Shattered (Extreme Risk 2)

And there it is. The straw that breaks the camel’s back. I’ve been trying to hold everything together—Logan, me, our family, life—for the last six months and I can’t do it anymore. Not for one more minute. Not for one more second.

Fed up, frustrated, I lose the slippery grip I’ve been keeping on control these last few days. “Fuuuuuuck!” I yell as I lash out, my fist slamming into the wall less than a foot from Tansy’s head.

Chapter 6

Tansy

Oh. My. God.

As Ash pulls back his fist and hits the wall a second time, all I can think is that I’ve beaten a particularly nasty type of cancer not once, but twice, in the last ten years. I’ve survived dozens of secondary infections that ate up my compromised immune system and tried their best to end me. I’ve even handled the coddling and cuddling and crazily overprotective behavior of my parents for longer than I care to think about. And now, I’m going to end up dying here—in this nice, safe-looking, upper-middle-class house—at the hands of one of the world’s premiere snowboarders.

And one of the world’s most frustrated, if his actions are anything to go by. Which is what gets to me, because I understand that frustration—and the helplessness that causes it.

On the plus side, watching Ash lose it has finally shut up his kid brother. Who actually seems like a pretty good kid, and who sounds like he has a point about a lot of things, though now might not be the best time for him to try to make those points. I mean, with Ash breathing fire and all.

Tearing my eyes away from Ash’s angry and frustrated face, I glance at Logan. He’s gone white, his light summer tan turning a sickly yellow against his sudden pallor. That, more than anything, convinces me that an outburst like this isn’t normal for Ash. That this is him at his most frustrated. His wit’s end.

“Ash!” he calls, voice shaking. “I’m sorry, Ash. I’m sorry.”

Ash bows his head, rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s okay,” he grates out. “I’m okay.”

Except it’s obvious that he’s not. His teeth are clenched, his eyes are closed and he’s shaking—whether from anger or an excess of adrenaline, I don’t know. The only thing I am sure about is that this guy is going to implode, and soon, if someone doesn’t do something about it.

“Logan, why don’t you go watch TV for a while? I’ve got your brother.”

He glances at me for a quick second, his eyes saying very clearly that I’m crazy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

It’s a better idea than him sitting here staring at his brother like he’s one step from a straitjacket.

I smile encouragingly at him, or at least as encouragingly as I can when my heart is beating about ten times too fast. Just because I understand wha

t Ash is going through doesn’t mean that it doesn’t freak me out a little.

For long seconds, I don’t think Logan’s going to listen—and why should he when he doesn’t actually know me, despite our emails. He hesitates long enough that I decide to take matters into my own hands. Pulling a move I’m pretty sure is going to piss him off—even though I think it’s totally necessary—I take the handles of his wheelchair and steer him into the other room myself.

“Hey!” he snarls, twisting in his seat as much as he can. “Take me back! You can’t just—”

“Sorry, bud, but I can.” I don’t know the layout of the house, but it’s not hard to follow the sounds of the TV still on in one of the back rooms.

“You better stop right now or I’ll—”

Before he can finish whatever threat he’s going to make, I stop the wheelchair and come around to face him. Then I squat down so that I’m looking him straight in the eye even as I grab the wheels of his chair to keep him from backing away from me and darting back to his brother.

“I’d apologize for manhandling your wheels, but after the stunt you pulled with that phone call, I figure this makes us about even.”

He glares at me with all the shade a fourteen-year-old kid can throw, but I can see that he knows I’m right. After a minute, he exhales and I realize suddenly that he looks very young. Very tired. And very unsure of himself.

“Look,” I say. “You messed up. Huge. I get that you were trying to do the right thing for everyone, but you made a mistake. One that didn’t just screw things up for you, but for all of us. Which means you don’t get to deal with this all alone, either. You need help. Ash needs help.”

Logan gives me this kicked-puppy look and I’m pretty sure that it’s genuine, not just something he’s pulling out to manipulate me.

“Just give us a few minutes alone,” I tell him. “Give me a chance to calm him down and get this sorted out.”

Logan’s jaw juts out stubbornly. “You really think you can talk him into this when I can’t?”

No. I don’t think that. But I’m sure as hell going to try, because the last thing I want is to call Timmy and tell him the whole thing is off. My Make-A-Wish trip to Paris is still one of the best memories my family and I have. The idea of Timmy dying without that … it makes me sadder than I can ever express.

But I can’t tell Logan that without spilling my whole pathetic history—not to mention making him feel worse—so instead, I bluff.