Page 16 of Broken

“And those would be?”

“Angelina Jolie.”

At that, I can’t keep my laughter in. “What the fuck is wrong with Angelina Jolie?”

“Name one movie she was in as the main attraction that was worth watching,” she grumbles.

“Is this where I tell you I don’t watch a lot of movies?” I laugh.

“This is where you tell me I’m right about Angelina Jolie.”

“I’ll semi-agree. How’s that?”

“How can you semi-agree?” she asks, her forehead curling in confusion.

“Woman, I can’t paint a broad stroke on her when I’ve only watched two of her movies in my life.”

“Which two?” she asks. I give her a look and she rolls her eyes. “Okay, besides Gone in 60 Seconds, which movie?”

“The Bone Collector.”

“Oh, that’s a good one, but because of Denzel, not her. He doesn’t know how to make bad movies. He elevates horrible movies into passable movies based solely on his talent and total alpha aura.” I stare at her, and I know I’m doing it like the woman has developed three heads. “What?” she asks. “It’s the truth.”

“You’re whacked,” I laugh.

“I’m not—” She stops talking abruptly, her hand going to her stomach.

“Gabby? Are you okay?”

“The baby,” she whispers, and panic hits me.

“What’s wrong? Are you having a contraction? I knew that damn doctor didn’t check you out thoroughly. You weren’t in there long enough. Let me go get a truck and I’ll?—”

“King, I’m okay. The baby just kicked me. It was stronger than I’m used to. I’m starting to think my jellybean is a future NFL linebacker or whatever.”

I look at her stomach. “He’s kicking you now?”

She takes our joined hands and places them on her belly. Hers lay over mine as she moves it around, gently pressing. All at once, I feel it. There is a flutter beneath my hand and then another—this one a little stronger. Then all at once, there is a swift punch against my palm.

“Did you feel it?” she asks, sounding excited. I force my gaze to move from her stomach to Gabby’s face. She has a radiant smile on her face, and this one definitely hit her eyes.

“That’s definitely a boy in there,” I say, like I know what I’m talking about—when I have no earthly clue. It succeeds in making Gabby laugh, just as I feel another kick. I find my hand rubbing over the spot and leaning down. “Woah there, little one. You have to take it easy on your momma.” In response, there’s another kick and I swear this one is harder. “I don’t think jellybean likes my voice,” I murmur.

“He or she is just extra active this time of night.”

“What do you do to calm the baby down?” I ask.

She looks up at me and I drink her in. Her smile is slight but definitely there. “I usually just lay down and play music. Sometimes I tell stories, old nursery rhymes or the like. It varies, but it seems to work.”

“You’re too tired to read and the stories I know might not be suitable,” I inform her with a smirk, causing her to laugh again. She’s really quite beautiful when she laughs. It’s a look I want to see on her more—one to replace the pain and sadness that is always present. “Do you play music on a computer?” I ask, not seeing a stereo or anything of the like. Those are old-fashioned these days, but I like them.

She reaches over to her nightstand and grabs her phone. “You might not like my playlist,” she warns me.

“I think I’ll survive,” I laugh.

“Okay, just a warning, though. This is my favorite classic rock playlist. If you throw off on it, our friendship may suffer.”

“Duly noted.” I’m seeing something from Gabby that I didn’t before. She was too broken then. Now, there are hints of her personality coming through. She can be both sweet and funny. It’s a side I like. I remember her from when I was following Grunt while he was distracted by Jazz and not getting the job done. The Gabby I saw from a distance is not the woman on this bed with me. The change is a fucking good one. Whoever sees Gabby through her shit while she heals will be lucky as hell. I’llhave to stay close to her to make sure whoever she finally lets into her heart is worth it. She’s been through too much not to taste anything but sweet from here on out. I know better than anyone how people hide who they are. Shelby was all sweet when we first met. Then slowly, that sweet was all saccharin. In other words—fake as hell. Underneath, there was nothing but sour. It was fed to me in the form of lies and bitchy replies that left me wondering where my woman had disappeared to.

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