A Shattered Moment (Fractured Lives 1)

“Sounds like a plan,” I said as the doorbell chimed. “That’s Bentley. Wish me luck,” I added, grabbing my cane.

“They’re going to love you.”

“Right,” I muttered skeptically. I swung the door open, revealing a completely delectable Bentley. Thanks to the mild temperatures that had moved in the day before, he was wearing a light sweater that wasn’t tight, but still defined his chest and arms, making him appear wider than usual. The black in the sweater made his eyes seem darker and his lips somehow lusher. I thought about how pleasant they had felt hours before. Too bad we had to waste all the delectableness on a group of people I’d never met.

“Don’t you look pretty in pink,” Bentley said, sliding his arms around me.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” The smirk on his face made me cynical of his sincerity.

“Sorry. You know what a John Hughes fan I am. I couldn’t let that one slide.” He laughed. “I’m not taking you to an execution, by the way,” he added, taking in my expression.

“I’d prefer that.” I called out a good-bye to Mom as I left the house reluctantly.

nineteen

Bentley

Mac looked like she wanted to jump from the moving vehicle as she twisted her hands in her lap. It was a little funny at first, but now I was beginning to feel like a dick for asking her to do something she didn’t want to do. After dodging a bullet at dinner the day before, I knew this was the best way to get my family off my back. It was like ripping off a Band-Aid. After meeting Mac, they’d see for themselves that I was crazy about her, and it would save me from having to articulate it.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather go to a movie by ourselves?” she offered as we drove.

“I definitely would,” I said, smiling at her hopeful look. “Just not today.”

Her smile dropped. “Besides, we’re meeting them for lunch first.” I patted her knee as we turned into the parking lot of the Italian restaurant.

“Oh, shit,” she said like I’d told her we were going to the dentist or something.

“Is that okay?”

“Well, yeah. It’s just that I ate breakfast kind of late. I’m going to look like an idiot sitting there while everyone else is eating.”

“Babe,” I laughed, “it’s cool. I won’t order anything either. I’ll say it was my fault, that we just had Starbucks or whatever.”

“I wouldn’t want you to do that. I’ll order a salad.”

“It’ll be fine. They’re loud but harmless. I’ll be right there with you,” I said to reassure her.

“Maybe you won’t find a parking spot.” She looked hopeful as I drove down each row without finding a single space open. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on her side. I spotted an older couple backing out their Towncar.

“Crap,” she grumbled, slumping back in her seat.

“Ready?” I laughed, pulling into the space and turning my car off.

“I’m hoping for a quick death,” she muttered, opening her door.

We were halfway across the parking lot when I noticed that Mac seemed to be putting a great deal of effort into trying not to limp. She held me tightly with one hand while her other hand gripped her cane tight enough to make the knuckles white.

“What are you doing?” I asked, stopping on the sidewalk to face her.

She looked confused. “What do you mean? We’re walking inside.”

“Why are you trying so hard to hide your limp?”

“I am not.” She tried to deny it, but I pointed to her hands.

“Mac, seriously? Look at your knuckles.” In her stubbornness, she refused to look down at the irrefutable evidence.

“Whatever. I was doing it for you. Introducing your girlfriend to your family for the first time is awkward enough without me limping around like Quasimodo.”