Broken Empire (Boys of Oak Park Prep 3)

If Avery came back while I was sleeping, she followed my grandmother’s instructions and left me alone. When I opened my eyes again, it was dark out. I stared up at the ceiling until Philip knocked on the door and stepped into the room with a tray bearing food. He set it up for me before grabbing several pills from my collection of bottles on the dresser and handing them to me with a glass of water.

As I downed them, he sat on the edge of the bed, clearing his throat.

“I made several calls today, and I’ve found one of the best, most highly recommended rehabilitation specialists on the west coast. I know right now all you need is rest and care, but when the time comes, I’d like to bring him in to work with you. He can do private sessions with you as soon as Doctor Garrett gives you the go-ahead.”

The last pill I’d swallowed sat like a lump in my throat as I gazed at my grandfather. His blue eyes were sad and tired, but not as cloudy as I remembered them being so often before. Part of his recovery regimen after his stroke was supposed to include cutting out alcohol, but I had honestly wondered if he would do it.

I guess he did.

“Thank you… Grandpa.” The word felt foreign but not unpleasant on my tongue, like food from a country I’d never visited. “I—I would really like that.”

“Good.” He smiled at me, making the skin around his eyes crinkle. “Good. I’ll start making travel and accommodation arrangements now.”

“Thanks.”

I meant it. Even with the money the judge had released from my trust, I wasn’t swimming around in cash or anything. My dad’s health insurance from the power plant had covered some of my rehab the first time I’d hurt my legs, although the woman I’d worked with then definitely wasn’t the best or most highly recommended anything.

“Of course.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim black phone. “Here. It doesn’t have all your contacts in it, but I wanted you to have one. Keep it nearby, and text me if you need anything.”

I accepted the cell phone, resting it on the bed next to me. “Thanks.”

My old one must’ve been destroyed in the crash. I decided not to think too hard about what’d happened to it.

He sat with me in comfortable silence while I ate the soup and bread he’d brought, and I wondered if Jacqueline was eating dinner all alone at the massive table in their dining room. When I finished, he repeated what he’d done at the hospital, bending down to press a kiss to the top of my head before retrieving the tray. Then he made his way out the door, leaving me to fall asleep again.

That was the pattern I repeated for the next several days.

Wake up, eat, take pills, sleep.

Philip had hired a nurse to come by several times a day, so she helped me shower and change my bandages. Without meds being pumped directly into my veins, the pain of my injuries ebbed and spiked as I waited impatiently for my next dose.

My leg and ankle hurt the worst, but the abrasions and stitches in my skin were a constant, nagging discomfort. As I became less exhausted, sleeping got harder.

And most of all, I was bored.

Whoever had set up this room had mounted a TV on the wall across from the bed, and I had access to every channel I could possibly want. I binged a few rom-coms, but nothing really held my focus.

I felt antsy.

I wanted to move.

After three days back at the house, I couldn’t take it anymore. Doctor Garrett had stressed that rest was very important during the first few weeks, but he hadn’t put me on strict bed rest or anything. My pain meds were going strong, and I felt better than I had in a while, so I scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed my crutches.

The pads at the top dug into my armpits, and the bruises and cuts along the side of my body flared with pain at the movement, but I maneuvered my way to the door and pulled it open.

I did half a lap around the first floor, nodding to Avery when she saw me coming around a corner. She gave me a half-smile back, but worry flickered in her eyes.

Probably wondering if she should rat me out to Jacqueline for being up and about.

I was passing through the large entry foyer when a thought occurred to me. There had been one reason I’d wanted to come back to this house—something I’d wanted to look at.

The wide staircase felt about as challenging as scaling Everest, but I used my crutches and my good leg to work my way slowly up the steps to the third floor.

By the time I reached it, I was shaking and panting, my whole body strained by the exertion. But my limping footsteps evened out on solid ground, and I made it down the hallway without falling. When I reached the picture I’d been looking for, I stopped and turned to stare at it.

I had stumbled upon this photograph when I’d gone snooping around the house during my first semester at Oak Park, and I’d been dying to look at it again—to see it through new eyes, knowing everything I knew now.

The first thing I noticed was Adam Pierce.