A Shattered Moment (Fractured Lives 1)

“Go fish.”

He looked at me hard for a moment before grabbing a card off the pile. “Ha,” he said, triumphantly holding up an eight he’d just drawn.

Rolling my eyes, I took my turn. We played a half-dozen hands of Go Fish, which was the only game of cards we ever played since Steve had struggled with gambling a few years ago. He quit cold turkey before he and Molly got married and she had given him an ultimatum: give up gambling or find someone else to warm his bed. He turned in his poker chips, but got to keep his lucky deck of cards as long as he promised never to use them for any game that involved betting.

The end of our shift couldn’t have come quick enough. We left with me reminding him that he owed Molly a night of sleep. He grudgingly agreed before heading toward his mommy minivan that Molly insisted they buy when Jacob arrived.

By the time I got home, I felt more exhausted than when we worked one of our busy shifts. I wanted to call Mac, but obviously she was sleeping. Instead, I sent her a text that she would see when she woke up.

The next day I slept in longer than I wanted to. I had only one class on Mondays, and it started in an hour. Mac had seen my text because I had a return message from her asking if we were still on for tonight. I had talked her into going to a UCF basketball game when I found out she hadn’t been to one yet. She grudgingly agreed to go after I bribed her with chocolate-covered pretzels, which I had learned were her weakness.

Later that afternoon, I grabbed my keys to head to Mac’s dorm, leaving a sour Chad at my apartment. He was grumbling that I couldn’t hog Mac every night. “Stop sleeping around and get your own girlfriend, dickhead.”

“Like that’s even a legit argument. Come on, bro,” he answered. Maybe he had a point, but it wasn’t like I was asking him to throw his Xbox out the window and run it over. I just wanted my girl to myself. Michael, who caught the tail end of our exchange, laughed as he headed out for his evening class.

Mac was waiting on a bench outside her dorm when I showed up ten minutes later. The arena was halfway between my apartment and her dorm, so it made no sense to drive and deal with the parking mess.

“Hey,” she said, looking a bit unsure as she stood up. She fidgeted with the thin strap of the small purse that crisscrossed her body. It was strange to see her without the typical backpack she normally carried everywhere. I liked it. The backpack always seemed to make her shoulders slump. I stopped in front of her.

“Hey, yourself.” She bit her lip at my close proximity. I cupped her face with my hands, tilting her chin up so I could be the one biting her lip. She sighed against my lips the moment they touched hers. It made me consider saying hell with the game and taking her back to my apartment and kicking Chad to the curb, so she and I could pick up what we had started a few nights ago.

I nipped on her bottom lip one last time before reluctantly pulling back. A few seconds longer and she would feel on her leg what I was thinking. “Ready to cheer on some Knights?”

“Sure,” she answered, still looking kiss-shocked.

I tucked her hand in the crook of my elbow so she could hold on to me. She asked me about my weekend as we walked. I found myself launching into a complete recap even though Steve and I had basically sat around. She was easy to talk to. The awkwardness that was inevitable in any new relationship was missing. With Mac, I didn’t feel like I had to say anything to try and impress her.

She tightened her grip on my elbow as the sidewalk around us filled up with more people heading in the same direction. A few guys pushed past us, obviously not satisfied with our pace. I gritted my teeth when they jostled Mac, making her stumble slightly.

“Are you okay?” I asked, glaring at the backs of the total pricks who were oblivious to anyone but themselves. As a rule I didn’t fight. It was my job to take care of people who were hurt, but at the moment, I wanted to shove my fist down their throats.

She looked at me questioningly and I realized I was clenching my fist. “I’m fine. It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“What?” My voice was louder than usual and I noticed she flinched. I forced myself to bring it down a notch. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it,” I said, clenching my jaw.

She patted my arm like she needed to pacify me. “Bentley, it’s nothing to get worked up about. I move slower than the average person. Believe me, if I could walk normally and was in a hurry, I’d probably get frustrated walking behind someone as slow as me. No one likes to get behind the slowpoke.” She sounded okay, but I detected a trace of regret beneath those words. I wanted to pound the assholes into the ground.

“It freaking rips me up that you somehow think it’s your fault,” I said, handing over our tickets at our gate into the arena.

“I’m just being realistic,” she said as we took the programs handed to us.

I grumbled under my breath, but let the subject drop. Things didn’t get much better when I realized our seats were higher up the rows than I’d anticipated. I was the asshole. I forgot to even think about that when I bought the tickets.

Mac eyed the shallow steps like they were serpents ready to snap at her feet. I could have swept her up in my arms like I did at my apartment complex, but I couldn’t imagine her going for that.

“Let me see if I can get our seats switched,” I said, making a move toward the exit.

“It’s fine.” She stopped me, looking at the stairs with determination. “It’ll get me out of having to face the stair climber at physical therapy.”

“You still go to therapy?” I asked, supporting her as we climbed toward our row. A thin bead of sweat collected on her temple by the fifth step.

“Yep, a couple times a month. They’d like me to go more, but classes make it hard. We reached a compromise since I do so much walking around campus,” she answered, somewhat out of breath.

“Do you need to stop for a second?” We reached the eighth step, but she looked determined to continue.

“No, I’m okay. Only six more to go,” she said, counting along with the numbers on each row of seats.

The more she struggled, the more I felt like total pond scum. Mac was only putting herself through this because of me. I deserved a suitable punishment, like picking up Sherman and letting him pelt me in the face with his tail. Mac’s face when we reached our row made me feel slightly better. She beamed in triumph, looking so damn happy I couldn’t help placing a kiss on her smiling lips.