A Shattered Moment Page 2

  I waited until she took a breath in between sentences. “Mom, I can’t talk about this now, okay? I’ll come home in a couple weeks. I really do need to study for my test.”

  “Maybe your father and I can drive up to take you to dinner.”

  This time it was my turn to sigh. I understood why she pushed so hard. Hell, for a long time after everything that happened, I needed her. I had become afraid of the dark. Closing my eyes meant reliving images that were too painful to remember. Mom spent many nights during my recovery sleeping in my hospital room in a backbreaking chair that converted into a narrow bed. Through it all she never complained. She was my rock. It was only after I left the hospital that I began to resent the constraints of having her around. At that point, everything was dictated for me. Therapy for my leg, follow-up visits with doctors, and weekly appointments with the psychiatrist were all scheduled for me. I had no say in anything. I knew my parents were only trying to help, but I felt smothered.

  “Honey, are you listening?” Mom’s voice broke through my reverie.

  “Yeah, Mom,” I lied. I didn’t have a clue what she had said.

  “Okay, so we’ll pick you up tomorrow evening at five for Olive Garden, and then maybe afterward we can even see a movie. There’s that new romantic comedy with the guy from that Disney show you used to like.”

  “You mean the show I haven’t watched since I was twelve? You do know I’m an adult now, right, Mom?” I pulled the phone away from my ear and silently screamed at it. “Look, my test is really important and—”

  “I know, honey, but you have to eat, and taking two hours to relax while you watch a movie should be allowed. I realize you wanted to live on campus for some space, but it’s still just college, not jail.”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my argument?” I asked dryly. “A little space.”

  I used the cane I had developed a love-hate relationship with, to rise from my bed. I absolutely hated being dependent on it, but I couldn’t deny its necessity. The hard truth was I would probably need it for the rest of my life. The surgeons had done everything in their power to fix my leg. In the end, despite having more hardware than the Bionic Woman, it was still a mess.

  “How’s the leg?” Mom asked like she was hot-wired into my brain.

  “Fine.” We all knew it wasn’t anywhere close to fine, but when she asked, what else was I going to say? At least I could walk. I was lucky in comparison to my friends. I jerked my thoughts back before they could stroll down that agony-filled path again. “Look, Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner.”

  “And a movie,” she persisted before I could hang up.

  “We’ll see,” I said reluctantly. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too, sweets.”

  Glad to have my daily interrogation out of the way, I placed my cell phone into the side pocket of my backpack for easy access. Gone were the days of carrying a purse. The backpack I used was lightweight and completely functional, keeping my hands free—one for my cane, and the other hand ready to catch myself on the rare occasion when my leg would not cooperate while walking on uneven ground. I had learned that painfully embarrassing lesson one time in front of the campus bookstore, falling flat on my ass when a seemingly innocuous crack tripped me up.

  I gathered the rest of my belongings and headed for the library, leaving my newly constructed dorm building that resembled condominiums in size and amenities. My dad had complained when we toured the university during my senior year in high school that the campus was too “new looking.” Of course, he was an alumnus of Florida State University, which, he liked to brag, was steeped in tradition and character. Over the years, we had gone to several FSU football games, and to me, there was a fine line between history and just old. I personally preferred UCF’s modern architecture and facilities over aged vine-covered brick buildings. Of course, I had to keep my opinions to myself when I chose UCF since Dad would have a coronary if he heard me criticizing his old stomping grounds.

  It was a long walk from my dorm to the library, and my leg had a tendency to lag about halfway there. I slowed my pace, hoping today it would give me a break until I could pass the lawn in front of the Student Academic Resource Center, where everyone liked to hang out. As I approached the popular hot spot, I tried to hide my limp as I passed a group of guys playing a game of Frisbee on the lush green lawn.

