Bent not Broken (115 page)

“What are you thinking?”

She doesn’t say anything as she blinks her eyes slowly.

“Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and gently tugs at it with her teeth. I can’t take my eyes off of her mouth. Leaning in to her, I’m so close I can smell the remnants of the perfume she wore last night, along with the sweet feminine smell of her skin. Our noses are within centimeters of each other. I can feel her breath on my lips. I hover my mouth over hers, and her eyes open wider.
She wants me to kiss her
.

I never make a move to kiss her, but our eyes hold each other’s. I whisper, “Will you trust me?” She shakes her head no and closes her eyes again. “Why?”

“I don’t trust anyone.” Those words tear me apart. She slowly opens her eyes, and I see her chin quivering lightly. Instead of pressing my lips to hers, I lower my mouth to her forehead and give her the lightest kiss. With my lips on her forehead, I can feel her body trembling, and her breathing is quick and shallow. She’s fucking afraid of me, and I have to prove to her, and myself, that I’m not going to fuck her and leave her. I won’t be
that
guy with her.

Pushing myself up quickly, I hop off the bed. “Get up and get dressed. Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Why?”

“We’re going to breakfast.”

“There is no way I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” Her lips pucker out like she’s pouting.

“You’re beautiful. Just throw some clothes on and brush your teeth. We’re leaving in fourteen minutes now.” I flash her a big smile. Pushing the thick purple comforter off of her, she pulls her long, tan legs out and hangs them over the side of the bed.

Turning to leave her room, I mutter over my shoulder, “Thirteen minutes now, baby girl. Hurry up.”

As I’m closing her door behind me, I hear the pitter patter of her feet run across her bedroom floor. Waiting for her downstairs, I eye the letter on her table again. Whatever is written on that piece of paper is the source of much pain for her. Just as I’m reaching for the letter, I hear her door open upstairs. She comes bouncing down the stairs in a pair of worn jeans that have small rips on the front thighs and a tight green tank top. Her wavy hair is piled on top of her head where a few loose strands have fallen out. She grabs her purse off the counter and slings it over her shoulder.

“You’re not going to need that.” I smile and point to her purse. She looks at me and scrunches her forehead, looking perplexed.

“I need my purse if we’re leaving.”

Walking over to her, I slide the purse off her shoulder. “Give me your phone and your ID.” Looking at me suspiciously, she pulls her ID out of her wallet and hands it to me along with her cell phone. Sliding both of them into my back pocket, I reach for her hand and lead her to the door.

“Wait, do you have sunglasses?” I stop abruptly at the door.

“Yeah, in my purse. Let me grab them.” She releases my hand and walks back to the table. Digging through her purse, she pulls a case out and opens it, sliding a pair of small Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses onto the top of her head.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. Let’s go.”

“I hate surprises,” she says as a smile spreads across her face. She walks back over to me and I reach for her hand again. This time, she lets me take it. This is a good sign. Closing the door behind us, I lead her down her sidewalk toward my motorcycle that is parked in guest parking. As we cross the black asphalt, she tugs slightly on my hand, trying to pull away from me.

“Oh no, I’m not going anywhere on that.” She has now pulled me hard enough that we’ve come to a complete stop.

“Come on. I promise I’m careful.”

She’s standing, shifting back and forth between her feet. She’s tugging on her bottom lip, and she actually looks scared to death. I watch her contemplate and reach out to grab her other hand. With a small squeeze, I whisper, “Trust me,” and press another small kiss to her forehead. I rub both of her upper arms, hoping to calm her nerves. “Trust me, Jess. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

“Okay,” she whispers, and I actually feel her hands shaking. Nodding at me, she gives me the go-ahead, and I tug her slightly towards my motorcycle. If she’s afraid of cycles, I know the sound alone is going to scare the shit out of her. I have to prep her.

“Sit behind me and wrap your arms around my waist.” She swallows and nods. “The bike is loud; that’s how it’s supposed to sound.” Inhaling deeply, she nods again. “Jess?” She looks at me, and I grab her chin and hold her head still. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Do you understand?” A tight smile crosses her lips.

