smile and remark ignites the inferno that’s been simmering inside me for days.

“The doctor will be in shortly to go over her results,” the nurse says as she locks the wheelchair wheels. “Tess, do you want back in bed, or would you rather sit in the chair?”

“The chair, please.”

“I’ll help you,” Gabe rushes forward to help me stand.

“I can do it myself.”

His brow quirks up at my terse tone. “Okay.”

He picks up the chair and places it closer to the wheelchair.

I push myself to standing but with only one good hand and a head that’s not cooperating, I waver.

His hand raises to steady me, but I glare at him, and he lowers his hand, his lips pressed together.

Probably in displeasure at my obstinance.

Determined to do this on my own I shuffle a half step toward the chair, then another half step.

Baby steps aren’t going to cut it when I need big, giant leaps. My eyes and nose sting with unshed tears that I try to sniff away. There is no room for weakness in my life. I had my moment the other night with Gabe. I don’t get another one.

I brush off the nurse’s hand on my elbow, knowing I’m being a bitch. Also knowing I need to do this on my own because this is my life. Step by step. Alone. Always alone.

I sink into the chair and suppress a sigh.

The nurse leaves with the wheelchair. Amelia stares at me with wide eyes. Gabe leans against the wall and crosses his arms.

My fiancé. What’s that all about anyway? I don’t buy their story that it’s because only family can visit. They could have made something else up.

“Okay,” I say. “Spill. What were you two talking about when I came in?”

Amelia gathers her computer and messenger bag and stands.

“I should go,” she says. “I have, um, a video call in about twenty minutes.” She jumps up and hurries out of the room, leaving me alone with Gabe who’s steady, calm look doesn’t help the rage churning inside me.

None of this is his fault. He flew halfway across the country to be with me and the guilt is starting to leach into my waning anger, but I can’t let myself feel anything for him.

Today he’s dressed more casually in form-fitting worn jeans, bright blue sneakers, and a white dress shirt. His hair is tossled, but what’s completely unfair is that he’s wearing black rimmed glasses that make him look so freaking hot that it stirs things other than my anger.

Why? Why does he have to enter my life when it’s imploding? When I have to push him away to keep him safe?

“You’re just going to keep it a secret from me? Whatever you and Amelia were discussing when I came in? That seems a bit unfair.” My tone is deliberately bitchy, and my guilt ratchets up, but so does my frustration.

Instead of being angry, or contrite, or looking guilty, he grins. He. Grins. And my heart shifts and I want... I want way more than I can have.

“I don’t see the humor in this.” I know I sound childish, but I can’t help myself.

“I’m not laughing at you.”

“Sure looks like it.”

He unfolds his arms and slides his hands into his pockets, shifting so that both shoulders are now leaning against the wall. “I’m smiling because sassy looks good on you.”

I’m taken aback by the compliment considering all my life I’ve tried to please the people around me by being compliant and easy going. And the one man I could easily fall for says he thinks sassy looks good on me. This man will be my downfall if I let him in.

“Yeah, well, you’d be sassy, too.” I want to roll my eyes at my lame comeback, but we’re interrupted when the doctor knocks on the door frame.

“Miss James?” She strides in with a no-nonsense, take-charge gate, and holds her hand out for me to shake. It’s then I notice the badge clipped to her black pants and I freeze.

This is no doctor.

Gabe must sense my rising fear because he pushes away from the wall and stands behind me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder

“We met before,” the woman says. “You might not remember. You were a little out of it. I’m Margot Hardwick, the detective investigating your case. I was hoping now would be a good time to ask some questions about the night of your attack?”

Her eyes are a warm brown. She wears her dark hair in a short, paintbrush ponytail at the base of her neck and a man’s white button-down shirt. But it’s her open, trusting expression I fixate on.

I don’t trust it.

Gabe sits on the edge of the bed, his focus solely on me as he leans forward to gently take both my hands in his. “I’ve spoken to Detective Hardwick a few times. She’s good people.”

He has?

When?

And why?

And how does he know she’s ‘good people’?

She slides her bag off her shoulder and eases it to the floor. “Please, call me Margot. No need to be so formal.”

Gabe carries Amelia’s chair over to the detective. I never said I would speak with her yet they both assume it’s a forgone conclusion. Just another aspect of my life spiraling out of control because I’m not okay with this. I don’t want to talk to the detective who’s good people .

She sits and starts rummaging through her bag. “How’re you feeling? You took a hard knock to the head.”

“I’m okay.”

My muscles have locked tight, and every bruise scattered across my body pulsates in pain. My hands are twisted together in my lap and my wrist is shooting sharp jolts of discomfort up my arm.

Gabe’s brows lower in worry.

“Are you up for some questions?” Hardwick—I can’t call her Margot—pulls out a notebook and a pen. I stare at it in distrust.

“Tess,” Gabe says softly

I drag my attention to him.

“It’s up to you,” he says. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t feel well. Especially if your trip for your scan tired you out.”

Is he playing at being my fiancé? Or is his concern genuine? I glance at Hardwick. Does she think we’re engaged or is she in on the scam too?

