Page 42 of Saving Ren
“Seriously?” He interrupts me, which is probably a good thing because I’m all out of words right now. “You’re standing there, looking like you do, with everything you own in this fucking bag.” He holds the black sack up. “And you’re the one apologising?”
He draws in a deep breath and lets it out with a huff. “We need to go because if your husband gets here before we’ve left, I will break his fucking face.”
“That’s reallynotwhat she needs to hear right now. Don’t you think there’s been enough violence? Just take her to yours, Gabe, and make sure you look after her, otherwise I’ll be breaking your face,” Jo threatens.
She’s not prone to displays of emotion, she’ll tell you that she’s about to kill you with the same reserve she’ll ask you if you’d like a drink, but I actually saw her cry at the hospital this morning when they were patching me up. She remained silent, but the sound her tears made as they spilled onto her cheeks deafened me and were an indicator as to how bad I must look.
Stepping forward, I wrap my good arm around her. The arm that was dislocated is throbbing and I daren’t even try lifting it.
“Thank you for being there for me. I’ll never forget what you did this morning,” I say into her chest.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here for you any time, you know that. It’s just that right now, I can’t keep you safe, he can, and just so you know, I’d never send you with him if I didn’t trust him one hundred percent.”
“I know that, I know.”
Jo kisses my cheek, and I step away in time to see Jemma hand Gabe the bag with my pain meds in, right before she wraps her arms around me.
“I’ll never forgive myself for not knowing what he was doing to you. I don’t know how I’m going to hold my temper if he turns up here, and just so you know, if he plays up, I’m calling the police, and I won’t hesitate in telling them everything. I love you and respect that you want to talk to the boys first, but I think you’re wrong, and I think your boys would rather have you safe than their feelings hurt.”
I nod.
“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s my fault for keeping it a secret for so long. You have my total support if you choose not to hold on to your temper. Feel free to really go for it and kick him in the nuts as hard as you can for me, then you can call the police.”
“Go. Text us when you get to Saint Gabe the Saviour’s place.”
“Wasn’t Gabriel an angel?” I question Jem.
“Maybe. He looks more like a devil to me, which is probably more fun than an angel, who needs a good boy when you could have a dirty, filthy. . . but yeah, whatever, you lucky but also unlucky bitch. I love you, go.”
I allow the good side of my lips to pull into a smile, grateful for my friends’ attempts at lightening the shitty situation, and turn towards the front door, my path instantly blocked by Gabe.
“I can hear every word ya know?”
“Yeah, well, you already know Jo, it can’t really come as any surprise what the people she chooses to be friends with would be like.”
He turns, then pauses in his strides towards the front door and looks at me. I think he’s going to say something, instead, he shakes his head before moving on.
* * *
Gabe helpsme into his truck by holding onto my hips and lifting me. I wince in pain, grateful that my back is to him.
“Which way is he likely to come in?” he asks as soon as he slides into the driver’s seat, with a lot more grace and ease than I displayed climbing into the passenger side.
“What?” I question.
“Your husband. If he’s coming from Jemma’s, is he likely to turn on to this street from the esplanade or the highway?”
“Highway.”
“Too easy.”
Despite the car being fitted with a reverse camera, he stretches one arm along the back of my seat, twists his head and body around so he can see out of the back window, and reverses out of Jo’s drive onto the dirt road it sits on, steering with one hand in a really blokey way.
I take in his profile, with views of both one side and then the other as he turns and straightens in his seat. The stubble on his chin and along his jawline has spread to his cheeks since last night, highlighting his sharp cheekbones. Like last night, the hairs at the base of his throat stick out from the round-necked T-shirt he’s wearing. I know the fashion right now is for men to shave or wax their chests, but I’m old school and like a man with a bit of body hair, not too much, but a bit of chest hair and hairy legs are fine with me. His jaw isn’t overly square but still perfectly masculine, especially covered in so much stubble, his lips are full and plump, and the memory of how soft they felt when he crushed them against mine last night forces itself to the front of my brain and demands to be replayed. I’m in the process of letting out a little sigh when we must hit a pothole, and it instead comes out as a grunt when some degree of pain shoots through every part of me. I instantly feel sick and open the window to let in some air as we turn out onto the esplanade.
“You doing okay?” he asks.
I take a moment to consider my answer. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve no fucking idea how I’m doing.”
