Page 98 of Every Broken Piece
Stay small. Don’t bring attention to yourself. Don’t be a burden. Help out where you can.
The three rules I quickly learned as a foster child.
You’re a thirty-year-old woman, Tess. You were invited here. You’re not a burden and you hurt Gabe’s feelings when you withdrew from everyone.
I saw the hurt in his eyes. I heard the confusion in his voice. I felt the bewilderment in the hesitation of his touch and yet I couldn’t stop my own reaction because it’s so ingrained in me. Today I’ll be better. Today I’ll be the adult I know I can be.
With those thoughts bolstering me, I slide out of the softest bed I’ve ever slept in and head to the poshest bathroom I’ve ever been in to take a shower. But as I reach for my toothbrush my hand stills. Sitting next to my toiletries is a tube of toothpaste. Not the tube I brought from home. This tube... I blink. This tube is bubble gum flavored.
Gabe made sure I have toothpaste that won’t send me spiraling into a dark place.
I open the tube and sniff the childhood scent, then laugh softly. Who cares if he’s richer than... I don’t even know who’s he richer than. He bought me bubble gum flavored toothpaste.
After my shower I root through my suitcase and pull on my best jeans and a t-shirt that saysWhen In Rome...
Appropriate.
Before I leave my room, I send Gabe a text.
Me: Thank you for the toothpaste
I add a toothpaste and heart emoji then pull in a breath for courage as I open the bedroom door. The apartment is the kind of quiet that says no one else is here. Good. That’s good. I won’t have to face Pax or Jack. Although Jack is probably at the meeting with Gabe.
In the kitchen, I open the refrigerator and study the contents. It looks like Gabe had the fridge stocked with anything a body could want to eat, yet nothing sounds good.
“I have a stash of the bad-for-you cereal if you want some.”
I yelp and spin around, slamming the refrigerator door hard enough that bottles clank inside.
Pax is standing at the bottom of the steps, dark hair standing up in all directions, scratching his chest through a white t-shirt. He’s wearing black joggers, but his feet are bare.
He grins and it reminds me so much of Gabe.
Along with the smile, he has his father’s eyes, that bright blue that probably makes all the girls swoon, a chiseled jaw and broad shoulders. He hasn’t filled out like Gabe, but someday he will, and he’ll be a heartbreaker just like his dad.
“You like the bad-for-you kind of cereal?” He opens a door that reveals a pantry the size of my kitchen back home that’s completely stocked with boxes and cans and bags of food.
“It depends on the type,” I say.
“Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”
I lick my lips. “My favorite.”
He pulls a big family sized box off the shelf. “Mine too. Dad says it’s not good to coat your teeth with sugar first thing in themorning but he’s wrong.” He shakes the box and grins. “Want some?”
“Yes.”
We never had the expensive kind of cereal when I was growing up. When I moved out on my own, I could never afford the expensive kind of cereal, but sometimes if it was on sale I’d buy a box and eat it slowly, savoring it.
Pax places two huge bowls that are more like small mixing bowls on the counter and fills both to the brim. It’s like three bowls of cereal for me.
“I don’t think I can eat all that.”
“Sure you can. Don’t be a quitter, Tess.” He pauses in his pouring. “Is it okay if I call you Tess? This is a little weird for me. Dads never brought a woman home before.”
“Oh. I’m not... I mean... It’s not like that.”
He tilts his chin so he can side eye me and raises a brow. “Isn’t it?”
