A Shattered Moment (Fractured Lives 1)

Climbing from the ambulance, Steve and I both wrinkled our noses from the smell of dog shit. As we unloaded the gurney from the back of our rig, three officers escorted a man with a pockmarked face and wearing a wife-beater tank from the house. He was three sheets to the wind and even in handcuffs wasn’t making their job any easier as he fought against them, yelling slurred obscenities and spitting at anyone in his direction.

“You have no fucking right to pull me from my house. A man has a right to treat his bitch any way he sees fit!” He hollered at everyone, trying to head-butt the officer who was shoving him into the backseat of the cruiser. “I’m going to fucking shit in the back of your car and smear it all over you,” he called out as the officer slammed the door in his face.

“Go ahead, asshole. I’ll just hose it off.” The officer shot Steve and me a grim look as we wheeled the stretcher down the sidewalk. “It’s not pretty in there,” he warned us.

His words couldn’t have been more of an understatement. Stepping into the house, Steve and I both swore at the sight in front of us. There wasn’t anything that didn’t look like it hadn’t been thrown and broken. Glass shards and broken pieces of wood covered every square inch of the floor. Furniture was overturned and tossed around. There were even a couple of chairs protruding from the walls of the small house like the dude had tried t

o bust through them or something.

Ignoring the mess, Steve and I approached the area where a couple of officers were standing. It was obvious by the looks on their faces that we were too late. Despite that fact, we still had to check to make sure. It was all part of the job. The worst part, which shriveled up a small section of my soul every time we had to do it.

The coroner had arrived as Steve and I were loading the empty stretcher back into the ambulance. Neighbors stood on their front lawns pointing and gossiping as news station vans cluttered the scene, setting up to report the incident. We slowly pulled away from the broken-down house, feeling grim. No matter how many times you face the no-win scenario, it never gets any easier. So much for feeling like a superhero.

six

Mac

I walked into the library on Monday and spotted Bentley perched on the chair next to where I normally sat. Admittedly, I was surprised to see him again, despite the interest he’d shown in me last Thursday, which I’d basically chalked up to idle chitchat because he had recognized me. I debated turning around and finding a new place on campus to hide out, but frankly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to give up the library. After my minor triumph over the steps at the theater on Friday, I’d reached a new level of resolve, promising myself that I would make more of an effort to step out of my comfort zone. Of course, the euphoric high had since worn off, and facing Bentley now had me second-guessing my newly established determination.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the door. It was mere steps away. I could escape unnoticed—no harm, no foul. My body turned halfway around when the stubborn inner voice that had challenged me at the theater reemerged. Is this really how I want to continue existing in my life? Some guy talks to me and I run away with my tail between my legs and never come back?

My mind seemed to make the decision for me because I found myself heading toward my chair without giving it another thought. I kept my eyes locked on my destination so the chair was the only thing I could see. My hope was that I could sit down without Bentley noticing. Of course, that was assuming he would even care. He really could be here to study, and all of this nonsense in my head was for nothing.

Making it to my seat, I made an effort to look busy by pulling out my iPad and a notebook from my backpack.

“Hey, Mac,” Bentley said over my shoulder.

I looked up to meet his warm brown eyes, which were as inviting as the smile on his face. Despite my qualms over him invading my space, I nodded and returned my version of a smile. It felt brittle and forced, but it was there nonetheless. I didn’t speak, though. I could get used to him being here, and could even tolerate an occasional smile, but I didn’t want to encourage more conversation if I could help it. He continued studying me intently like he was deep in thought. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was trying to read my mind. That or he was expecting me to say something. If that was the case, he would be in for a long wait. Although part of me was curious as to what he saw looking at me. There had to be some reason for his apparent fascination. It felt different than the normal stares of pity I received. Finally, he looked back to his laptop, breaking our momentary connection. I was free to look away as well, but my eyes remained on him for a few seconds longer before dropping blindly to my iPad. I felt as shaky as I had after I climbed all twenty-nine steps at the movie theater.

The afternoon bled into early evening without another word being said between us. The seats around us emptied and refilled the entire time, and every so often Bentley would engage in conversation with whoever sat next to us, but never made an effort to include me. I pretended to be hard at work, but found myself unable to truly focus while he talked. His voice wasn’t as painful to hear as it had been on Thursday when the initial shock of seeing him stirred up the demons I wasn’t prepared to face. This time he was intriguing and easy to listen to. He had a bit of a Southern drawl, typical for Florida good old boys. Sometimes the accent became more prevalent, depending on how animated he got. He was easygoing and had a wicked sense of humor, which every so often made my lips quirk before I could stop them.

