Page 39 of Every Broken Piece
Chapter thirty-seven
Gabe
F or once I’m glad the doors in this place are thin as hell. It only takes me ramming my shoulder into the flimsy piece of wood twice before the lock gives way.
My frantic gaze finds Tess curled in a ball on the floor, her chin and nose buried in knees pulled tightly to her chest. Jagged, shallow breaths sound like they’re being ripped from her.
I drop to the floor in front of her, afraid to touch her in case she’s hurt. The bathroom is too small for the two of us, yet I manage to wedge myself between her and the toilet, our knees pressed against each other.
“Spitfire, what happened? Are you hurt? Did you get dizzy?”
Wide, haunted eyes look straight through me.
“Tess. Talk to me.”
Her chin digs into her knees as she struggles to pull in a full breath.
I pry her cold, trembling hands from around her knees to rub them between mine.
“Look at me, Tess.” I use what Pax likes to call my dad voice, no nonsense, commanding, firm.
Her gaze snaps to mine. “Breathe with me.” I walk her through the breathing technique we’ve done before.
It takes some time before she responds, inhaling for a count of five, holding for five, exhaling for five.
We sit on that unforgiving floor, jammed tightly together, until my ass goes numb.
Her tears continue to fall, breaking my heart a little more with each one, but those caramel-colored eyes are glued to mine, trusting me to get her through this. And I will. I’ll get her through this and everything else she’s facing. I’m not breaking this trust.
“Let’s get you off the floor and into bed,” I say once her breathing is back to normal and I’m satisfied she’s not going to pass out.
It takes some maneuvering to stand, then to get her onto her shaky legs.
Her knees sag and it’s clear she’s not going to make it to her bedroom on her own.
I somehow manage to bend down in the small space and swing her into my arms. Her body’s trembling so badly it’s making mine shake.
We pass through the broken door with the splintered frame.
I’ll have to fix that later and maybe speak to the landlord about getting better doors.
I carefully lower her onto the bed. I still don’t know if she’s hurt but I’m betting that what happened back there wasn’t about dizziness or a fall.
She immediately rolls to her side and curls into a ball. I climb in behind her, dragging the covers over us while pulling her to me and wrapping my arms tightly around her. She’s so slight in my arms, so vulnerable, hurt in so many ways I don’t even know about.
I bury my nose in the soft silk of her hair and close my eyes, inhaling her vanilla scent.
One of my strengths in my career is knowing when I’ve been defeated.
I have that feeling of defeat now, but this isn’t crushing like it normally would be.
This defeat is more a capitulation, a surrender to the inevitable. I’m in deep. And I don’t give a damn.
“It was the toothpaste,” she says quietly.
The toothpaste?
“The mint,” she says. “His breath smelled like mint, like he’d brushed his teeth before he attacked me.”
Shit. Now I’m trembling with rage, horror, fear for her.
“Do you remember anything else?” I don’t want to stir up more memories while at the same time recognizing anything she can remember will help us catch the asshole.
Her breaths become ragged again. Her chest heaves beneath my arms. I rest my chin on the top of her head so I’m completely surrounding her, a barrier to her fears.
“He said ‘bad things happen, Theresa’. Then he hit me.”
I close my eyes and swallow the bile crawling up my throat. My arms shake with the need to storm out of here and find that fucker.
“Tess.” I have no idea what to say to make this better. I don’t think there are words to make this better and I don’t know what’s worse—her not remembering, or her remembering.
And then it hits me what she’s just said. “He called you Theresa? He knew your name?” A name she rarely uses? “Did you tell him your name at some point?”
Her body stiffens. “I... I don’t remember.”
Is she lying? I feel like she’s not telling the truth, but I don’t know why she’d lie about this. Did he threaten her if she told anyone what she remembered? Does she know him and she’s keeping his identity from all of us?
Whatever it is, it has her entire body vibrating in fear and I’m fucking pissed that this man is haunting her.
