Page 49 of Every Broken Piece
“I’ll handle TaskGenius,” I say. “She’ll always have a job with me so that’s not a worry. In the meantime, how do we tell Tess that she no longer has a job?”
“She’s going to be so upset. She loved working there.” Amelia’s eyes widen. “What about health insurance? How’s she going to pay for all this?” Her hand sweeps around the room. “Those bastards. Do you think she can sue them?”
“Not if there’s a no fraternization policy. We were clearly violating it.” I make a mental note to visit the finance office and redirect her bills to me. As her “fiancé” it won’t be out of the ordinary.
“Damn it. What are we going to do?” Amelia says.
“What are we going to do about what?” Tess asks from her wheelchair in the doorway.
Well, shit.
Chapter twenty-eight
Tess
It’s almost comical to see Gabe’s and Amelia’s mouths slam shut. Amelia busies herself with opening her computer and feverishly typing. Gabe lays his laptop to the side and stands with a forced smile that makes him look one hundred percent guilty.
“Hey there, Spitfire. How’d the CT go?”
The nurse pushes me all the way into the room, and I sigh in relief now that we’re out of the bright hallway. “What are we going to do about what?” I repeat.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says.
I grind my back teeth together. My head throbs. My wrist aches. My ribs hurt. My body looks like an artist’s palette painted in bruises. I’m angry at my limitations. I’m angry because I need to get out of here and I can’t even walk without my head spinning. I’m frustrated that I can’t ever live my life on my own terms.
Unfortunately for Gabe, his patronizing smile and remark ignites the inferno that’s been simmering inside me for days.
“The doctor will be in shortly to go over her results,” the nurse says as she locks the wheelchair wheels. “Tess, do you want back in bed, or would you rather sit in the chair?”
“The chair, please.”
“I’ll help you,” Gabe rushes forward to help me stand.
“I can do it myself.”
His brow quirks up at my terse tone. “Okay.”
He picks up the chair and places it closer to the wheelchair. I push myself to standing but with only one good hand and a head that’s not cooperating, I waver. His hand raises to steady me, but I glare at him, and he lowers his hand, his lips pressed together. Probably in displeasure at my obstinance. Determined to do this on my own I shuffle a half step toward the chair, then another half step.
Baby steps aren’t going to cut it when I need big, giant leaps. My eyes and nose sting with unshed tears that I try to sniff away. There is no room for weakness in my life. I had my moment the other night with Gabe. I don’t get another one.
I brush off the nurse’s hand on my elbow, knowing I’m being a bitch. Also knowing I need to do this on my own because this is my life. Step by step. Alone. Always alone.
I sink into the chair and suppress a sigh.
The nurse leaves with the wheelchair. Amelia stares at me with wide eyes. Gabe leans against the wall and crosses his arms.
My fiancé. What’s that all about anyway? I don’t buy their story that it’s because only family can visit. They could have made something else up.
“Okay,” I say. “Spill. What were you two talking about when I came in?”
Amelia gathers her computer and messenger bag and stands. “I should go,” she says. “I have, um, a video call in about twenty minutes.” She jumps up and hurries out of the room, leaving me alone with Gabe who’s steady, calm look doesn’t help the ragechurning inside me. None of this is his fault. He flew halfway across the country to be with me and the guilt is starting to leach into my waning anger, but I can’t let myself feel anything for him.
Today he’s dressed more casually in form-fitting worn jeans, bright blue sneakers, and a white dress shirt. His hair is tossled, but what’s completely unfair is that he’s wearing black rimmed glasses that make him look so freaking hot that it stirs things other than my anger.
Why? Why does he have to enter my life when it’s imploding? When I have to push him away to keep him safe?
“You’re just going to keep it a secret from me? Whatever you and Amelia were discussing when I came in? That seems a bit unfair.” My tone is deliberately bitchy, and my guilt ratchets up, but so does my frustration.