Eventually the chairs emptied for good, leaving the two of us alone, and I found myself missing the sound of his voice. I could have looked up, even asked a question that would have started a conversation, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Mackenzie may have never had problems talking with people she just met, but I wasn’t that girl anymore.

As usual, at seven on the nose, I loaded up my stuff and used my cane to get to my feet. Bentley also stood, like it was the signal he’d been waiting for. My pulse quickened as he followed me out of the library without saying a word. The tentative camaraderie I’d felt earlier turned into creepiness, putting me on edge. I gripped my cane tightly, feeling apprehensive as I pushed through the door and stepped outside. Feeling his hand reach for my elbow, I nearly lost my balance as I whirled around with my cane up, ready to crack him in the head.

He looked unfazed, smiling as warmly as he had earlier. “Night, Mac,” he said before turning and walking off in the opposite direction of my dorm before I could fully process what had just transpired.

An unexpected giggle bubbled up my throat. Not only do I not talk to him when he says anything, but now he’s Jack the Ripper because he leaves when I do? It wasn’t exactly the step forward my therapist Tanya was looking for. Not that I would tell her. That bit of paranoia would be better kept to myself. She’d want to put me on anti-anxiety meds again. That was some powerful shit that got me through for a while, but they doped me up too much. I couldn’t handle the loss of control.

Bentley was long gone by the time I turned toward the direction of the dorms, but thoughts of him clouded my walk the entire time. Judging by the conversations I’d shamelessly eavesdropped on throughout the afternoon, it was pretty clear he was a likable guy. He had the same quick-witted humor that Dan has—had. It was had now. Dan would have liked him. For that matter, my whole crew would have liked him.

I picked up my pace as much as my leg would allow, finding my dorm building buzzing with activity like always, although it didn’t feel as jarring as other days. Keeping my eyes on the tile floor in front of me, I made my way past the worst part of our building—the common area. The acoustics of the closed-in space only accentuated the laughter and boisterous activity. No one spoke to me as I made my way toward the hallway that led to my room.

I’d been given a ground floor room for obvious reasons. The only problem was I had to walk through the common living space to get there, which psychologically had become my own long walk of shame. In the beginning, I was worried someone would try to talk to me. Now I wondered what they said about me once I was out of earshot.

Just a few more steps once I reached my hallway and I would be home free and able to recoup from my overload of interaction. Pushing my door open, I was surprised to find Trina inside our room. I stood awkwardly in the doorway. It had been a few weeks since I’d last seen her, and the tension between us rippled in the air like heat on a summer day.

“Oh, hey.”

She looked at me incredulously, surprised that I had spoken to her. I felt bad. It wasn’t like Trina was a hard person to live with. It was me who was the issue. Unfortunately, the right words to tell her where I was coming from failed to surface. My silence led to our initial discomfort then moved to near hostility the more distant I became.

“Hey,” she finally answered, zipping up the duffel bag she had stuffed with clothes. I moved to the side as she headed toward the door. The words to tell her she didn’t need to keep sleeping somewhere else were on the tip of my tongue, refusing to cooperate. I stood by as she swept past me with one last look of uncertainty. The door closed softly behind her, leaving me standing in the center of my room alone.

Ordinarily I thrived on solitude. The privacy and the lack of staring from others gave me the only opportunity I had to feel free to be me. Tonight the silence felt heavy. I would fill the void the way I always did with either music

or a show on my iPad, but tonight that seemed like a poor substitution for human interaction. It was as if listening to Bentley all afternoon had opened a small window into my soul. The interaction may not have been directed at me, but it felt nice to listen to conversations that had nothing to do with the accident. I realized I wanted more of that. If I was honest with myself, what I really wanted was more Bentley.

Shrugging it off, I changed into my robe and grabbed my caddy before heading to the showers. Communal showers in the dorm weren’t the ideal situation for me, but I had no other choice. I tried to go at obscure times when they would be less crowded, but there always seemed to be at least one or two people there. I did what I had to do and got out of there as quickly as possible.