Shattered (Extreme Risk 2)

My palms start to sweat. “What’s wrong? His back?” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have left him this morning, knew I should have stayed home. He wasn’t happy, wasn’t feeling right and—

“No, no, his back is fine. He was outside, shooting baskets, and he ended up losing his balance. He fell out of his wheelchair and hit his head pretty hard. The doctor and I agree he should have an X-ray.”

“Shooting—” I cut myself off before I spew obscenities all over her. What the fuck was my paralyzed brother doing outside, shooting baskets? “Where are you taking him? I’ll meet you—”

“No, you won’t.” Logan’s voice comes through the speakerphone. “I’m fine, man. Just finish work and I’ll see you at home later.”

“You’ll see me at the Urgent Care clinic in fifteen minutes—”

“Jesus, Ash. Stop fucking mother-henning me, okay? I’m good. Just a little bump. I wouldn’t even be going except Sarah wrestled me into the car.”

“I’m not arguing with you about this. Put Sarah back on the phone.”

“I’m here. And he really is fine, Ash. We’re just being cautious.”

“Are you taking him to the clinic on Maple? Or the one on—”

“If you take off work for this, I swear, I’ll put itching powder in every pair of underwear you’ve got. You know Luc and Cam will help me.”

“Logan—”

“Say good-bye, Ash.”

The phone goes dead, and though I call back—twice—nobody picks up. Goddamnit. Stupid fourteen-year-old punk thinks he knows what’s best for everyone, even me. Especially me.

I take a deep breath, run my hand over my eyes as I try to get my shit back together. I need to go in there and try to charm Mandy into staying late so I can get to the doctor’s. She’s done it for me before—three times this month alone—and I hate to ask it of her. But Logan’s been my responsibility ever since my parents died. I have to be there for him. I have to.

Except Mandy takes one look at my face when I walk in the shop and starts shaking her head. “I can’t today, Ash. I can’t. I have to take my grandma to the doctor.”

Shit. “Yeah, of course. Go. I’ve got this.” I look at the short line of guests in front of me and want to hit something. I feel like I’m being drawn and quartered, pulled in so many different directions at the same time that I’m beginning to rip straight down the middle.

“You want me to call Alex?” she asks as she ducks out from behind the counter. “See if he can take over?”

“Nah. He’s not here right now, anyway.”

She hesitates. “Is Logan okay? I mean, maybe I can—”

I force a smile that I don’t feel. But she’s a good friend and I don’t want her to feel guilty for something that totally isn’t her fault. “He’s fine. Fell out of his wheelchair, but he’s fine. He’s with Sarah and I’m just overreacting.”

She relaxes. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

She leaves and I turn to help the next people in line. It’s an easy rental—they want some sports equipment and a stroller—but I’m so busy worrying about Logan that I fuck it up anyway. And the next order and the next one and the one after that.

By the time the line dwindles to nothing, I’m about to jump out of my skin. I call Sarah again, who answers this time and tells me they’re waiting their turn at the Maple Street clinic. She assures me one more time that things are under control, but I can’t help worrying.

My brother, my responsibility. If anything else happens to him, I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s already my fault that he’s in that wheelchair, my fault that he’s got to finish growing up without his parents. Anything else would be serious overkill.

But if I’ve learned anything these last six months, it’s that the universe doesn’t give a fuck about overkill. Sometimes it just keeps heaping on the shit until you can barely stand up under the weight. Then it heaps on some more, just for the pleasure of watching your knees slam into the ground.

I hang up from Sarah, glance behind me at the rental counter. There’s only one person in line right now, a young girl with short, bright pink hair and I hold a finger up to her in an I’ll-be-right-there gesture. Then I do the only thing I can do—call Cam and beg her to go check on Logan at Urgent Care.

“Sure, of course,” she tells me without any hesitation at all. “Is he at that one on Maple?”

“Yeah. Sarah says he’s fine, but—”

“But you just want to be sure. I get that.” I can hear her turning off the TV, then the rattle of her keys as she scoops them out of the old trophy she keeps them in. “I’ll call you once I’m there and I know something. Okay?”