Page 47 of Every Broken Piece
I met Conor yesterday. He’d been sitting in the chair next to Tess’s bed when I arrived in the morning. When Amelia introduced me as Tess’s fiancé, his face went slack with disbelief, then hurt, finally settling on belligerent anger.
He left soon after, then came back in the evening, but I was the one sitting in the chair by her bed. Yeah, it’s a pissing match between me and some punk kid who’s closer to Pax’s age than mine. It’s stupid, and I’m determined to win whatever game he’s playing.
Part of me also feels bad for the guy. He’s clearly concerned about Tess, but it's obvious his feelings go much deeper. I don’t give a damn what he feels, and the shitty thing is I don’t know ifTess returns his feelings. The thought that she could pisses me off because I don’t want Tess to have feelings for this guy. How fucked up is that?
“I wasn’t aware they were taking her for a CT.” Since I’ve established myself as her fiancé, it’s been shockingly easy to receive information about her condition. No one questions our relationship to and so far Tess hasn’t disabused anyone of that notion although I continue to hold my breath expecting her to.
“Why?” Connor surges to his feet. “Why would they tellyouanything? We both know you’re not her fiancé. Tess would’ve told me about you. She would’ve told all of us if she got engaged.” He rounds the foot of the bed, advancing on me. “She would’ve brought you around, but yet she’s never even mentioned your name.”
“I live in Colorado. It’d be kind of hard for me to go to the bars with you on the weekends.” Not that that’s my scene, and I’m sure as hell not going to say I’m too old for that scene.
He stops a foot from me. He’s a smallish guy, reminds me of the techs who work in my security division. I tower over him in height and build. But I do admire his guts in standing up to me.
“Amelia told you we’re engaged,” I say.
He scoffs. “Still don’t believe it, old man. Where’s the ring?”
I try not to react to the ‘old man’ slur but damn it stings.
“Not my problem what you believe or not, son. She’s mine and I’m here to take care of her.”
Staking my claim feels right even if Tess isn’t on board with it yet.
To say she’s angry is an understatement, but again, she hasn’t denied it to anyone, which makes me stupidly optimistic that she’ll let me continue the charade. I’m hoping today won’t be the day she denies our pretend engagement because I’m raw inside right now. If Conor knew just how on edge I am, he’d back thefuck off, but he’s glaring at me and I’m trying to rope in every bit of patience I have.
I really need to see Tess, to hold her hand. Hell, to sit beside her in silence would be heaven.
I rub at my aching heart and steel myself for a confrontation with Conor that’s been building for days.
“You’re unbelievable,” he sneers.
My patience is unraveling. “Conor, I’m trying to be the big man in this, but she was never yours to begin with.”
I see the moment he recognizes defeat and damn me that I feel bad about it. But Conor’s young and there are other women out there. Me? I have this slightly unhinged fear that Tess is mine and, yeah, I’ll go caveman if I have to.
“She could’ve been mine if you would’ve stayed away,” he says, the heat gone from his anger, leaving heartbreak in its place.
Yet I question his statement. Could she have been his if I hadn’t shown up two days ago? Is she even mine now? If this attack hadn’t happened how far would our texting have gone? Would we have moved to something more? Because I have a feeling she would have been in my orbit no matter what.
Conor storms out, his shoulder deliberately knocking against me as he leaves. Amelia is standing in the doorway. I don’t know how much she’s heard but it appears maybe all of it. Conor hesitates, seems to consider what he wants to say to her, then walks out without speaking.
Amelia turns her head to watch him go. “Poor Conor.”
I snort. “Poor Conor, my ass.” I nod toward the empty bed. “CT scan.”
She settles into the chair Conor vacated and pulls out her laptop. She’s been working mornings at home and afternoons from Tess’s hospital room. Yesterday I worked all day from Tess’s bedside while she drifted in and out of sleep. Today I met with the lead detective to Tess’s case.
I sit in the chair beside the bed and pull my own laptop out, but my mind is too full of the things I saw this morning.
Detective Margot Hardwick showed me the video footage from the Rusty Spur, and I can’t stop reliving it. It makes me fucking sick.
The video showed Tess walking into the Rusty Spur with Amelia, Conor, and three others identified as friends. She’s wearing a short, ruffled dress that swirls around her knees, and cowboy boots that make her look so damn adorable. I can’t help but notice the appreciative male glances that follow her as she winds her way through the bar with her friends to a small round table in the back corner.
If she were with me, I would've glared those assholes into submission, but no one in her group seems to notice. Not even Conor. Although he sticks close to her all night and I have to fold my fingers into fists when he leans forward to plant a kiss on her cheek. Her look of surprise and discomfort answers one question. She doesn’t feel the same way he does.
Twenty minutes after they arrive, a man in a baseball hat, white t-shirt and jeans strolls in, hands in his pockets. He pauses to look around, then locks onto Tess almost right away. He stays by the bar, not engaging with anyone except the bartender as he spins his barstool around and rests his elbows behind him, his eyes fixated on Tess. He orders a beer but never drinks it.
Conor approaches the bar several times to refill his and Tess’s drinks but never comes within five feet of the man in the ball cap.
