Page 52 of Every Broken Piece
Chapter forty-eight
Tess
C otton coats my mouth. Thirst coats my throat. Something coats my eyes because they’re sealed shut.
Until they aren’t.
Then I wish they still were.
Let’s not even talk about the drum solo going on in my head.
I push my face into the pillow and groan. What the hell did I do last night?
Unfortunately, I can’t be that type of hungover drunk who forgets her misdeeds the night before. No. I’m not that lucky. I remember all of it.
All. Of. It.
Go Fish. The whiskey that went down so smooth and warm.
Pax told me his dad only bought the best so I can’t even imagine the dollar amount that I so cavalierly consumed.
Oh. God. Gabe walking in looking alternately furious and confused.
We must have been a sight, Pax and I sitting on top of a table that I’m sure cost a fortune, drinking whiskey that also cost a fortune. Does whiskey sell for that much? If it does, then that’s what we drank.
My embarrassment far exceeds my dry throat and the fact that I blew bubble gum scented breath straight into Gabriel Strong’s face.
What is wrong with me?
Why can’t I act like a normal person?
This is all so mortifying. I’m going to have to pack up and sneak out. Not that I unpacked. The first rule I ever learned as a foster kid was to never unpack because I wasn’t going to be there long.
I roll to my back and squint up at the ceiling. The curtains are open. The sun is shining. My head isn’t happy with any of it.
Need to get out of bed. Gather my things. Can I bring all ten blankets? Logistically how is that possible? Did Gabe save the boxes they came in? Because I really want to keep the blankets. All of them.
I toss an arm over my eyes and hit myself in the head with my wrist brace. “Ow.”
From somewhere near the door comes a male chuckle. I refuse to look. I refuse to multiply my embarrassment. If I ignore him, will he go away?
The bed dips causing me to roll into his hard thigh. A hand settles on my hip. I lay still, pretending I’m not here, that he doesn’t see me.
“I brought water, ibuprofen, and a blueberry muffin.”
“Bougie water?” I ask, still not removing my arm from my eyes.
“Bougie water.”
“And a muffin?”
“Blueberry.”
“I like blueberry.”
“I know.”
I lift my arm and peek at him from beneath it. “How do you know that?”
“You told Pax last night and he told me this morning.”
“Is he in trouble?” I don’t want to get Pax in trouble. I was drinking that very expensive whiskey just as much as he was.
“Yes.”
I lower my arm and squint up at Gabe. Big mistake. Big mistake. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt, his biceps stretching the boundaries of the stitching, and tan cargo pants.
Wait. Cargo pants? He doesn’t seem the cargo pants type of person.
Focus, Tess.
“Don’t be mad at Pax. Be mad at me. I drank your expensive bougie whiskey too.”
His lips twitch. “I don’t care about the cost of the bougie whiskey.” His hand curls around my hip. Everything this man does is comforting even when I know he’s disappointed in me. “Pax had no business getting you drunk.”
“Maybe I got him drunk.”
His grin breaks through. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
I huff. “It was a mutual decision.”
“You asked him if he wanted to turn Go Fish into a drinking game?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, debating whether I should lie to protect Pax, but figure Gabe’s dad Spidey senses are stronger than my ability to lie.
“Fine. No. But I don’t want you to be mad at him.
The last thing I want is to come between you and your son.
He was incredibly nice yesterday, helping me look for apartments and jobs and just making me feel welcome. ”
He reaches for the water on the nightstand, twists the top off and hands it to me along with the ibuprofen.
I swallow the pills and drink almost half the water. It somewhat slakes my thirst.
He pokes my ribs. “Scootchy.”
“Scootchy?”
“Move over.”
I comply mainly because I’m so flummoxed by this man saying scootchy. He crawls up on the bed, propping his back against the headboard and pulls me into his side. It’s so easy and effortless to sink into him. Resting my head on his chest feels right.
