Page 88 of Every Broken Piece
I pause. This is where the story gets rough.
“But Sandra, she always seems to find me, especially when she needs money. The older couple finally had to let me go because she wouldn’t stop harassing me at work, then she started askingthemfor money.” I rub my suddenly cold arms. Revisiting everything brings back the fear and panic. I thought I could outrun her, hide from her, but nothing I do shakes her from my life. “I can’t work in an office because she’ll fine me and make a scene until I give her what she wants. I can’t make friends because she harasses them. Once...”
I squeeze my eyes shut and fold in half, dragging in shallow breaths.
“Once I had a boyfriend and she would follow him when he walked to and from work and ask him for money. He broke up with me, told me he couldn’t handle dealing with Sandra. That’s when I realized that it’s best if I just keep to myself, you know? It wasn’t worth the hassle.”
I straighten and swipe the tears with the back of my good hand. Gabe’s head has dropped between his shoulders and he’s staring at the carpet, his hands so tightly folded between his knees that his knuckles are white.
“And now you know why I can’t go to Colorado with you.”
I really would love to see the Rocky Mountains and maybe a buffalo. But that’s not in the cards for me.
“The attack.” Tormented eyes pin me in place. “The attack wasn’t random.”
“I received a phone call a week or so before. My lovely mother told him I’d pay the twenty grand she owes. I told him I wouldn’t. He didn’t like that.”
“Why didn’t you tell Hardwick when she questioned you?”
“When you’re five, six, seven years old and the police come into your house and take you away, you tend to fear them. When your mother tells you the police are the enemy, that they’ll take her away from me forever and I'll have to learn to be on my own at the age of ten, you tend not to trust them.”
"But you’re not a child anymore. Surely you know they can help.”
“Can they? Have they helped me so far? Have they stopped her from harassing me? Running me out of my homes?”
“Have you asked them to?”
“You’ve never had the police pounding on your door in the middle of the night. Your parents never told you that the cops are evil people who take little children away from them. Yes, as an adult I know that’s not true, but a lifetime of fear can’t be erased so easily. Broken trust can’t magically heal.”
My bravado fading, I lower my chin to stare at the brightly colored blanket pooled in my lap.
The couch dips beside me. Gabe’s hands gently unwind my arms from my stomach. With a touch of his fingers, he lifts my chin to press his forehead to mine, large hands cupping mycheeks. I want to sink into his solid strength. Lay my head on his chest and feel the steady beat of his heart. I want him to hug me. But those things aren’t for me and never will be.
He pulls his head back but doesn’t let go of my cheeks. “Look at me, Tess.”
I slowly open my eyes to find his swimming in tears. Is he crying? For me?
Has anyone ever cried for me?
He tilts his head to the side to slowly lower his lips until they gently touch mine. Shocked, I go rigid. He moves back. Immediately I want to feel his lips again, but he’s out of reach now, like he’s always been.
“Do you know why I call you Spitfire?” He releases my cheeks that are burning from his touch.
“Because I have a temper?”
He smiles. It’s a weak smile and his eyes are still filled with tears but it’s a smile. “No. Well, maybe that too. The Spitfire was an airplane the British used during World War II. It flew into battle again and again never giving up, fighting its enemies, protecting its people. It played a big role in Britain’s victory. You're just like that little airplane. You’ve fought so many battles, andyou.” His palm slides around my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. “You’ve won one hundred percent of those battles. You don’t give up even when the odds are stacked against you. You’re my Spitfire. You’re the strongest, bravest, person I’ve ever met and you’re going to win this war. I just know it.”
My throat is closing. My lungs are struggling with shallow breaths. Tears blur his face.
“I’m not really a fighter,” I whisper. “I hide from relationships. I run the first chance I get when I feel threatened. I don’t feel like a winner.”
A tear slowly rolls down his cheek, but eyes crinkle in a sad smile. “No more. No more running. No more hiding. You have me now and I’m going to help you win. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and teach you to fight for yourself.”
“Did you not listen to my story? She’s not going away. Her dealer isn’t going away.”
“We’ll handle your mother and the dealer together. You have me. And I have resources.”
I shake my head as best I can with his hand still curled around my neck. “She won’t stop.Hewon’t stop and now they know about you.”