  I remember the first brochure I opened for the school, before I had even decided to apply. I was immediately enthralled by the pictures of carefree students playing touch football and hanging out studying on heavy quilts lying in this plush expansion of grass. Everyone looked hip and happy. I remember thinking it reminded me of one of the Old Navy commercials on TV. I used to imagine myself in those pictures, spending time with the new friends I was sure to make. That memory was almost laughable now. I had no friends, and wouldn’t even think of trying to play Frisbee. Even something as simple as getting up from a sitting position on the ground required crawling and rocking back and forth as I tried to get my leg to cooperate.

  My only goal, as it was every day, was to get to the library without anyone noticing me. Once I rounded the corner and was out of sight, my steps became nothing more than a shuffle the closer I got to my destination. Sweat beaded on my forehead while a steady stream ran down my back. There was no such thing as mild autumn temperatures in central Florida. Even in October, it was still eighty-five degrees and humid. I had exerted a fair amount of energy crossing the campus. My good leg was beginning to shake from shouldering the brunt of the work, while the handle of my cane became slick from the sweat of my palm. I knew I should stop and wipe it off, but I ignored it. I just needed to get to my safe place.

  That was what the library had become for me. It was a sanctuary, an easy place to hide among the books and computers. Avoiding conversation was easy since talking in the library wasn’t encouraged. Being there made me feel normal—the way I wanted my normal to be—which was why I would trek halfway across campus every day after classes. Jake, my physical therapist, whom I still saw twice a month, was always riding me about pushing myself too hard, but the walk was better than the alternative of spending evenings at my dorm.

  Not that I would ever admit that fact to Mom or Dad. They would press me to move back home again, but that would be the easy way out. All that did was keep me dependent on my parents. It was a struggle living on campus, but I had to keep trying. It didn’t help that no one seemed to respect private space and that every night felt like a giant sleepover. The first couple days of the semester, people barged into my room, looking for Trina, not even bothering to knock. By the end of the first weekend, I grew tired of it and started locking the door, forcing Trina to use her key anytime she entered. She was never quiet with her grumblings, making a point to tell me I was becoming the hermit of our dorm building. Ironically, I discovered the seclusion of the library around the same time that Trina started spending more time away from our room. I should have told her I was rarely there during the day anyway, but that would have required initiating a conversation.

  I stopped just outside the library to let out a pent-up breath—taking a moment to wipe the perspiration from the handle of my cane.

  A cool blast of air welcomed me as I pulled open the heavy door. Giving my eyes a chance to adjust to the dim interior, I glanced around the large room, grimacing at the crowds of people scattered about. Midterms for the first nine weeks were approaching, making my hideout a popular spot during the past week.

  Trying to be discreet, I headed for my normal seat in the far corner of the room. My cane clicked loudly on the floor, echoing through the open space with each step. I kept my head down, trying to make myself invisible, but I could feel everyone’s eyes upon me. Their stares were heavy and smothering. It didn’t help that I was still overexerted from my trek across campus. My breath came out in slight wheezing gasps. I needed to sit. I made the final surge to my secluded seat, stumbling slightly from the floor’s transitio
n from hard tile to carpet. Luckily, my cane helped keep me upright.

  Relieved to be able to rest, I sank into the comfortable leather wing chair that I’d discovered weeks ago. If I had my way, I’d hang a sign from it, declaring this spot as mine alone. I closed my eyes, dropping my head into my hands as I waited for my lungs to start breathing evenly again. Maybe Jake had a point. It was possible my brisk pace to get past the crowded scene at the Student Resource Center wasn’t the smartest thing for me to do. My leg ached badly, and I felt slightly nauseous. I fumbled blindly through my backpack for a water bottle I knew I had packed, jumping at the sound of a male voice over my shoulder.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I answered, keeping my eyes closed while I gripped the arm of the chair. I could feel the presence of the person beside me, invading my personal space. I counted to ten in my head, waiting for him to leave.

  “Do you mind?” My voice dripped like a leaky faucet with sarcasm after stopping at six in frustration.

  “Not at all,” the stranger responded without budging.