“Yeah, okay.” She laughs. “Let’s do this.”

I throw my leg over the bike, and she slides on behind me. Wrapping her hands around my waist just as I’ve instructed her, her feet have found the pegs, and she’s pressed her entire torso up against me. I can feel her breasts pressed up against my back, and she has her thighs squeezed tightly around my hips.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Yep.”

I turn the key and start my bike. Before she has time to freak out, I take off, slowly. Her grip tightens around my waist. I have no idea where I’m taking her yet, but I have no intention of stopping or letting her off this bike anytime soon.

For the next hour, I drive her through town, north of the city, and back again. I don’t care about anything other than the wind in my hair and the sweet body wrapped around me from behind. Pulling into a small diner in downtown Wilmington, I plan to spend the next couple of hours treating her to breakfast and getting to know her better. Pulling into a parking space, I drop the kickstand on my Harley and shut it down. I slide off the bike and help her off. She laughs as she tries to straighten her legs and walk.

“I take it that’s your first time on a motorcycle?” When she nods her head, I see a smile form on the corners of her lips.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” I nudge her with my elbow as we’re nearing the entrance of the diner. I open the door and let her walk in first. Sitting down in a booth, Jess stretches her long legs under the table and puts them on my booth seat between my legs.

“Still sore?” I chuckle.

“Just stretching a bit.” I reach my hand under the table and set it on her ankle. She doesn’t look up from her menu, but I feel her flinch when my hand touches the bare skin just under her jeans.

“So, what’s good here?” she asks.

“They have the best grits in town,” I say, sipping the coffee the waitress had just poured.

“Eww…grits.” She turns up her nose and whines.

I can’t help but laugh. “I grew up on grits, but almost everyone I’ve met that isn’t from the South finds them appalling.”

“Yeah, most people in California eat all healthy: yogurt, fruit, and granola. I grew up eating Mexican breakfasts. I miss that,” she sighs.

“Mexican?” I question her.

“Yeah.” She pauses to open a creamer and dumps it in her coffee. Stirring it with her spoon, she lifts the mug to her lips and takes a sip. I remain quiet, waiting for her to continue.

“When my dad was working, which was damn near every single day, I stayed with our neighbors, the Garcias. They lived across the street and basically raised me.” She pauses again, and I notice the sadness in her eyes.

“For almost fourteen years, I spent most of my time there. They really are my family.” She’s quiet again for a minute, but smiles at a memory.

“So the ‘Garcia’ from the t-shirt…your ex; that’s his family?” She nods her head.

“Do you miss them?” I ask, knowing the answer.

“More than you can imagine,” she replies quietly. Our food arrives, and Jess eyes the enormous meal that is set in front of me.

“Holy shit!” she exclaims as the waitress sets the third plate down in front of me. I laugh at her expression. “Hungry much?”

“Actually, I’m starved,” I say.

“Apparently,” she smirks.

‘So tell me about the Garcias,” I encourage her, catching her off guard. She stops her fork mid-air, pausing for a minute, before taking the bite of the scrambled eggs on her fork. Setting it down, she takes another drink of coffee and smiles.

“They are everything to me. Everything.” Listening to her describe the people she loves warms me.

“But I hurt them when I moved here.” She lowers her eyes to the plate of food in front of her.

“How did you hurt them?”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.” Her eyes are begging me to stop. But I’m persistent.

“How did you hurt them?” I ask again, my tone a bit more firm.

“I told them the night before I left that I was leaving. They don’t even know where I’m really at. I told them the East Coast. That’s it.”

Now I’m confused. “I guess I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell them? I think they would have understood that you needed an internship and that this was available last minute.” That is what she told me at Finn’s Pub last night.

“The internship is not the only reason I left.” She swallows hard. “That’s all I’m going to say, okay? Please leave it at that,” she begs me.

“Okay.” We sit in silence for the next few minutes. I inhale my food, and Jess pushes hers around her plate.

“Not hungry?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“You need to eat. You’re too skinny, and I like a little meat on my women.” That gets her attention.

“I am not your woman!”

