Page 79 of Every Broken Piece
“That’s cool.”
“You’re okay with this?” I find myself holding my breath again because his acceptance matters.
“Why wouldn’t I be? She’s not your girlfriend, right?”
I blow out a breath. “No, not my girlfriend.” Yet.
“Who is she?”
“My personal assistant. Something happened to her last weekend and she’s... Well, she’s injured and needs help.”
“Tess?”
I’m surprised he knows her name, until I remember that Jack and I discussed Tess at one of our Thursday night dinners. “Yes, Tess. She was attacked in a bar, and she’s pretty badly hurt.”
“Jesus,” he hisses.
I monitored his language for years, but eventually I learned to pick my battles. Once he reached a certain age, language wasn’t a battle I was willing to fight. Especially considering my own language could be cleaned up, so I let this go.
“You’re good with this?” I ask.
“Of course, I am. You find who did this to her?” His voice hardens in anger. This kid. He’s the world to me.
“The police are working on it.”
“You need me to do anything to help, I will.”
“No.” I know what he’s not saying. He’ll use his Spidey-hacking skills that Jack taught him to find out what he can. I don’t need him breaking any laws for me. It’s bad enough that Jack does it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask.
“It’s spring break so, yeah, I’ll be here. Besides, I want to meet this woman you’re bringing home.”
I groan because he makes it sound like I’m introducing him to someone special.
You are, you idiot.
Chapter forty
Tess
Iwake surrounded by pillows and covered in my favorite blanket. My Kindle is on my nightstand along with the empty bottle of bougie water. I hear pots banging in the kitchen and the soft notes of music floating through my apartment.
For the first time in a week I feel more like myself. Better rested, less pain thanks to Gabe keeping up on the over-the-counter meds.
I snuggle into my little nest, but my bladder has other plans for me, and I slide of out bed to use the bathroom.
When I’m finished, the smell of bacon pulls me to the kitchen where I find Gabe with his back to me and in front of the stove. He’s changed into a worn pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that stretches tight across those broad shoulders.
“How was your nap?” He glances over said shoulder and smiles as I slide onto a barstool. I think about that kiss outside my apartment door and my stomach does a weird somersault.
“Refreshing.”
The music is coming from his phone sitting on the counter next to him.
“Eighties rock?” I ask.
“Only kind of music there is.”