  “This seat is taken.”

  He barked out a laugh. “I know. By me.”

  Great. Just what I needed—a smart-ass. Dropping my hands, I glared up at the douche bag who couldn’t take a hint. I was just about ready to tear him a new one until his face came into focus.

  I knew him, or at least, I remembered him. The one time I had gotten a good look at him would be forever branded into my mind.

  • • •

  graduation night 2013

  A male face peered at me through the broken window, shining a small penlight into my eyes. “Do you know where you are?”

  I started to nod my head, forgetting it was pinned against the dashboard. I grimaced from the resulting stab of pain. “Yes,” I answered.

  “Try not to move,” he instructed. “Can you tell me what your name is?”

  “Mackenzie Robinson.”

  “Good, very good. Do you know what day it is?” He swept the light through the rest of the vehicle assessing the damage.

  “Graduation.”

  “Huh?” he responded, returning the light back to me.

  “Today was graduation. May twenty-eighth.”

  His face was difficult to make out in the dim light, but he was definitely younger with a boyish look. I couldn’t help wondering if he was even old enough to be here. No offense to him, but the last thing I wanted was someone who was new to the job.

  He continued to ask me questions while he took my vitals. After assuring me they would have me out soon, he turned to Zach, who was not in my line of vision.

  “Is he dead?” My voice was thick as I braced myself to hear the words I assumed to be true. The EMT didn’t answer, which made it much worse. Tears fell hot and fast from my eyes. I was stuck in a coffin with all of my friends. Why was this happening?

  two

  Mac

  “You sorta stole my seat,” he chuckled, pointing to the backpack I had missed that was resting beside the chair. Judging by the array of papers spread out on the table, he’d been hard at work.

  “Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Heat crept up my neck to my face as I fumbled around to locate my cane, which had slipped to the ground. After finding it, I struggled to get to my feet with my right leg still quivering. I couldn’t tell if he recognized me. The last time he’d seen my face, it was bruised and battered. I wasn’t even sure why I cared, to tell you the truth. I shook my head to clear the sudden cobwebs that had muddled my thoughts.

  He gently pushed me back into the seat. “It’s no biggie. I can move to another chair,” he said, reaching for his backpack.

  “I don’t mind moving,” I mumbled even though my legs were begging me to stay put.

  “Please. I’m serious. You stay. This is my first time trying to study in the library, but I’ve discovered I’m easily distracted.”

  I nodded my head, not sure what the appropriate answer would be. I looked away, hoping that would be the end of our exchange and he would move on. Hearing his voice again was stirring up the demons I worked hard to keep at bay.

  I exhaled gratefully when he began to gather his papers.

  “So, how have you been?” he asked.

  Crap balls. That answered my question. Of course he recognized me. My friends and I had been splashed across the news for weeks after the accident. The media decided to make us the faces of No Texting While Driving campaigns.

  Not that we were the culprits. My friends and I were the victims of a crime that was as illegal as drinking and driving, yet everyone seemed to do it. Everyone except Zach, who refused even to talk on his phone while he was driving. Even after all of us pitched in and bought him a Bluetooth earpiece for his phone, he refused to use it. That was the ironic thing about our accident. I couldn’t help wondering what had been so important that the truck driver felt the need to text while he was driving a big rig. Was he telling his wife he’d be home late, or maybe reminding his kids to finish their homework, or was he texting a buddy about going out? Did he regret that text now? Did he even realize or care about the lives he had shattered into a million pieces? There were so many questions, but no real answers.

  “I, uh—” I tried to answer his question, but the tall bookshelves surrounding us began to close in on me. I was in no shape to flee, but I could feel the all too familiar signs of a panic attack approaching.

