Page 56 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter fifty-two

Tess

M y simultaneous full bladder and empty stomach wake me up.

Gabe’s body is curled around mine, his arm and leg slung over me. He’s so warm that I don’t want to move, but the need to use the bathroom says otherwise.

He grumbles and tightens his arm as I slowly slide out from his hold. A glance at the clock tells me it’s a little after one in the morning.

I use the bathroom and now my stomach takes center stage. The last meal I ate was in the back of Gabe’s car so it’s no surprise I’m starving. I quietly make my way to the kitchen, hungering for another turkey sandwich like we had for lunch.

For a moment I’m distracted by the city laid out before me and the beauty of the mountains rising up behind it.

I’ve lived in a lot of places, a lot of bad neighborhoods, too many crappy apartments to count, and I can honestly say that this place feels like what a home should feel like and I’m woman enough to admit that it scares the hell out of me.

He told me he loved me. Just leaned over and said, “I love you.” Like it wouldn’t rock my world. Has anyone ever said those words to me? Has anyone said, “I love you, Tess,” and meant it? How depressing that I can’t think of one instance.

So of course, when Gabe oh so casually drops those three words into my ear as the sun sank below the horizon, my first instinct was to flee. Because all my instincts are to flee and I hate that. Why can’t I be normal? Why can’t I say, I love you too, Gabe ?

Do I love him? Do I know what love feels like? If it’s borderline obsession when he’s all I can think about then yes, I love him. If it’s I’d give my life to protect him and even run away from him to keep him from my past, then yes, I love him.

If it’s waking up at one in the morning so content to be in his arms. Then yes. I love him.

Do I love Gabriel Strong?

I think I do.

But like always I’m too afraid to let my guard down and just live.

A therapist would have a hey-day with me. I already know they’d say I’ve never been able to trust because no one in my life has been trustworthy.

Except Gabe.

My heart tells me that I can trust it in Gabe’s hands. My head tells me to rely only on myself.

It’s too late at night to be thinking such heavy thoughts so I turn toward the kitchen in search of a turkey sandwich, then I’ll crawl back in bed with Gabe and think of only sleeping in his arms.

I start pulling the ingredients from the fridge and find the unsliced loaf of bread on the counter. I don’t know if I’ve ever had non-sliced sandwich bread. My mouth’s watering and my stomach grumbles louder as I set everything out on the counter.

I find a bread knife in the fancy knife block and face the loaf. I can do this. I can cut a slice of bread.

I hold the loaf steady before I start sawing. The first piece is lopsided, way too thick on one end and too thin on the other. I try for the second slice with similar but somewhat better results. It looks like a child hacked away at it, but I smile because I’ve cut my own bread for the first time.

“Tess?”

Startled, I jump. The knife clatters to the floor and with a yelp I hop out of the way before it cuts off my toes.

“Jesus, woman.” Gabe’s beside me, gently pushing me away as he picks up the knife. “Did you cut yourself?”

“No.” A nervous laugh escapes. “You surprised me.” My voice trails off because Gabe in gray plaid sleep pants that hang low on his hips, steals all my words. His feet are bare and why is that sexy?

But worse. Or maybe best. He’s not wearing a shirt. How did I not notice he wasn’t wearing a shirt when I was plastered against him in bed? I know he just celebrated his forty-third birthday but with six-pack abs, a chiseled chest, and wide, rounded shoulders, he looks like he’s twenty-four.

Aren’t men his age supposed to have dad bods?

This...is not a dad bod.

“You sure you’re okay?”

My eyes snap to his. They’re checking me over in concern.

“I’m fine.” I wave my hand at the food. “I was hungry.”

“Yeah, we kinda skipped dinner. Sit down and I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“No. I want to make us sandwiches.” I’ve never made a man a sandwich. I want to do that. I want to feed him. Is that love? Wanting to feed someone?

He looks like he wants to argue but instead nods curtly and slides onto a stool on the other side of the breakfast bar.

Feeling very culinary and a lot clumsy, but determined, I say, “What do you like on your sandwich?”

“Surprise me.”

I raise my brows. “Are you sure? 'Cause I’ll make it the way I like it.”

“I’ll love whatever you make me.” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand and watches while I attempt to cut two more slices of bread.

His hair is sticking up. The gray mixed in with the black is almost as sexy as his bare chest. I don’t know if I’ve ever lusted after a man before.

Men have caught my eye, but my thoughts never really went beyond that.

This is unfamiliar territory, and I don’t know what to do with my eyes, so I concentrate on the food before me.