“I love Pax,” he says. “But I’m also angry at him for getting you drunk. He knows better. I taught him better. It was irresponsible, especially with your head injury.” He squeezes me. “I can love him and be angry with him at the same time. The feelings aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“I guess that’s what parenting really is.”
“It’s definitely a lot of emotions at once.”
“You’re a good dad.”
“Thank you.”
“I still don’t want you to be mad at him.”
He kisses my temple. “I won’t be for long. I never am and the little shit knows it. He slunk off in the early morning and is back at his apartment at school to lick his wounds, hoping he can avoid a lecture.”
I place my injured hand on his stomach and feel his abs tense. He gently lays his hand over mine. “I don’t think I’d like a lecture from you.”
“I’d never lecture you, Spitfire. There’s no need.”
“Ha! You don’t know that. Someday I may make you so mad that you can’t help but lecture me.” I clamp my lips closed because I don’t want to hint that there’s a ‘someday’ between us when so much is up in the air with my mother and my feelings for him.
“Someday, huh?”
Of course he latched on to that.
I pull my hand from under his and pluck at one of the pockets of his cargo pants. “Why’re you wearing these? You don’t seem like the type to wear dad pants.”
“Dad pants?” He sounds offended as he tips his head down to study the pants. “Are these really dad pants?”
“They are.”
“Well, I have a reason for dad pants today. Get dressed. Wear something comfortable that you can move around in, and sneakers.”
I tilt my head back to look up at the underside of his jaw, willing myself not to run my fingers through his close-cropped beard. “Where are we going? And why aren’t you at work?”
“It’s a surprise and I took the day off.”
He makes a disgruntled sound when I pull away to sit up. “You took the day off from work? Don’t you have a big client you have to meet? Won’t Jack be mad that you’re not there?”
He pulls me back into him. “We met yesterday. I own the company so I can take a day whenever I want. And Jack has no say in what I do in my personal time.”
I push away from him again. “I don’t want Jack angry because I’m taking you away from something important.”
He sits up so we’re facing each other on this big, comfortable bed. “Listen to me, Tess. Jack won’t be angry, but even if he is, it doesn’t matter. You need to stop worrying about making people mad. If they love you, they’ll get over it.”
His words hit a little too close to home.
I grew up trying to please everyone because life is easier that way.
If I pushed my feelings aside and thought about making everyone else happy, then life was peaceful.
Gabe raised Pax the exact opposite, in a loving environment where a child wasn’t afraid to speak, wasn’t afraid to make a decision, didn’t have to walk on eggshells because he didn’t know what mood Gabe was in.
“I don’t know why you bother with me,” I say through a tight throat. “I’m a mess and I don’t know if I’ll ever not be a mess.”
He cups my cheeks and looks deep into my eyes, his gaze filled with an unwavering emotion I’m afraid to believe in. “I’m all in for the messy, Tess. Because you’re worth it.”
He drops his hands and slides out of bed, giving me a moment to blink my blurred vision back into focus. “Eat your blueberry muffin, get dressed, and meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes. I have plans for you today.”
And he walks out. Like he didn’t just wrap his large hands around my heart and squeeze it so tight that it will never beat the same again.
Fifteen minutes later, one blueberry muffin consumed, dressed as he instructed, I find him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee, and scrolling on his phone. He’s wearing hiking boots and there’s a cooler next to his feet.
When he hears me approach, he looks up and smiles. And that heart he just squeezed? It’s beating double time.
“No bucket list t-shirt?”
I look down at my shirt because he made me forget what I was wearing. “Is this okay?” I pull at the hem of my simple, gray V-neck shirt. It’s a little dressier than the oversized souvenir shirts I’ve been wearing, but still casual.
He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze trained on me with some warm, yet unidentifiable emotion swirling in its depths.
“You do you, Tess. You want to wear a toga, wear a toga. You want to wear a cocktail dress to go hiking, wear a cocktail dress. Someday I’ll convince you to stop worrying about what people think. ”