A Shattered Heart (Fractured Lives 2)

I didn't bother knocking on the door to Zach's suite. I stopped doing that on day two. Instead, I barged in as if I owned the place. He glared at me for a moment before spotting the bags I held in my hands.

"I hope you got mine without onions" was his only form of greeting.

"You can pick them off," I instructed, handing his paper-wrapped burger to him. "Is this all you ever do?" I asked, opening my own burger.

"No, I run sprints in the morning," he answered sarcastically, pulling the two onion rings off his burger. "I'm training for a marathon."

"I don't remember you being so prickly," I observed, taking a hefty bite of my burger.

"I don't remember you ever caring if I was. I guess we've both changed."

"Yeah, I guess so." I took another bite of my burger, waiting for the hurt to clench my heart as it had so many times in the past. But the fist that normally gripped it was absent. "I don't think we'll ever be normal again."

He snorted derisively. "Well, we know I won't," he said, thumping the arm of his wheelchair with one hand. "I'll be strapped to these wheels for the rest of my life."

I set my burger on my lap and grabbed a handful of fries. "I'd be angry too," I told him, shoving the fries into my mouth. It sounded like I was giving him permission, which explained his sudden stiffening.

"I'm not angry."

A ripple of laughter moved up my throat, filling the air between us. "And I'm the Easter Bunny. Of course you're mad. You have every right to be. We all have the right to be mad. You should be screaming your lungs out every chance you get. I would if I could."

"Kat, I'm not mad. I'm disgusted."

I arched my eyebrow, not believing him. It was obvious he was as angry as I was. "Right," I mocked, taking another bite of my burger.

"Don't be a bitch. I'm serious."

"Do tell? What are you disgusted about?" My tone was dripping sarcasm and we both knew it.

"I think the question is, what am I not disgusted about? I'm disgusted I have to rely on the support of my parents to function most days. I'm disgusted I've sat around two years feeling sorry for myself. I'm disgusted I've let time slide by and I'm nothing but a waste of space. Most of all, I'm disgusted you're still grieving like a fucking widow. You're not the only one who lost someone you love."

His words were cruel. The cruelest I'd heard since it all happened. No one talked to me like that. Not even Dr. Carlton. They wouldn't dare. Eggshells had nothing on me.

"You're a bastard," I said, throwing my half-eaten burger back in the bag.

"I didn't say I wasn't. I'm just laying it out there. You act like you're the only one who lost something. It's time you stopped acting so selfish and owned up to it. Dan would kick your ass if he saw what you've become."

My teeth clanked together with a thud. "Don't say his name," I gritted.

"Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan...Dan the Man is gone."

"You're a fucking jerk," I yelled, surging to my feet. My fries flew in every direction, speckling the floor like confetti. I grabbed my bag, intent on leaving before he could say Dan's name again. Before I could move through he surprised me by snagging my wrist. He was quicker than I would have given him credit.

"Dan is dead. Jessica is dead. Tracey is dead," he stated in a monotone voice as if he were giving a weather forecast. However, the last name he said seemed to trip him up.

"You don't think I know that?" I was still yelling. "We're alive and they're not. You, me, and selfish Mackenzie. Don't you wonder if the wrong three

survived?"

"Every fucking day. You think you hold the market on guilt? I was the driver, damn it. It was my job to keep all of us safe." He dropped my wrist and buried his face in his hands. "This is all my fault. It's only right that I pay for it with my legs."

All fight went out of me. I sank down in my chair, not caring about the fries that littered it. "Zach, the accident wasn't your fault. You didn't make that asshole ram into us. You didn't put the cell phone in his hand and make him text while he was driving. None of this is your fault. It's shitty that you lost the use of your legs, because you don't deserve that."

He looked up at me with anguish-filled eyes. "Why can't we get over this?"

"I don't know. I wish I had the answers. I've tried everything. I've run away from it, ignored it, ranted at it, but I can't seem to move past everything. It's like my feet are encased in cement, holding me in place. Maybe that's my punishment. Maybe we're not supposed to move on."

"That's bullshit. We have to be able to move on," he said, reaching for my hand. He gripped it like it was a life preserver buoying him to the surface.