Is this love? Wanting to jump his bones? No. That’s lust.

“I’ve never sliced bread before, So it won’t be pretty.”

“Need help?”

I shake my head, and he falls silent while he watches. But he’s not watching to criticize. He’s watching as if he doesn’t want to be anywhere else and the silence between us is comfortable, like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

This. This is love. The comfort of not having to speak. The ease of being together in the middle of the night.

The only light comes from the oven hood, casting a golden glow that bathes just the two of us, making it feel like we’re in this little bubble of intimacy.

We’ve kissed less than a handful of times.

We’ve slept together three times but never had sex.

Never even groped each other and yet I feel closer to him than if we’d done all those things.

Is that love? I think it might be.

I lay out the bread and layer turkey, thick slices of tomatoes, cheese, and sprinkle shredded carrots on top before lathering the special, homemade sauce his housekeeper made. I plate the sandwiches and slide his toward him.

He pats the stool next to him. “Sit here and eat with me.”

Before rounding the island, I grab two waters and settle onto the stool. Gabe twists the caps off the waters, hands me mine and holds his out so we can clink bottles.

“To sunset hikes,” he says.

“To sleeping next to each other.” It’s probably one of the boldest things I’ve ever said.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s one in the morning and it seems as if we’re the only two awake.

Maybe it’s me wanting to be a little more bold.

Take some chances that I’d never dare take in the light of day.

Maybe I’m testing the waters, prodding just a little to see what happens.

Gabe stills, his eyes widening in surprise. He leans forward and kisses me softly, quickly, before pulling back. “To midnight kisses,” he whispers.

I look down at my plate, my boldness slipping a little. “To homemade sandwiches on uneven bread.”

He tilts my chin up with his thumb. “To friendship.”

“To maybe, someday, more than friendship.”

He breathes out, like I sucker punched him in the stomach. “Not someday, Spitfire. Now.”

I swallow and rotate my stool so we’re facing each other. He adjusts my legs until my knees are pressed between his inner thighs. I put my bottle on the counter. My boldness takes a beating from my fears, but I don’t back down. For once I want to be brave.

Or maybe this is the first time I’ve wanted something enough to fight my demons over it.

“I want that,” I say. “I want more than friendship, but I’m afraid.”

He takes my good hand in his and places it to his heart. “I know you are. But I’m right here, ready to help you conquer that fear whenever you’re ready.”

My fingers curl against his warm skin, pressing atop his thundering heart. “Too many people have hurt me in the past and I don’t want you to be one of them.”

He opens his mouth, but I speak quickly, before he can say anything.

“I survived all the hurt. I learned to use it to make myself stronger. But this is different. What I feel for you is so enormous, so frightening, so beautiful, so delicate. If I give myself to you and you hurt me, I’ll never be the same again.

I want to give myself to you. I want to say the words. But I’m so damn scared.”

“I’m scared too,” he says. “I know what it’s like to lose the love of your life. I’ve lived through it and never want to go back to that dark place again. But for you I’ll risk everything.”

“We’re two broken souls.”

“Maybe two broken souls can find love. Maybe two broken souls can learn to heal each other.”

“I hope so,” I whisper. What I don’t say is that I hope I’m not making the worst decision of my life. Living alone, isolating myself from the world was safe, easy. But I’m tired of safe and easy. I want to live. I want to live without fear. I want to know what it’s like to love so deeply it hurts.

But loving that deeply can also destroy and I don’t want to be destroyed. I don’t want to destroy Gabe. He deserves a second chance at happiness.

Don’t I deserve a first chance?

“I’m all in, Tess. I want it all with you.”

“How can you be so sure of that? We barely know each other.”

“Isn’t that the joy of the journey? Learning each other? I know enough about you to realize you’re special to me. It’s right here.” He uses my hand to tap his heart. “The heart knows what the mind doesn’t. What does your heart tell you, Tess?”

“My heart tells me that it’s too late.”

He draws in a ragged breath, his face falling.

I lean forward. “My heart tells me that it’s too late to turn back now because I don’t want to live with the what ifs or the regrets. I’m scared but not scared enough to walk away.”

His smile is relief and love and desire. It’s sunset hikes and overnight cuddles and bubble gum toothpaste and so many warm blankets.

He releases my hand to lift me off my stool and place me on his lap so that my legs straddle his hips.

He kisses me.

He kisses me like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Like he wouldn’t be able to breathe if he didn’t kiss me. Like I’m his breath, his heartbeat, his reason.

And I kiss him back because I know he’s my reason.

And that scares the hell out of me.