Page 38 of Every Broken Piece

“I’ll help.” I turn away from him to collect our plates, but being one-handed I can only do so much, so Gabe helps.

He washes while I dry as he tells me funny stories about Pax as a little boy.

We’re both laughing and before I know it, everything is washed and dried and put away and I’m bundled on the couch in my favorite spot while Gabe is on the other end, surfing through the few streaming services I have.

I pick Urban Cowboy because who doesn’t want to watch John Travolta in a honky-tonk bar.

Except I don’t make it through the first scene as my eyes grow heavy.

I feel Gabe tuck another blanket around me and I snuggle down into the couch cushions.

So many times I’ve fallen asleep like this, not minding in the least that I was alone.

But falling asleep with Gabe on the other end of the couch is more comforting than anything I’ve ever experienced.

Don’t get used to it, girl. Things like this never last for you.

I try not to let that thought make me sad. I’ll enjoy his presence while he’s here and think about the rest later.

The next thing I know Gabe is gently shaking me awake but I’m too warm and comfortable to want to move. My head isn’t aching as much, and my arm doesn’t hurt for once. I’m warm. I’m fed. I’m comfortable.

“Let’s get you to bed, Spitfire.” I love that he calls me Spitfire. I love the sound of his, growly, gravelly voice. Dear mother didn’t bring the best examples home, so I haven’t known much kindness from men.

“Tess, wake up.”

“Imawake,” I mumble.

He chuckles and when I feel that chuckle rumble through my body I realize I’m curled up against him, my head on his chest, his arm around my shoulders.

I sit up too quickly and my head spins. I throw out a hand to brace myself even though I’m snuggly wrapped in his arms and the blankets are tucked around me. He grabs my hand and holds tight.

“Whoa there,” he says, looking concerned.

I wait until the room stops spinning and I can focus on him. “How’d I get over here?”

His grin is cheeky. “You looked uncomfortable over there, so I moved you.”

He moved me?

He moved me.

I snuggle back into him, and he laughs. “Tess, you need to go to bed. Just this morning you were in the hospital.”

Was it really just this morning that I was released? It seems like a lifetime ago. Grumbling, I toss the blankets aside and attempt to stand, but Gabe is there, pulling me up with a firm grip on my good hand, his other hand on my hip to hold me steady.

“You good?” he asks.

“When am I going to start feeling like myself?” I’m tired of being wobbly every time I stand and my head pounding every time I move and my wrist aching every time I forget and try to use it.

“You were injured less than a week ago. Give yourself some grace.”

He releases me so we can walk side by side down the short hallway.

“You get the bathroom first,” I say. “You’re the guest.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He closes the door to the bathroom while I go in my room to change into cactus printed pajama bottoms. It’s my nod toward the west. Seeing a live cactus in the wild is on my bucket list. I doubt I’ll ever get there but you never know.

Amelia was smart enough to bring me a sports bra when she packed my clothes, so I don’t have to figure out how to unhook a regular bra.

After Gabe leaves the bathroom and closes his bedroom door, I take my turn getting ready for bed.

I stare into the bathroom mirror, taking in the mess of bruises, my tangled hair that I have to brush one-handed.

My “Berlin—East Side Rebel” t-shirt that’s four sizes too big and faded cactus pajama bottoms. I can’t remember the last time I brushed my teeth and now I feel gross that I’ve been talking to Gabe all this time with probably yucky breath.

Ohmygod! I kissed him with yucky breath!

Who am I fooling? This person in the mirror is totally not the type of woman Gabriel Strong’s attracted to. I’m a guilt-ridden obligation to him and that’s it.

I grab my toothbrush and squirt a healthy dollop of toothpaste on it, but when I start brushing my vision dims. My heart starts racing. My hands start sweating. The toothbrush clatters into the sink because I’ve lost feeling in my hand. White paste splatters everywhere.

My stomach churns then heaves like I’m going to be sick. I hurriedly spit the toothpaste out while my knees buckle.

It’s hard to breathe. Like really hard. I can’t pull a decent breath in and spots dance in front of my eyes.

What’s happening to me?

The overpowering scent of mint makes me retch.

Sandra said you’re good for the money. Says you have it and I want it. I don’t get it and bad things happen, Theresa.

I moan as memories come in bits and pieces. His breath smelled minty, like he’d just brushed his teeth. Then he hit me. Over and over.

I sink to the floor, crab crawling backward until I’m tucked into the corner where the tub meets the wall, my legs pulled up to my chin.

“Tess?” The doorknob jiggles. I must’ve locked it, but my legs won’t move to go unlock it.

Mint.

I’m going to pass out. I’m going to throw up.

All I smell is mint.

“Tess!”

The door shudders like Gabe’s ramming his shoulder into it.

My vision goes black at the edges. I bite down on my knees to keep from passing out. From far away I hear Gabe calling my name. I hear my small whimpers.

Bad things happen, Theresa.

I close my eyes as the door splinters.