Page 70 of Every Broken Piece
He shakes his head. His lips twist in a sad grin. “I don’t know how Pax survived, but he did. He’s now a junior at Colorado State and headed for great things.” The pride in his voice is apparent, as is the bittersweet sadness that his time with his son is almost up.
I slide off the stool and circle the bar to wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head against his chest. I’m finding that this is my favorite place to be, listening to the solid beat of this generous man’s heart.
His arms loosely enfold me. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then sighs. “That got deep real quick.”
I laugh. “That’s not what I expected when I asked about your son, but I’m glad you told me.”
He squeezes me and I squeak. “Let me clean up, then we can watch our stupid movie. You pick.”
“I’ll help.” I turn away from him to collect our plates, but being one-handed I can only do so much, so Gabe helps. He washes while I dry as he tells me funny stories about Pax as a little boy. We’re both laughing and before I know it, everything is washed and dried and put away and I’m bundled on the couch in my favorite spot while Gabe is on the other end, surfing through the few streaming services I have.
I pick Urban Cowboy because who doesn’t want to watch John Travolta in a honky-tonk bar. Except I don’t make it through the first scene as my eyes grow heavy. I feel Gabe tuck another blanket around me and I snuggle down into the couch cushions. So many times I’ve fallen asleep like this, not minding in the least that I was alone. But falling asleep with Gabe on the other end of the couch is more comforting than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Don’t get used to it, girl. Things like this never last for you.
I try not to let that thought make me sad. I’ll enjoy his presence while he’s here and think about the rest later.
The next thing I know Gabe is gently shaking me awake but I’m too warm and comfortable to want to move. My head isn’t aching as much, and my arm doesn’t hurt for once. I’m warm. I’m fed. I’m comfortable.
“Let’s get you to bed, Spitfire.” I love that he calls me Spitfire. I love the sound of his, growly, gravelly voice. Dear mother didn’t bring the best examples home, so I haven’t known much kindness from men.
“Tess, wake up.”
“Imawake,” I mumble.
He chuckles and when I feel that chuckle rumble through my body I realize I’m curled up against him, my head on his chest, his arm around my shoulders. I sit up too quickly and my headspins. I throw out a hand to brace myself even though I’m snuggly wrapped in his arms and the blankets are tucked around me. He grabs my hand and holds tight.
“Whoa there,” he says, looking concerned.
I wait until the room stops spinning and I can focus on him. “How’d I get over here?”
His grin is cheeky. “You looked uncomfortable over there, so I moved you.”
He moved me?
He moved me.
I snuggle back into him, and he laughs. “Tess, you need to go to bed. Just this morning you were in the hospital.”
Was it really just this morning that I was released? It seems like a lifetime ago. Grumbling, I toss the blankets aside and attempt to stand, but Gabe is there, pulling me up with a firm grip on my good hand, his other hand on my hip to hold me steady.
“You good?” he asks.
“When am I going to start feeling like myself?” I’m tired of being wobbly every time I stand and my head pounding every time I move and my wrist aching every time I forget and try to use it.
“You were injured less than a week ago. Give yourself some grace.”
He releases me so we can walk side by side down the short hallway.
“You get the bathroom first,” I say. “You’re the guest.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He closes the door to the bathroom while I go in my room to change into cactus printed pajama bottoms. It’s my nod toward the west. Seeing a live cactus in the wild is on my bucket list. I doubt I’ll ever get there but you never know.
Amelia was smart enough to bring me a sports bra when she packed my clothes, so I don’t have to figure out how to unhook a regular bra.
