Page 36 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter thirty-five

Gabe

F ucking Conor.

After my encounter with Tess’s mom, I stayed outside with Roger to calm the rage racing through my veins and to make sure Sandra didn’t linger when what I really wanted to do was run after her.

“If you go after her,” Roger said as he swept the street with his sharp gaze. “I’ll have to go after you and your girl won’t be protected. That’s probably what they want.”

That made sense, but the predator in me, the protector, wanted to run her down. I need information. I need to know who ‘they’ are that she was referring to. It doesn’t help that my gut was right, that Tess’s attack had something to do with her mother and the shit she got herself into.

I stood out in the dropping temperatures of a March evening until my heartrate calmed and I felt like I could walk into Tess’s apartment and not scare the shit out of her.

Except when I walk in, fucking Conor’s sitting on the couch way too close to my girl and that fury returns, now aimed at the jerk that keeps trying to claim Tess.

Immediately, I lock in on her, assessing her pain level by the brightness of her eyes. She’s laughing at something Conor said, and I have to suppress a growl. Her head whips around to me and those gorgeous caramel eyes light up.

“Gabe! You were gone forever. I hope you didn’t get lost.”

Her hair’s dry from her shower, hanging in sheets of midnight.

She’s pale and she’s holding her arm tightly to her stomach.

I’m pissed at Conor, at Sandra, at Tess being injured, at TaskGenius for firing her.

It’s best that I remove myself before I say something to Tess or Conor that I’ll regret so I head to the kitchen to put the groceries away.

“Did you find the store?” she asks from the living room. The apartment is so small that it’s not hard to hold a conversation two rooms away.

“It was easy to find,” I say as I open the refrigerator and toss the Styrofoam takeout box to make room for the cold food. I grab an apple before shutting the door.

Amelia’s curled in this weird, but oddly comfortable looking round chair that has a thick, fluffy cushion.

She’s looking between me and Conor with a worried frown.

Conor’s chin is up, eyes blazing behind his glasses, an arm casually thrown over the back of the couch, allowing his fingers to brush the hair draped over Tess’s shoulder.

I bend down to place a soft kiss to her lips. She jerks back in surprise, her eyes wide.

“How’s the pain?” I ask, tilting my head down to catch her gaze.

“Good.”

She’s lying. “You take your meds?”

“I took over the counter stuff.”

I nod and straighten, feeling the anger coming off Conor. I don’t give a shit. I’m still dealing with the adrenaline of Sandra and the very real concern that there are others after Tess to care what this boy thinks of me.

I hand her the apple. “Eat. I’ll fix dinner in a little bit.”

She takes it, huge, confused eyes watching me. The kiss in front of her friends shook her, but I need to stake my claim loud and clear and once and for all. Tess is mine if she wants me.

If she doesn’t...

I’ll deal with that later.

“You’re making me dinner?” She clutches the apple to her chest.

“Healthy food is important for recovery. How’s chicken parmesan sound?”

“Umm. Delicious.”

Conor’s glaring at me. A small smile tips Amelia’s lips as she glances between the three of us.

“You all are welcome to stay. I bought plenty.”

Amelia uncurls herself from the funny looking chair. “I should go. Come on, Conor.”

“I’m—”

I glare at him. He swallows. “I’m coming.”

I see them out and make sure to lock up behind them. The lock’s flimsy and I have to shove the door with my shoulder to get it to engage. There is no second lock. Damn it, it would be so easy to break into this apartment. I’ll have to find something to reinforce it before we go to bed tonight.

Tess crunches into her apple, her feet curled under her. I grab one of the blankets from the back of the couch and cover her. “Doing good?”

She nods. “I’m not an invalid. I can cook and look after myself.”

I sit next to her, taking Conor’s spot, but closer, and brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

She’s so different from her mother. Open and honest, sweet and naive.

Healthy despite her bruises and injured wrist. Her hair shines, her eyes tell me everything she’s feeling.

I can only guess at her childhood, but how she came out of it so perfect is beyond me.

I want to gather her in my arms and feel her slight weight pressed against my side. Instead, I move to the other end of the couch and wedge myself into the corner so I’m facing her.

“This where you sat the nights we texted?” I ask.

She nods, chewing her bite of apple. This is exactly how I pictured her, comfortable, under her favorite blankets. I love that my imagination aligns with reality.

“Tell me about Conor,” I say.

She pauses while taking another bite of apple. Seeing her eat the food that I bought for her brings intense satisfaction. Such a primitive emotion, providing for those you love.

“What about him?” She swipes apple juice off her chin with the back of the hand holding the apple. Her injured wrist is cradled against her body. I’m sure the ibuprofen barely controls the pain, but after learning she grew up with an addict for a mother I’m not arguing with her about her meds.

“Are you two close?”

She studies the apple as she turns it this way and that, determining her next bite. “Just friends.”

I raise my brows. “He know that?”

She pulls the apple away. “Of course. He’s part of Amelia’s friend group.”

Amelia’s friends. Not hers.

“Why’d he come over today?”

She lowers the apple to her lap. “You’re not one of those possessive guys that doesn’t like women to have male friends, are you?”

Am I?

Never thought I was. Cara had male friends.

Except when I think back, Cara didn’t have many friends.

She was a loner, preferring solitude to other people.

She could sell the shit out of her art at the fairs she attended, but that was because she was talking about what she loved best. Thinking about it now, I realize she had acquaintances.

She had wives she’d talk to when I brought her to work dinners and work functions.

Mothers she’d met at toddler story times and play groups but that was it.

Cara preferred her own company. There were times she preferred her own company over mine. I’d be talking and look over to see her staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts, not having heard a word I said. I chalked it up to the dreamer in her.

“You can have all the friends you want, Spitfire. I’m not here to tell you one way or the other.”

“You don’t like Conor?”

“I like him well enough.” When he’s not in the same room as Tess, but I keep that to myself. I’m skating on thin ice here. She’s calling me out and I’m not stupid enough to blow my chance with her over Conor.

“Amelia keeps trying to push us together. I think he likes me, but I don’t see him like that. Besides—”

She presses her lips together and stares at the apple.

“Besides?”

She takes a big bite and shrugs. “Nothing. I just don’t feel that way about him. Although he was nice enough to water my plants while I was in the hospital.”

That wasn’t what she was going to say. There was something coming after that ‘besides’ that she caught before she could voice it and I want to know what it was.

Then her words hit me. “He has a key to your apartment?” My question comes out harsher than I intended and she flinches. “Who else has a key, Tess?”

“Um. Amelia. My landlord, of course. That’s it.”

I’m not happy about that, but there’s not much I can do. What I’m really not happy about is that Tess is a sitting target here. The thought of moving her to Colorado with me, where I can keep her safe and protected is more appealing by the minute. The problem is convincing her.