I love seeing her flustered.

“I know. Not yet anyway.” She shakes her head and humors me with a little laugh. “Eat!” I say, pointing my fork at her plate of food as she takes a bite of toast.

“Thanks.” Jess smiles at me.

“For what?” I’m definitely confused.

“For making me get on your motorcycle,” she says while a huge smile crosses her face.

“This is just the first of many rides,” I say, and yes, the sexual undertones are implied.

Chapter 37

Gabe

Standing in the front yard staring at my new house is bittersweet. Bitter that it’s mine alone—it was always meant for Jess—and sweet that it’s the first time I’ve bought something of this magnitude from the efforts of my hard work. A stack of papers with my signature in at least thirty different places, a cashier’s check, and this old place is all mine.

Where everyone else sees an old, rundown bungalow, I see amazing potential. Jess taught me to look past a rundown, weathered exterior and envision what something could be. We used to walk past this place when Old Man Johnson owned it. She used to say, “Look at that wraparound porch; it’s gorgeous.” Where I saw dingy gray, peeling paint, Jess saw fresh white paint and a hanging porch swing. She’d stop me every time we walked by. “Look at the windows. They add such character to the house. Those shutters are amazing…” I can still hear her voice in my head.

Pulled from my thoughts by the sound of Luke’s pick-up truck that just pulled into the driveway, I turn to see my dad and Luke. Now is not the time to be getting sentimental, in front of them. I shove those memories aside and put my game face on.

“All yours?” my dad asks, patting me on the back.

Dangling the keys from my hand, I offer a half-hearted smile. “Sure is.”

“Well, let’s go check this place out.” He grabs the keys from my hand and marches towards the steps that lead up to the wooden wraparound porch. Luke and I follow closely behind him. Opening the large wooden front door, all three of us step inside and stand in silence, taking in the large room that sits in front of us.

“Old Man Johnson never touched this place,” I explain, trying to make excuses for its bad condition. Dad is nodding his head. I see his eyes occasionally widen in shock when he sees something that needs work.

“Needs a lot of work,” he says, running his foot across the real hardwood floors.

“Inspector said the bones are great; just needs some TLC. But you and I both know I want more than TLC,” I say, grinning at my dad. He works magic on homes all over Orange County. My dad has built some of the largest, most beautiful homes from scratch and has done some of the most amazing remodels I’ve ever seen.

“What are your thoughts?” I know his game; he’s asking me what I want, and then I know he’ll counter with his recommendations. This is what he does best.

“Honestly, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.” I walk through the room we’re standing in, which is covered in half torn wallpaper, across the old scratched wooden floors, to an opening at the back of the room. “We’re taking this place down to the wood studs,” I say as I lay out my vision for my new home.

“We’re rewiring the electrical in this entire place; I don’t need a fire hazard,” I say. I’ve seen one too many electrical fires lately, and I’m not taking that chance with this house. “We’re also redoing all of the plumbing in the entire house.”

Luke doesn’t say a word, but just looks around as I speak, as if trying to see my vision. “I want to upgrade this place, but there are a few things that need to stay to keep its ‘charm.’”

“Charm?” Luke laughs at me. It was a word Jess always used. Some things just stick with you, I guess.

“Yes,
charm
,” I say. “I’m tearing out the entire kitchen. Everything in there will be brand new. Same goes for both bathrooms.” Dad nods and jots notes in a small notebook he has pulled from the pocket of his shirt. “But, I want to leave the hardwood floors throughout the house. Those need to stay and just be refinished.”

“
Mijo
, there is a lot of wasted space here. For resale, we should add more closet space and expand the laundry room.”

The word “resale” catches me by surprise. “What do you mean ‘resale’? I don’t plan to sell anytime soon.” I see the confusion flash across his face at my words. “This house isn’t about money for me. It’s not an investment property for me; it’s my home.”

Dad sighs deeply. “Gabriel, we know why you bought this home. Are you sure you don’t want to fix it up, sell it, and double your money? It would put a lot of money in your bank account, and you know…you could buy a condo or something that doesn’t demand your attention all the time.”