  Panic attacks had become my body’s way of dealing with any uncomfortable situation since the accident. They were sneaky bastards, creeping in when I least wanted them to. Like the time Mom and Dad helped me get into a car for the first time after the accident, or when I drove by the scene of an accident six months after I was released from the hospital. I had become an expert at knowing when it was happening. My breathing would become labored, I would sweat profusely, and it was as if there was a voice in my head telling me to run or hide. Consequently, it had been nearly six months since my last attack and I had naïvely convinced myself they were gone for good.

  Trying to get a handle on myself before things got too embarrassing, I moved my eyes past the EMT, finding a focal point on the wall just over his shoulder. Joan, my therapist, had given me tips and advice on how to avoid a full-blown attack before it sank its claws into me. It was all about focusing on something you could control. For me, it worked to count for as long as it took to calm down. I had reached twenty when I could feel the stranglehold of the attack slowly releasing me.

  “You okay?” the EMT asked, stepping directly into my field of vision. It felt like déjà vu. My eyes became fixated by the soft comforting brown of his pupils. My breathing returned to normal as I took in the genuine concern on his face. This was the second time he had calmed me from a near-panicked state.

  “Fine—I’m fine.” I wasn’t sure which of us I was trying to convince. I looked down to find the water bottle I had been searching for sitting in my hand.

  He perched on the corner of the table he’d just cleared off. “Sorry. It’s a hazard of the job. I’m always overstepping boundaries by being too helpful. My mom says I’ve been trying to save things since I was four years old when I tried to reattach a lizard’s tail with superglue. I’d say she was exaggerating, but the picture she snapped of me with the lizard superglued to my finger speaks for itself.” He laughed, flashing a dimpled smile.

  I surprised myself by returning his smile.

  “You have a beautiful smile.”

  My mouth dropped, as did my stomach. He was a liar.

  I didn’t need his pity. I knew my smile was anything but attractive now. The shattered glass from the windshield had made sure of that, leaving a thin scar from the corner of my lip and down my chin. It had whitened a bit over the past year, but was still noticeable.

  “Gee, thanks,” I said sarcastically as I grabbed my bag.

  He sat watching me with fascination, which only added to my aggravation. In my haste to stand up to leave, I forgot about the water bottle, which d
ropped from my hand and rolled away, coming to a rest beneath the table. I blurted out a string of swear words that would have made a biker blush, gaining me several disapproving looks from everyone except the EMT, who only chuckled. Shouldering my bag, I gripped my cane and limped away, leaving my water bottle and the EMT behind.

  My leg complained bitterly as I hobbled toward another seating area on the far side of the room. The chairs were situated near a high-traffic area, making it less desirable, but it would have to do.

  Mr. Persistent followed me, handing over the water bottle I had dropped. “Hey, you didn’t have to leave because of me.”

  I bit back a groan. Seriously, this guy needed to get a clue. “I just need a little peace, so I can study.” My words were rude, and the tone was harsh.

  “Right. Well, like I said, I’m not very good at this whole library studying thing. I’m Bentley, by the way. Bentley James.”

  “Mac,” I returned shortly.

  “So, what are you studying?”

  “Listen, Bentley. It was cool seeing you again. I’m, uh, just not very good around people right now, you know?” I hated being this way, but I wasn’t much of a conversationalist anymore.

  “Oh, hey, I get it. I’ll leave you to it then. It’s time I got back to the old grindstone anyway,” he said, holding up an anatomy book that was easily three times as thick as a regular textbook. Oddly, he still didn’t walk away.

  An awkward silence stretched between us until finally, after a few seconds that felt like an eternity, he spoke up again. “Okay, I guess I better get busy.” He flashed another smile before walking off.

  My eyes followed him now that his back was turned. It was actually the first time I had noticed any of his features below the shoulders. He was taller than me, which wasn’t saying much, but I guessed him to be at least six feet tall. His broad shoulders made him appear even bigger. His face was boyishly cute with warm brown eyes that sparkled like he was keeping a secret he couldn’t wait to share. On the night he rescued me, he had been serious and focused, while today he was laid-back and carefree. Regardless of his mood, he was definitely handsome.