Page 13 of Broken

“I sought comfort from a man I knew loved me and wouldn’t hurt me. A man who was completely innocent to the game I was playing.”

“T.”

I nod, ignoring the sting of tears, wanting freedom. I’m done crying over my past. D-O-N-E. “So, I have no trouble with the club, but my past is such I know it’s not healthy for me. I am no longer that girl.”

“What girl?”

“The girl desperate for a man to prove my worth. A girl willing to become a monster to keep the man she always loved, no matter what.”

“Do you still love him?” King asks, studying me.

“Not at all, but I will tell you straight up—it still kills me seeing how much he adores and loves Thea, knowing she’ll never taste his betrayal, and seeing proof that she has his love. It hurts almost as much as knowing I never did. All I had was a boywho saw me as the perfect accessory that I never had a hope of making happy.”

“Sweetheart, that says more about him than you.”

“Maybe, but King, the plays I made—thefucked-upchoices I made—has nothing to do with him. That was all me and when I look back at the person I was, I know I don’t wantthat womananywhere near my child. I want to breathe clean air. I want to give that air to my child, and I want to do it in a place where no one who looks at me sees the colossal evil that I became.”

“Then, live in your rental away from the club and do that,” he concedes, but I shake my head. He drops the hold he has on my hand and turns me so that we’re facing each other. His hand comes up and slides against the side of my face, as if he’s physically trying to convince me I can do exactly what he says.

But he’s wrong and I know it.

“I can’t. Somewhere down the road, I’ll be invited to a club dinner. There will be Twinkies there, or some of the old timers, and they will whisper in the background about all the shit I once did. My child will hear how horrible their mother was, how desperate she became for a man’s love that was never hers to begin with. I don’t want that, King. I want a fresh start. I want one for me and, most importantly, for my child. You have to understand that. I know somewhere that you do.”

He looks down at me, his dark eyes boring into mine. I know my face is revealing too much. I can’t stop it. I haven’t even told King my biggest reason for wanting to leave. I never want my child to hear that he or she is a product of rape. Still, I’m giving him enough of the truth that I’m praying he will understand. He brings his hand up and caresses the side of my face. It’s sweet and if I wasn’t an emotional basket case at the moment, I’d smile. “I don’t,” he argues.

“You do. If you didn’t, you’d be back in Virginia.”

He lets out a sigh and I know I’ve won the argument. This time, Idosmile at him while I pat his chest. “You should go back out there and commune with your brethren or whatever you badass alpha bikers do. I’m going to take a shower and crash.”

“You didn’t eat,” he points out.

“I’m not really hungry,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. It has been a long day.

“You have to eat, Gabby. If not for you, then you need to eat for your jellybean.”

A startled giggle escapes me. I don’t know why it surprises me King not only remembers what I call my baby but repeats it—but it does. “My stomach is kind of a mess.”

“There’s a shit ton of food left over from the cookout. Is there anything there that catches your fancy?”

“Catches my fancy?” I quote, giving him a smirk.

“Quit being a smartass and tell me what to bring you. You can eat in here while lying down and keeping your feet up.”

“You’re very bossy,” I grumble with a sigh.

“I’ve heard that before. So, what do I bring you?”

I want to tell him just to leave, but I think he might be the first man—outside of my dad—to ever be concerned about me other than T—before I used and hurt him. Of course, King and I don’t have that type of relationship—which is a good thing. King deserves someone better than me. Plus, I’m so broken, I never want to let another man near me again. I’m going to give my baby all my love.

When it becomes clear King’s not going to take no for an answer, I give in with a sigh. “Nicole’s banana pudding is good.”

“That doesn’t sound that nutritious, woman.”

“It is. There are bananas in it. That’s healthy.”

“You’re shittin’ me right now, aren’t you, Gabby?”

“I’m just saying if you want me to eat, that’s your best chance,” I argue.

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