A Shattered Heart (Fractured Lives 2)

the driveway. I was a fool. I didn't have the foggiest idea why I was here. Our last encounter had been an epic fail. Leaving now before my knuckles could rap against the door would be justified. I could escape this porch that was a blast of raw heat from my past. Everything about this porch was exactly like I'd remembered it except for one addition. One glaring addition. An addition that signified so much of what had happened.

The ramp.

Before I could change my mind, I rapped hard on the door, giving the occupants inside no option to not hear me. I waited less than ten seconds before pounding on the door again. Months of avoiding everyone and I was suddenly impatient.

My fist was poised to knock a third time when the door swung open. A bright smile and shiny eyes greeted me.

"Kat." Before her greeting could permeate the air between us, I was wrapped tightly in arms that smelled of spices and chocolate. The greeting was gooey and sweet like a warm cookie coming right out of the oven. The flour that dusted a small portion of the cheek just above the smile made the assessment accurate. If asked to choose one food to sum up Zach's mom, I'd pick warm apple pie. Her love for her kitchen and baking dated back as long as I could remember. Growing up it was common knowledge that her love for both made her a favorite with all of us. Baked goods translated to happy bellies.

Standing wrapped in arms that had hugged me hundreds of times filled me with oceans of nostalgia. Until this very moment I didn't realize how much I missed her, or more accurately, this part of my old life. "Hi, Mrs. G," I greeted her.

"Kat," she said again, giving me another tight squeeze before releasing me. "It's good to see you," she added, holding me at arm's length. Her eyes were gentle.

I opened my mouth to repeat the sentiment to her but ended up gaping at her. Understanding filled her eyes. We both knew I'd be lying.

"Come in." She stepped to the side, holding the door open.

I walked by her, breathing in the familiar smell with appreciation. The inside of the house smelled exactly as I remembered. I realized after stepping inside that was the only thing the same about the place. The whole interior of the house had been gutted and reconfigured. Instead of the small office and dining room that used to greet guests, the walls had been removed to open the spaces up to the family room and kitchen, creating a large open concept. No more narrow doorways or carpeting. The floors were now one grade, ideal for a wheelchair.

Taking in the large bright space my heart filled with something that made me want to weep. Zach's parents had done this for him. They'd changed their lives around to accommodate his disability.

"Can I get you some lemonade, Kat?" Mrs. G asked, wiping her hands on the half apron tied around her waist.

"Fresh lemonade?" I teased her, surprising myself. The words should have been a ninja death blow. Everything about this moment should have been a Satan kick in the ass, but it wasn't.

She winked at me. "Is there any other kind? I picked the lemons just this morning. You can go on back to see Zach. He's in his suite," she said, shooing me toward the hallway on the right of the large room. "I'll bring you both some lemonade and cookies."

My eyebrows raised at her words. Suite? "Sounds good, Mrs. G," I said, heading down the hallway that had been widened and shortened. This side of the building used to house three bedrooms and a bathroom. Two on each side of the hallway. Now there was only one door in the shallow hallway.

I expected to be saturated in memories as I stepped into the hall, but the lack of familiarity in the house seemed to be holding them at bay. For the second time in a five-minute span I knocked on a door.

I twisted the knob, stepping in without waiting for an answer. The space was every bit as big as the room I'd just left. Walls had been removed, leaving behind one large open space with no separation. It took me only a moment to sweep my eyes around the room, categorizing each area that had been laid out carefully. It was as airy and open as a loft, perfect for someone with limited mobility.

"What are you doing?" the only occupant of the room asked, looking up from the video game he was playing on a TV screen that was almost as large as my car. Zach's tone was rough and nowhere close to welcoming. In all the years I'd known him he'd never sounded like that. He was different. This room was different. I breathed in deeply, welcoming his anger and all the changes. Finally, a moment that wasn't saturated in memories.

I shrugged to answer his question, setting my purse on a low table. I dropped into the leather recliner next to him.

His eyes bore into mine for a moment. I could feel aggravation rolling off him in tsunami-sized waves. I returned his look unflinchingly, wondering if he'd try to throw me out. After a moment of attempting to cut me down with his stare, he returned to his game with a grunt of annoyance.

A small smile tugged at my lips but I held it back, settling more comfortably in my chair. I turned my own eyes to the screen in front of me, watching his character decapitate a zombie. Blood squirted out in all directions. It was grotesque but morbidly entertaining.

Neither of us talked as Zach's guy on the screen plowed through countless zombies. The minutes ticked by one after another. A half an hour turned into an hour, which turned into two hours. Eventually, Zach handed me the second controller and I tried my own hand at zombie killing. It took me less than a minute to realize killing zombies was oddly satisfying. I got to kick someone's ass without fear of consequence or recourse. I could definitely get used to this.

As promised, Mrs. G came in not long after I started playing, bringing us tall glasses of ice-cold lemonade and cookies. If she thought our silence was unusual she didn't comment on it. Her only response was a wink in my direction right before she left the room. I gave her a small smile of gratitude, picking up one of the fresh-from-the-oven cookies.

After two hours of chopping off zombie limbs, I reluctantly set my controller to the side. Surprisingly, I was sad to leave. I'd enjoyed kicking ass, but I needed to hurry if I didn't want to be late for work. Standing up, I gathered our empty dishes and grabbed my purse, still without speaking.

"Why did you come here?" Zach asked as my hand closed around the doorknob.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, pulling the door open.

"Will you be back?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation, closing the door behind me as I stepped into the hall.

The next day I showed up and shot zombies for another two hours. If Zach was surprised I'd come back, he didn't comment. By the third day we were up to exchanging one-word dialogue pieces. It was like we'd set some kind of truce with the zombies acting as our moderators.

By Friday of the following week his grunt for a greeting made me smirk. I showed up that day with a bag of burgers and greasy fries from a place near my house. It was a hole in-the-wall place but the burgers tasted like they had been crafted by angels and sent directly down from heaven.