“You can trust me, Spitfire. No matter what, I’ll help you. You know that, right?” I’ll do whatever it takes.
“I know,” she whispers.
I wait for more but there is no more.
Eventually her trembling stops and her breathing deepens.
I should get up to make sure the flimsy lock on the front door is engaged and to find something to put in front of it to warn me if someone attempts to break in.
I should turn off the lights in the living room and bathroom.
But the thought of leaving her even for the small amount of time it would take to secure the house makes me anxious. I don’t want her waking up alone.
Hours later I’m roused from a light doze when her body starts twitching, then jerking. I’m on my back with her snuggled into my side, her arm and leg thrown over me.
Her fingers curl into a fist on my chest and her leg, stretched across the tops of my thighs, spasms.
She whimpers, then gasps.
I roll so I can throw my other arm around her and pull her in tight, hoping my body is enough to still the demons torturing her sleep.
Wrong move.
She cries out and pushes at my arms, her legs thrashing. I immediately release her and she rolls away, sitting up, her head on a swivel as she searches the shadows for whatever possessed her dreams.
Finally, she locks on me, but it takes a few deep breaths for her brain to register that I’m not the threat.
Her shoulders slump and she presses fingers to her temples, wincing.
I remain still, afraid to move too fast and startle her. I’m helpless and clueless as to what to do to console her. Hug her? Give her space? Touch her? Keep my distance?
Eventually she tips her head back and blinks at the ceiling, fingers twitching in her lap.
“What do you need from me?” My voice doesn’t even sound like mine, so thick with the effort it takes to suppress my fury at the guy who took the essence of my girl and made her into a ball of fear.
She tips her chin down to stare at her clasped hands. “I need you to leave, but I want you to stay.”
I sit up and scoot across the bed so I’m sitting in front of her, still wary about touching her and that pisses me off too—that he’s taken the option of comforting her from me.
I wait until those long, dark lashes rise and she’s looking into my eyes.
What I see would have taken me to my knees if I’d been standing.
The fear, the confusion, the regret guts me.
“I’m staying,” I say. “And whatever’s going on, whatever you’re afraid of, we’ll face it together.”
“You can’t fight my enemies.”
“Who says?”
She touches my cheek, runs her fingers through my beard. I close my eyes and lean into her touch.
“Gabriel Strong, there are things out there that you’ve never encountered, foes you can’t vanquish.”
Her fingers trail down my neck, making me shudder.
“You know nothing of the things I’ve encountered or the foes I’ve vanquished.”
She pulls her hand away and it takes everything in me to keep from grabbing it and placing it back on my cheek, but her hands are clenched into tight fists, and I mourn the absence of her touch.
“This isn’t some corporate game, Gabe. This is dirty and evil.”
“I can play dirty.” I want her to tell me everything.
I want her to spill it all, her childhood, her bitch of a mother, the terrors she’s lived through, the terror she’s running from now.
I want her to know that I know, but I also realize she needs to be ready to share her secrets and the only thing I can do is be here when she’s ready.
She looks so sad, so...defeated. “Not this kind of dirty. Not this level of evil.”
I reach for her, but she slides off the bed before I can touch her. I feel like this will always be us—her walking away, me reaching for her but never catching her. Wanting but never having. Yearning and always falling short.
“Tell me,” I beg. “Tell me and let me help you.”
When she turns those despondent eyes to me, her long hair falling straight down her back, dressed in cartoon cactus pajama pants and an oversized souvenir t-shirt, I truly see her.
I see what she hides from the world, what she won’t let others see.
But in this moment, she’s giving me the gift of a glimpse into her soul.
She’s fragile beauty. But she’s also tenacious strength. It would be easy for her to hand her worries off to me and let me take care of her. But she won’t. Because she’s never had anyone willing to stay and fight for her.
Until now.
I’ll burn the fucking world down to crush her enemies so she can finally live in peace.