Page 42 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter forty

Tess

I wake surrounded by pillows and covered in my favorite blanket. My Kindle is on my nightstand along with the empty bottle of bougie water. I hear pots banging in the kitchen and the soft notes of music floating through my apartment.

For the first time in a week I feel more like myself. Better rested, less pain thanks to Gabe keeping up on the over-the-counter meds.

I snuggle into my little nest, but my bladder has other plans for me, and I slide of out bed to use the bathroom.

When I’m finished, the smell of bacon pulls me to the kitchen where I find Gabe with his back to me and in front of the stove. He’s changed into a worn pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that stretches tight across those broad shoulders.

“How was your nap?” He glances over said shoulder and smiles as I slide onto a barstool. I think about that kiss outside my apartment door and my stomach does a weird somersault.

“Refreshing.”

The music is coming from his phone sitting on the counter next to him.

“Eighties rock?” I ask.

“Only kind of music there is.”

I scoff and he tosses another grin at me.

“What’re you making?”

“Breakfast for dinner. Eggs, bacon, toast.”

“You’re quite the cook.”

He pulls plates out of the cabinet like he’s always lived here.

Never once has he wrinkled his nose at my apartment.

He just moved in like it was no big deal and now he knows where I keep my plates and silverware.

He’s filled my refrigerator with food and bougie water.

He’s taken over my office space. He fills this lonely apartment with his music and his personality and I love every bit of it.

Sharing space with Gabe is effortless and comforting.

I could get used to this, but I can’t. I have to remember that this is very temporary.

He slides a plate filled with fluffy scrambled eggs and two pieces of bacon in front of me along with a glass of orange juice.

“I can’t possibly eat all this,” I say, eyeing the food that could feed both of us.

“You need fuel to heal.”

Two slices of perfectly browned and buttered toast appears before he sits on the stool next to me and dives into his own mound of eggs and bacon.

“There was about a year out of Pax’s life when all he’d eat was eggs,” he says between bites.

“He was three.” He pauses and stares into the distance.

“Maybe he was four. Hell, I can’t remember.

I just remember that he wouldn’t eat anything but scrambled eggs.

Not fried, poached, or sunny side up, just scrambled.

His doctor said it was fine, so I learned how to make the best scrambled eggs ever.

They’re my specialty. Actually, besides chicken parmesan, they’re the only thing I know how to cook. ”

I picture a younger Gabe discussing his worry over his son’s eating habits with the pediatrician.

Anyone can see that the sun rises and sets on his boy.

That’s the way it should be between a parent and child.

This small look into his life shines a glaring light on how messed up my own childhood was.

I was lucky to have any kind of food in the house, let alone breakfast food.

“Is Pax short for something?” I ask.

“Paxton. It was Cara’s maiden name.”

There’s a hint of sadness in his voice and I worry that I brought something up that’s still painful to him. It’s clear he loved his wife, even after all these years.

He’s devoured his dinner before I’ve eaten half of mine. They really are the best eggs I’ve ever had, but I haven’t regained my appetite since the attack, and I’m stuffed. I slide my plate to him.

“You need to eat more.” He pushes the plate back to me.

I shake my head. “I’m full.”

He gives me a dubious look but starts in on my plate as I nibble on a piece of toast.

When he’s finished, he stacks our plates and takes them to the sink before returning to my side. “We need to talk.”

His serious tone makes my heart plummet. Come on, Tess. You knew it couldn’t last. He’s not going to stick around for your messy.

He gently pulls me off the stool and leads us to the couch where we sit in opposite corners facing each other, then frowns and scoots closer. I’m curled in the corner, one leg tucked under me. He’s so close that his knee is pressed against mine.

“I have to go home,” he says. “I have a big meeting on Monday that I need to be prepared for. It’s not something I can get out of.”

This is a good thing. Now I can focus on getting the hell out of Cincinnati before that makes comes back for me. So why is my heart sinking?

“I understand. And of course you have to get back to your life. When, um...” I lick my lips and look at my bookcases filled with all my books because I can’t look at him.

I don’t want to see relief that he’s finally done with me, or pity because he knows he’s leaving me all alone. “When are you leaving?”

“The plane takes off at noon tomorrow.”

So soon.

One more day. We have one more day together. Not even. More like fifteen hours.

“Tess. Look at me.”

I blink rapidly to clear my thoughts because I can’t have him see that his leaving is breaking me in ways I didn’t think could break. How many times can a person be broken? Apparently, more than I thought.

With his thumb to my chin, he turns my head until I’m forced to look at him.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” I rush the words out past a rapidly closing throat before he has a chance to say anything else.

He frowns. “You misunderstand, Spitfire. I’m bringing you with me.”

I jerk my chin from his hold. “ What? ”

“Did you think I’d leave you? I told you I wasn’t leaving you.”

“Yes. No.” I press my good fist into the couch cushion to push myself away from him. “I live here.”

He scoots forward and now I’m caged into the corner of my couch. I draw me knees up to my chest to draw away from him because if he touches me I really will shatter.

“I want you to come with me.”

“To Colorado ?” My voice squeaks.

He grins. “To Colorado.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still healing. And you need someone with you.”

“I can’t go to Colorado, Gabe. This is my home.” Is it really my home? Wasn't I planning on leaving anyway? Yes, but not with Gabe. I can't just crash into his life like that even if he crashed into mine.

He looks pointedly at the half-packed boxes in the dining area. “Seems to me you were planning on moving anyway.”

“Not to Colorado!” I can’t go to Colorado.

Why? Why can’t you go? There’s nothing keeping you here and maybe Sandra and her goons won’t follow.

No. I’m not involving Gabe or his family in any of that. He knows nothing about my mother and the shit she brings with her. I need to get as far away from him as I can before Sandra finds out my former boss is a successful businessman with loads of money.

