A Shattered Moment (Fractured Lives 1)

“It’s nothing,” I answered. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. I wasn’t entirely sure myself.

“Liar,” she said, pulling the towel off her head and tossing it at me. “Give me the deets. Someone put that sappy grin on your face.” She plopped down on her bed, pulling a brush through her hair.

“It’s just some guy I met at the library.”

“Oh, very good, continue. Is he like geeky on the outside, but peel off the shirt and he’s got the whole come-to-me-momma thing happening?”

“He’s not a geek.”

“Ooooh, I see then. But he is a hottie?”

I gnawed on my fingernail before answering. “He’s cute,” I answered lamely.

“Cute is good. How long have you two been seeing each other?”

“Oh, it’s not that. We’re just friends.”

She chuckled at my words. “Not from where I’m sitting. You should see the look on your face, like you had the world’s best piece

of chocolate or something. That doesn’t look like ‘just friends’ to me.”

As much as I wanted to deny it, she had a point. I was seriously crushing on Bentley. I found my thoughts drifting to him throughout the day more times than I could count. Maybe he thought we were just friends, but I wanted more.

Trina continued to press me for details, but I clammed up. I was too embarrassed to admit that Bentley seemed to want to keep things platonic between us. We stayed up late talking again, but I changed the subject to something other than Bentley. I had an appointment tomorrow morning with Tanya anyway. I was still on the fence whether I wanted to mention Bentley in our session. She was sure to ask questions about him that I might not be ready to answer. Once Trina drifted off to sleep, I tossed and turned as her words played on an endless loop in my head.

The next morning I made sure I had everything I needed for school since I would have just enough time after therapy to make it back to campus for my first class. Whether or not I was a good driver depended on your definition. If you were the type who was good at weaving in and around traffic and getting to your destination quickly, then you definitely wouldn’t want to ride with me. On the other hand, even a more conservative driver might get frustrated riding shotgun with me behind the wheel. Since the accident, I hadn’t been the most comfortable in any vehicle, let alone driving. I basically only drove when I had absolutely no other choice, like in this case, to Tanya’s office, which was on the other side of town. Before I moved from home to the dorms on campus, my commute back and forth to school had been two daily forty-minute torture sessions.

I had a bit of an OCD type of ritualistic checklist I went through each time I got into the car. I fastened my seat belt, checking it three times to make sure it locked, looked in both side mirrors and the rearview mirror, looked over both shoulders, and then looked again, let out three or four deep breaths, and finally, when all that was completed, I was ready to start my trip. Once out on the road, I merged over to the far right lane as soon as possible, and always kept my speed at least five miles below the actual speed limit. If you were expecting to speed up through an intersection to beat a yellow light changing to red, then you better not be behind me because it wasn’t going to happen. I had to endure the occasional honk of a horn, or a road rage poster child flipping me off when they finally got the room to pass me, but at least I made it to my destination in one piece.

Tanya’s office was located in a small building that housed various other medical practices. After a short elevator ride to the third floor, I walked into an empty waiting room. Her door was closed, meaning she was most likely still with another patient. There was a TV hanging on the wall, but it always remained on one of the cable news channels. No, thank you. She didn’t have the most up-to-date magazines either, so I pulled out my iPad to read. It wasn’t long before her door opened and a gangly-looking teenage boy walked out followed by Tanya, who was giving her good-byes.

“Hello, Mac. It’s lovely to see you.” Unlike my mom, Tanya had no qualms about my name preference. Especially since she had insisted from day one that calling her “Dr. Ziwiski” was far too formal for her taste. Not that I knew any other shrinks, but Tanya didn’t seem to fit the typical mold of straitlaced, business-attired, or tacky sweater vest–wearing doctors I had seen on TV. She wore long skirts or sundresses with flowers in her hair, and if she even wore shoes in the office, they were usually flip-flops.

“Hi, Tanya.” I walked toward her, bracing myself for the inevitable hug I knew was coming. I didn’t know if she did it as part of my therapy because she knew I hated hugs, or if she was that way with everyone, but I always got a hug before and after our sessions. The layout of her office was as informal as she was. The two chairs where we sat were separated by a small round coffee table, where she had a pitcher of ice-cold water and a plate of organic oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, which she claimed to have made herself.

I’d been coming to see Tanya for about a year now, and each of our sessions started the same way. She sat in silence, not asking any questions until I started talking first. “So, everything has been going pretty good,” I offered. I knew when she continued to sit without commenting that she was expecting more than general statements. “Classes are fine. No problems there, so—”

“Have you met anyone yet?” Ugh, it was as if she could read my mind. I wanted to deny it, but I sucked at lying. She would know I was full of shit and would keep asking and asking.

“Sort of,” I admitted, fidgeting uncomfortably in my chair.

“A guy?” I nodded my head, feeling like I had been tricked into admitting something I didn’t want to. “Wonderful. Tell me about him.”

“His name is Bentley. We met at school, in the library. Actually . . .” I paused, feeling strange about telling her that he had been the one who helped me during the accident. In her usual fashion, she sat, waiting for me to continue. “He’s an EMT and well, actually, he was the one who saved me during the accident.”

“And you recognized him? Is that how you met?” She surprised me. I guess I had expected something more from her. Some type of objection for my poor judgment. Maybe it was me who had the problem. What a shocker.

“Well, yes, but he approached me first. I think we’re really just friends.”

“New friends are a good thing. Is one of you under the impression that there is more to your relationship than that?” she asked. It was a fair question even though I had no good answer. Things were going okay between Bentley and me, but whether he was interested in more than just a friendship, I wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know. I mean, he’s a great guy. Really cute, but, what I mean is, he might want more, but I’m not sure.” I sounded like a twelve-year-old wondering if I should pass a note to a guy to see if he liked me.

“It sounds like you still have some things to work out.”

“You could say that.”

“Have you shared your feelings with him?”