A Shattered Heart (Fractured Lives 2)

Five minutes later my nerves and memories were intact and back where they belonged. I pulled into the parking lot of the Y and looked up at the building, pleased I was able to keep the memories at bay. I took a long sip of my caramel iced latte, stalling for a minute before climbing from the car. Juggling my bag, large box of art supplies I'd brought along, and my iced coffee left me with no free hands but gave me a sense of purpose as I looked at the building. I could do this. I closed my car door with my hip and headed for the front of the building before I could change my mind. I tried to recall the memory of how excited I'd been when I was offered this summer job. After being turned down for almost every other art job I'd applied for, I'd been thrilled to be hired somewhere, even if it did bring me uncomfortably close to my old life.

The box in my arms teetered dangerously when I tried to stop a line of condensation from my latte from dropping into the open bag dangling off my wrist. Lacking a free hand, I was forced to watch the drop as it hovered mockingly over my phone before plopping onto it. A few choice words tumbled through my mind. I'd already lost one phone to a puddle during a typical Florida thunderstorm a month ago. Even the rice trick everyone bragged about couldn't save it from the soaking it had gotten.

By the time I reached the front door of the Y, I was regretting my decision to pack so many supplies. The box was heavy in my arms and sweat was steadily dripping down my back. I was in the process of trying to figure out how I was going to open the front door with my arms full and not spill the drink I was currently annoyed with, when an arm reached past me and pulled the door open.

"Thanks," I said to my rescuer, though I couldn't see him over the large box in my arms.

"Not a problem, Kat," the voice answered with familiarity.

Dread pulled at the strings in my stomach as I lowered the box. This was the biggest problem with working so close to my parents' house. I was bound to run into people I knew. After all, the Y was less than two miles from my childhood home.

The box slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor as I took in the person behind the voice. Mother of crap. It was official. God hated me. "Brian," I gulped as my supplies rolled across the floor in every direction. I debated turning and leaving them.

"Kat," he said almost mockingly as he knelt down on the floor to retrieve a blue marker by his foot. "I see you recovered from your night at Fred's."

I flushed at the memory. "Why were you even there? You're too young to drink. What would D—?" My tirade stopped as I gasped at what I'd almost said. I expected Brian to look crushed at my words. Grief-stricken. I expected his face to be awash with anguish at my almost reminder of Dan. His look was anything but those, though. If anything, he looked amused as he gathered the rest of my supplies.

He confirmed my suspicion by laughing. "I don't think Danny Boy could have said much. I remember him coming home lit that time you guys went to Josh Michael's party for his eighteenth birthday, and he was younger than I am now." His voice was filled with warmth at the memory.

I eyed him with disbelief, trying to process everything at once. His words couldn't be true. Was it possible that he was older than Dan would ever be? I did the quick math in my head and realized he was right. Brian was nineteen now, almost twenty. He turned nineteen the day Dan should have turned twenty. Dan would never turn twenty. He was forever frozen in time at eighteen, just months shy of his nineteenth birthday. His younger brother was now older than him. The thought was a quick, sharp jab to the gut. Time was marching on. God really was a cruel bastard.

"You okay?" Brian asked, startling me out of my thoughts as he reached a hand out to me. I recoiled. His eyes narrowed and he dropped his hand.

I could have apologized. I could have told him that the last person who'd held my hand was his brother. He'd understand. After all, he loved Dan as much as I had.

"You never called me," he chastised, lifting my box effortlessly off the ground. I couldn't help noting the changes in his physique as he stood. He'd filled out in the last two years. He now looked like a football player, not all bulky like defense, but he was solid with plenty of muscle. A pang to the heart. There was a time when he and Dan could have possibly passed as twins. They'd had the same build and height, but maturity and physical activity had taken Brian's looks on a different path. It was too bad I'd always loved the leaner build on Dan. It wasn't like Brian was ugly. I was sure he got his fair share of girls, but it was hard to see past the changes.

I shrugged my bag onto my shoulder and tossed my Starbucks in the trash can, though it was practically full. "I'm not much of a phone talker."

He juggled my box, ignoring my attempt to take it back. "So I've heard," he said, quirking an eyebrow.

I bristled at his words. I hated that everyone talked about me. Assholes. I wished he'd give me my box and go do what he came here to do. My guess was lift weights.

"You're teaching the Fun With Art class, right?" he said, heading down a hallway.

"How do you know that?" I asked as he pushed a door open.

"I'm here a lot," he said, grinning at me and placing my box on a long table against one of the walls.

"You are?" I asked. Of course he was. I knew I should have taken a job closer to campus. Flipping burgers would have been better than this.

He leaned against the table, giving the impression he wasn't in a hurry to leave. "Yeah, I'm coaching a summer football league and pitching in anywhere else they need me."

I nodded. This didn't surprise me. Brian had always been helpful. Where Dan had been the entertainment, Brian could be counted on to lend a helping hand. He and I spent many nights doing the dishes after dinners at their house while Dan sat on the counter, tapping out songs on the tile with spoons. The memory was bittersweet and nearly gutted me.

"Your brother would be proud of you," I said with sadness. The words hurt more than I thought they would. I'd avoided talking about Dan for so long any mention of him brought all the pain crushing back in.

Brian smiled at me gently. "He'd definitely be impressed with my guns," he teased, flexing a muscle.

A gasp escaped through my lips. I'd expected him to recoil at my words like I would have. My eyes narrowed, taking him in. "I wouldn't count on that."

He laughed. "Trust me, these guns are impressive. Danny Boy would probably make me bench press him." His voice was light and filled with warmth. I opened my mouth to cut him down. It felt wrong to be so carefree with his memories. Tossing them out there without any regard to who they would hit was cruel. I tried to stop the filmstrip of memories running through my brain that his words started. The memories were poignant reminders of dares, roughhousing, goofing off, and everything I'd tried to forget.

The chatter of young voices interrupted us, filling the hall as a group of kids swept into the room.

Brian pushed himself away from the table. "I better leave you to your class. It was nice to catch up with you, Kat. I've missed you," he said with sincerity before heading out of the room. I wanted to mull his words over in my head, dissect them before I digested them. I felt shaky, as if I were recovering from the flu. It was the same feeling I got before a roller coaster took its first loop.

I told myself now was not the time as the noise in the room swelled to a deafening level as more kids, who all looked to be in the eleven-to-thirteen age bracket, filled the room. Later I would analyze how whole Brian looked, how normal he'd acted. Two months ago, I'd been ready to tear Mackenzie to pieces for her aura of being completely heale