He crosses his arms, a stubborn look coming over him. “Okay, then. I’ll stay here.”

I open my mouth but only a large huff of frustration escapes.

“I’m not going without you,” he says.

“But... You have to. You have a big meeting.”

“Fuck the meeting.”

“Gabe.” This is not the man I met when I first started working for him. Nothing interfered with his work. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do mean it.” He pries my hands from around my knees, being gentle with my injured wrist. “Nothing is more important to me than your wellbeing. I can’t be in Colorado while you’re in Ohio. It would drive me crazy.”

My heart. It doesn't know whether to break or soar. “You can leave Roger if it makes you feel better.”

He scowls. “I’m not leaving Roger to take care of you. I don’t want another man watching out for you. I want you to meet Jack and Pax. My place is big enough and it’s safe. It’s locked down so no one can get to you.”

“No one’s going to get to me here.” You’re such a liar.

“Stop!” He pushes off the couch, all angry motion as he spins around so his back is to me, then just as quickly spins back to face me.

“Why won’t you admit that what happened to you wasn’t some random drunk guy?

Why won’t you tell me what’s really going on?

” His hands are balled into tight fists, but that’s not what scares me.

What really frightens me is the hurt in his eyes.

Hurt I caused because I can’t tell him the truth.

I want to tell him. I should tell him. But admitting my past, my messed up family, and the world they keep dragging me into isn’t something I’ve ever done before.

I look away and he sighs. “Will you ever trust me? Am I beating my head against a brick wall with you? What will it take, Tess? What do I need to do to earn your trust?”

The walls around my heart crack a little more. “It’s not you,” I whisper.

“Well, it sure as hell feels like it’s me.”

I’m pushing him away. That’s good. That’s what I wanted.

Then why does it feel like my heart’s breaking, and worse, I’m breaking his heart too? Why does all of this feel so wrong?

“I want to bring you home,” he says.

“I am home.”

“ My home, Tess. I want to bring you to my home.”

“I can’t go to your home!” I yell, my sudden anger making me reckless.

“Why? Tell me, Tess. Just say it. Say it and get it over with.”

His taunting unravels me. I’m going to say things I’ll regret but right now I don’t care. He’s pushed and pushed until he finally broke me down and now he’ll get answers he probably doesn’t want.

“You want the truth?” I surge off the couch and spread my feet like I’m ready to fight but it’s not him I want to fight. It’s everything and everyone who let me down. It’s broken dreams and dashed hope, and broken pieces of my childhood that I was left to pick up on my own.

“For once, yeah, I’d like the truth.” He crosses his arms and mirrors my stance as if he’s ready to take a body blow, so I give him one in the form of words that once start, won’t stop.

“I’m not the type of girl a guy brings home.

I’m not what you or your family needs. I grew up with an addict for a mother and a sister who followed in dear mother’s shoes.

I don’t know who my father is. Hell, my mother doesn’t even know who my father is.

I have baggage you don’t even want to know about.

So, yeah, bringing me home to your brother and your son is the biggest mistake you could make.

Go home, Gabe. Go to your meeting on Monday and forget about the pathetic VA you never wanted in the first place.

” The words rush out and damn but it feels good to let loose, to finally spew the whole, terrible truth of my existence.

Maybe this will be what finally pushes him away.

His jaw flexes. He doesn’t seem shocked or disgusted by my truth, which makes me think that he knew a little bit about it. I shouldn’t be surprised that he would have already dug into my past.

“You doing drugs right now, Tess?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“You ever do drugs before?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t even take those prescription pain meds.”

“Then you’re not her.”

I see what he’s trying to do. “This isn’t about me being her.”

“This is about the baggage she saddled you with. You want to talk about baggage? Because I have baggage for days. I have so much baggage that my baggage has baggage. I have a wife who died tragically, but you know what? I don’t think she died accidentally.”

My eyes widen, but now he's on a roll and the words keep coming.

“I have a wife who decided to leave her two-year-old son because she couldn’t handle life, and I’m fucking pissed that she was so damn selfish.

She didn’t fight for us. She didn’t fight for her own son.

So, yeah, we all have baggage, Tess. Every damn one of us on this earth is lugging around a shit-ton of stuff that weighs them down. ”

I can barely breathe through my breaking heart. I have no idea what to say. There are no words to ease the pain he’s been living with for almost two decades.

“Gabe—”

He slices his hand through the air. “I don’t want your pity. I want you to understand that we all have shit we’re dealing with. Your mother’s addiction is just as tragic as my wife’s death.”

Is it? I don’t think so. Gabe lost someone he loved dearly. I never loved my mother like that. Losing her would be a blessing.

He sinks back down on the couch, the anger draining out of him as his shoulders bow.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I said I didn’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity to be sorry that your wife wasn’t strong enough to be the person she needed to be to her family.”

He tips his head at me. “Maybe your mother wasn’t strong enough to be the person you needed. Maybe she found her peace in drugs and Cara found hers in death.”

I perch on the edge of the couch and fold my hands in my lap. “Cara and my mother aren't the same. There is no peace in drugs, only chaos that leaks into other people’s lives.”

“There is no peace in any of this.” He rubs his eyes then drops his hands between his knees. “Look, I didn’t mean to lay my burdens at your feet.”

“Sometimes burdens are less burdensome when shared.”

“That mean you’re going to share your burdens with me?”

“Some burdens aren’t meant to be shared. Mine I have to carry alone.”

“You don’t. You have me now.”

“I do. I know you don’t understand, but I do have to carry on alone. You go back to your family, Gabe.”

“And where will you go?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“So, you’re just going to keep running?”

“It’s what I do.”

“Maybe you should try running toward something instead of running away from something.”