Shattered (Extreme Risk 2)

“Uh, no problem.” Luc clears his throat. “We were just …”

“Figuring out what to make for dinner,” Sarah finishes for him.

“So that’s what they’re calling it these days.” I take a sip of soda, studying them over the rim of the can. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting this. Partly because Sarah’s a few years older than Luc and I, and she seems so serious all the time. And partly because Luc has been in love with Cam since we were fifteen, though she’s too dense to figure it out and he’s too chickenshit to tell her. Sure, he’s dated other girls, but it’s never been serious and I have never seen him kiss one only a few feet from where Cam is sitting.

“Shut up, Ash.” Luc reaches over, shoves me a little.

“No, really. It’s just I’m hungry and I’m not sure there’s enough of whatever you were making to go around.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “You’re such a dick! Stop embarrassing Sarah.”

“Yeah. ’Cuz I’m the one embarrassing her in this situation.” But I relent, because Luc looks like he’s actually going to punch me and Sarah is turning a shade of red I didn’t even realize it was possible for human skin to achieve.

“Actually, I came in to talk to you for a few minutes while loverboy makes dinner,” I tell her. “I just want to get your take on what happened with Logan this afternoon.”

“Of course.” She ducks her head, spends a moment shoving her light brown hair back from her face. “I’m, uh, sorry about this whole thing. I don’t know what I was thinking …” She gestures between her and Luc and it occurs to me that she thinks I’m mad.

Maybe I should be, I don’t know. She’s still on-duty, after all, but Z and Cam are taking good care of Logan so what do I care if she and Luc want to fuck around a little? More power to the both of them. Not that I can exactly say that, with Luc looking at me like he plans to rip my tongue out of my throat if I say the wrong thing.

“It’s cool,” I tell her, not sure what else to say. “But … Logan.”

“Right, Logan. He was sick of being cooped up inside, so he challenged me to a one-on-one basketball game in the driveway. We’d been playing about twenty minutes when the basketball got by him. He tried to reach for it and ended up falling out of his wheelchair.” She pauses for a second, like she’s debating how much she wants to say. “You know, it’s not a big deal. It happens all the time—”

“He falls out of his chair a lot?” My stomach clenches at the news. How could I not know—

“No, no. I mean, it happens to nearly all patients a few times, especially as they’re trying to learn the boundaries of the chair and their strength. The only reason I took him to Urgent Care was because of the bump on his head. But the doctor says he’s fine and not to worry, so …” She takes a deep breath, and I can all but see her psyching herself up for what she wants to say next. “It’s not a big deal, Ash.”

“He hit his head.”

“Yes. And he’s fine. You need to not make a big deal out of it.”

I glare at her as anger rips down my spine. “Have I made a big deal out of it? I mean, I’m not fucking someone in the kitchen a few feet away from where my injured brother’s sitting, but still. I thought I took it pretty calmly.”

“Dude!” Luc straightens up, looks like he’s going to get in my face and I am more than ready for it. Hell, I’d love it. It feels like I’ve been spoiling for a fight for way too long. But before I can do anything more than brace myself, Sarah throws a hand up to stop him.

“You’re right,” she tells me, sounding calm and professional despite the pink once again staining her cheeks. But when she looks me in the eye, I can see a slight sheen of tears and it makes me feel like a total douche. I know I should apologize, tell her I was out of line. But the truth is I don’t have it in me. Not right now. Not when I’m trying so hard to stay calm and hold things together and not lose my shit over the fact that my baby brother nearly gave himself a concussion on her watch.

“About what?” I ask grudgingly.

“About the fact that you’re handling this well. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I just wanted to say that Logan dealt with the fall pretty well, once he got over the shock and embarrassment he felt at losing control in the first place. I think he’s more worried about how you’ll react than he is about the actual fall.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighs, reaches out a comforting hand to my shoulder. “He’s afraid you’ll stop him from playing basketball or going outside.”

“What? I would never—” I break off, because I realize that there was a part of me that was thinking just that. That it would be totally okay if he never went outside again, except to get into the car. He’s paralyzed, crippled. Why should he need to worry about shit like playing basketball? There are about two million things he can do sitting inside instead.

Except … except, he’s a fourteen-year-old boy, one who is used to being outdoors. Used to snowboarding and hiking and swimming and doing a million other things. Keeping him inside just because I want to keep him safe is stupid and damaging and ridiculous.

It doesn’t feel ridiculous, though. He’s already been through so much, already lost so much, that I just don’t want him to get hurt anymore. I just want to keep him safe.

Which is a laugh, since I’m the one who caused all of this to begin with. If it wasn’t for me, if it wasn’t for that stupid competition they insisted on coming to see, the accident would never have happened. Mom and Dad would be alive, Logan would be whole and everything would be how it’s supposed to be. Instead of this mess I don’t know how to get out from under. This mess that I’m terrified will eventually suffocate us both.

“If he wants to play basketball, it’s not like I’m going to stop him,” I tell her finally. “His physical therapist says it’s good for him to do stuff like that.”

“It is,” Sarah says, her voice soft with understanding and what sounds an awful lot like pity.

I jerk my gaze up, see Luc and Sarah both looking at me like I’m the broken one—the fragile one—and it pisses me off. I’m fine. Totally fine. Logan’s the one who’s injured. The one whose whole life changed in the flash of one spin-out. One crash. One fall.