I wish I knew what exactly is going on here. I feel like an actor in a play, but no one’s told me what my lines are. Or even what the plot is so I can make stuff up as I go.

“It’s up to you, Tess,” Hardwick says.

If I say I’m not up to it, that my head is pounding and I’m tired, Gabe will send her away, but she’ll keep coming back. I need to get this over with so I never have to speak to her again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gabe says softly, his focus entirely on me. “I’ll stay right here if that’s what you want.”

I nod because I don’t want to be alone with the police and while I’m angry at Gabe, his presence is reassuring. I know he’ll protect me. He won’t let the police take me away.

Maybe it’s not the detective I need to worry about breeching the walls I’ve erected over the years. Maybe it’s Gabriel Strong.

Detective Hardwick settles in, pen poised above paper. “Why don’t you walk me through that night, Tess. What time did you arrive at the bar?”

“I don’t remember.” That’s the god’s honest truth.

I don’t remember anything about that night.

My last memory is of standing in front of my closet and looking through my dresses, trying to decide what to wear.

My next memory is waking up in the emergency room, my head feeling like it was in a vice as doctors and nurses and EMT’s hustled around me, voices urgent and concerned.

“You have no memory of that night at all?” Her tone gives nothing of her thoughts away.

“The doctor said I may never remember.”

Her pen flies across her notebook and I don’t like not knowing what she’s writing.

“That’s okay,” she says. “The bar has fairly decent security cameras so we can see a lot of what happened that night.” She digs in her bag again and pulls out a grainy picture that I’m assuming is from the security cameras she mentioned.

She holds it out to me. My hand shakes as I take it and stare at the image of a man in a baseball cap, jeans and a white t-shirt.

His head is angled away from the camera so I can’t fully see his facial features.

The photo is just of him, no one else nearby, so I can’t compare him to other people to gauge how tall he is.

He looks like an average man. Not like someone who follows a defenseless woman into a dark hallway and beats her almost to death.

A shudder runs through me.

Gabe places a hand on my knee. I’m not going to lie, his touch centers me, settling the rage inside.

“Does he look familiar?” the detective asks.

I shake my head because my mouth is suddenly dry. It’s almost like a locked part of my brain remembers this guy, but the door won’t open to let me fully recall. I’m grateful for that because I don’t want to remember. I don’t need to when the man’s touch is literally imprinted all over my body.

“You’ve never seen him before?” she asks.

“No.”

“He’s not a former boyfriend? Lover?”

I drop the picture like it’s singed me and wipe my hand on the chair cushion.

Blindly I reach for Gabe’s hand and it’s there, his strength folding around mine.

“No. I don’t... I don’t have any former boyfriends.

” And certainly no former lovers, but I’m not about to announce that in front of Gabe and a police officer.

I can’t stop looking at the picture lying face up on my knees. Detective Hardwick didn’t say this was the man who attacked me, but I know he is. I know without knowing. I feel the panic he caused, the terror and helplessness.

“Do you have any idea why he targeted you?”

My breath is coming fast and shallow.

“Tess.” Gabe drags my chair around to face him, the sound of the legs scraping the floor making me wince. The picture flutters off my lap, landing facedown on the floor. His warm, strong hands cup my cheeks. “Look at me, Tess.”

I focus on his blue eyes behind the lenses of his glasses.

“Breathe, Spitfire. Breathe in, one, two, three, four, five. Hold it, one, two, three, four, five. Breathe out, one, two, three, four, five.” He repeats this a few more times, while I concentrate on his voice.

I follow his instructions until my vision isn’t swimming, and my heart has slowed to a less frantic beat, and I’m lost in those twin pools of blue.

“I’m sorry to bring up some bad memories," the detective says. "I know this is difficult. We want to catch this man as much as you. Anything you can remember will help.”

“That’s the problem,” I say. “I can’t remember anything.” I don’t remember what his voice sounds like but it’s probably the same voice that spoke to me on the phone a few weeks before.

Stupid, stupid . I should’ve known he wouldn’t go away. I should’ve run when I could. I definitely should’ve never gone out to the bar with my friends. Now he knows who my friends are. Now he knows my weakness.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been confronted, but this is the first time I’ve been attacked.

To say I’m frightened is a vast understatement. I’m terrified. But I also don’t trust the police to solve this problem for me. A lifetime of being let down by cops telling me they want to help and then doing the opposite taught me that I can only trust myself.

“Do you want to stop?” Gabe’s lips are drawn down and deep lines are carved between his brows.

“I... I don’t know what else I can tell you,” I say to Detective Hardwick. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Maybe lurking around?” she asks. “At the grocery store? A restaurant you might have been to recently?”

He’s been stalking me? Watching me?

Of course he’s been watching me. How else would he know to find me at the Rusty Spur?

Detective Hardwick bends to pick up the photo and puts it back in her bag. “He had you in his sights the entire time you were at the bar,” she says. “He followed you down that hall. It’s my belief you were targeted. Do you have any idea why?”

I know exactly why.

But I shake my head, my eyes glued to the bag the photo disappeared into. “No. I don’t know why. Probably just bad luck on my part.”