Shattered (Extreme Risk 2)

“Not like what? You said you were just taking a break from boarding. You said you didn’t have the heart for it after Mom and Dad died. You said you’d go back to it next year, when the snow hits. You said—” He breaks off with a sob.

I’m across the room in a second, squatting down next to the chair so I can look him in the eye even as I curse myself. Curse Z. I want to hug him, but his body language is screaming at me to back off, so I settle for putting a hand on his knee—right up until I remember he can’t feel the touch anymore. Can’t feel anything from the waist down.

“I don’t have the heart for it right now, Logan. That’s the truth. Every time I even think about boarding, I see Mom and Dad and—”

“Me. You see me. Your pathetic little brother who is so sad, so selfish, that he can’t handle the idea of you snowboarding ever again just because he can’t. Right? You think I’m so weak, so pitiful, that you’re going to give up the only thing you’ve ever been good at for me.” He sounds angrier than I’ve ever heard him. “Do you think that’s what I want, Ash? Do you think that’s what I fucking want?”

“Of course, I don’t. But there’s a lot to consider right now—”

“Whatever,” he snarls at me, then wheels his chair around and starts booking it down the hallway. If I’m honest, I’m a little shocked at how fast he can move when he wants to.

I trail behind him, trying to get him to listen to reason, but he’s not having any of it. “I heard you, Ash. I heard everything you said. You think this is easy for me? You think I like the fact that my friends don’t know how to talk to me? That they don’t come over because I can’t go to the lake with them, can’t go swimming, can’t play fucking basketball without this wheelchair?”

Guilt crushes me at his words, makes me feel even more like a piece of shit than I already do. “Logan—”

“I get it from them and I take it because I have to, because I don’t have a choice and because I get where they’re coming from. They don’t know what to say or how to act around me or anything like that. But you … you’re my brother. I don’t need you to treat me like I’m different, too. Like I’m useless. And I sure as shit don’t need you to give up snowboarding for me.”

“I’m not giving it up for you,” I tell him, injecting a forcefulness into my voice that I’m far from feeling right now. “I’m giving it up because it’s the right thing to do. Because you matter more to me than any stupid sport ever will. I need you to understand

that.”

“And I need you to understand that you matter to me, too. I don’t want you to be miserable because of me.”

“I’m not. Logan, I swear, I’m not.”

“Yeah, right. You think I can’t tell the difference in you? You think I can’t tell how much you fucking hate your life?”

“That has nothing to do with you!”

“Maybe not. But it has everything to do with snowboarding, and that has to do with me, so …”

Jesus Christ, when did my little brother get this fucking logical? This fucking smart? And when did I get so goddamned tongue-tied? “Logan—”

“I’m tired, Ash.” We’re at his room now and Logan wheels inside. “Leave me alone so I can get some sleep.” The door slams behind him.

Standing there in that hall—fists clenched and forehead resting against the cool wood of his door, while the harsh sound of Logan’s sobs echoes all around me—is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I reach for the doorknob a dozen times, but in the end I don’t turn it.

Because he asked me not to.

Because, from the time he got out of the hospital, his room has been his safe zone. The place he can cry or rage or do whatever he needs to do to come to grips with what’s happened to him. Because no matter how much this whole thing has fucked me up, I’m a twenty-one-year-old man. He’s a fourteen-year-old boy who has lost total control over not just his life, but his body, too.

If he wants privacy, if he doesn’t want to talk to me, then I owe him that much control. That much respect. Especially when I’m the one who ruined what had been a pretty good night.

But I can’t just walk away, either. Can’t just leave him when he’s this hysterical.

Not knowing what else to do, I slide down until I’m sitting with my back braced against the door. And then I wait, head bent and unshed tears burning behind my eyes, for my baby brother to finally quiet down and fall asleep.

It takes a long, long time.

Chapter 4

Tansy

“What’s wrong, Tansy?” my mother asks, hovering over me with a pitcher of fresh pineapple juice in her hand. “Are you feeling okay?” Her hand goes immediately to my forehead.

I want to shrug her off—I’m so sick of her worrying about me having a fever or not eating or the cancer coming back—but in the end, I just tolerate it. Of course I do. She and my dad have been through hell for the last ten years as I’ve fought this damn disease, and it’s only normal for us all to have a little PTSD now that I’m in remission. Or at least, that’s what the shrink they force me to go to says.

“I’m fine, Mom. Just tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”