Page 136 of Tiny Fractures

On our way to Zack and Vada’s, we stop first by my house so I can grab a few things. I give my mom another call, even though it’s late, to tell her I’m alright and that I’ll be at the hospital tomorrow. She’s worried about me—I can hear it in her voice—and I have a hard time reassuring her that I’m feeling okay because, quite honestly, I’m not. My whole world has been turned upside down from one minute to the next.

In my room I walk over to my bed, still unmade from last night, and spot the pillow Ronan’s head lay on before he left me not twenty-four hours ago. I grab it as I sit down on the edge of my bed and bury my face in it, inhaling his scent—sun, ocean air, fresh linens, and that special something that belongs only to him. It’s so masculine, so warm, and so, so comforting.

Images from last night reappear in my mind and, finally, uncontrollably, I begin to sob, my cries like wails echoing through the night. Even when someone’s warm arms pull me in toward a warm body, holding me against a strong shoulder, my sobs don’t let up until a good fifteen minutes later. My body shakes and I breathe erratically as hot tears spill from my eyes and down my cheeks where they soak into the soft fabric of the pillow. I’m drowning in sorrow, the emotional pain making my body ache, threatening to rip me apart.

Eventually I’m able to rein it in and finally realize that it’s Steve who has been holding me, letting me cry on his shoulder. His face carries an expression of the pain I’ve been feeling, and I hug him tightly while Zack and Vada look on.

“He’s going to be okay,” Steve whispers, his voice strained.

I nod, even though I don’t know if it’s true. I don’t move, letting Steve hold me while Vada silently gathers a few of my things and stuffs them in a bag.

“Ready?” Zack asks, his voice heavy and thick with the stress of today’s events. He must be exhausted.

Together, the four of us make our way to the car as Steve continues to hold on to me, and I to him. I’m really not sure who’s supporting whom, but I draw on his strength to keep me moving. My mind and my body are heavy, and they only get heavier when I notice us pulling up to Steve’s house.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve says, sounding hesitant as he opens the car door.

“I’ll go with you,” Zack volunteers, and Steve gives him a grateful nod.

“I’m coming, too,” Vada says resolutely, unbuckling her seatbelt. She turns to me and puts her hand gently on mine. “Are you okay waiting here?” she asks, her eyes full of concern.

I contemplate this question. “Yeah,” I say briefly.

She nods and gets out of the car, taking Steve’s hand. Together, the three of them enter the house and I’m left sitting in the car. The silence is smothering, and in the solitude all my thoughts come crashing down on me, threatening to suffocate me as they weigh on my chest. Without thinking, I unbuckle my own seatbelt, open the car door, and move out of the car and toward the house.

The scene that awaits me inside when I stupidly round the corner to the living room is almost too much to bear. I can only imagine the struggle that took place here. There’s broken glass all over the floor among the splintered remnants of the coffee table. Dark-red—almost black—blood is soaked into the rug. It’s dried into the fibers and staining the wooden floor. My eyes find the fractured wood of Ronan’s hockey stick, and I immediately understand that his mom must have beaten him with it. I’m sick to my stomach.

It looks as though a war was fought here, and picturing Ronan lying in his own blood, not breathing, hurts more than I could have imagined. I’m frozen to the spot, taking in the gruesome scene, imagining Ronan all alone, fighting for his life while I was sitting by the beach with our friends, laughing about some stupid rumors.

I flinch when I feel a hand on my shoulder. “You shouldn’t have come in here,” Steve says heavily. I don’t move, too shocked by what has taken place here.

“I had no idea,” I finally say, my voice cracking as my eyes roam the living room floor, the glass and fractured wood, noting a blue latex glove the EMTs must have left behind along with other evidence of them stabilizing Ronan enough to get him to the hospital. “He never said anything.” I choke back the bile that burns hot in my throat. “Why didn’t he ever say anything?” I ask, searching Steve’s eyes for answers.

Steve only shakes his head, his eyes lost, sad, and tired. “I don’t know,” he says wearily, and takes my hand in his. “Let’s go, Cat. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s get some sleep so we can see Ran first thing in the morning.”

I nod and turn around, leaving the scene behind, knowing my life will be forever changed.

***

I barely sleep that night, and I sneak out of Vada’s room and down to the kitchen around 3 a.m. Apparently Steve’s mind is as heavy as mine because I find him sitting on the kitchen counter with his head in his hands. There’s an open bottle of whiskey on the counter next to him, which he must have snuck from Zack and Vada’s dad’s liquor cabinet. Steve is wearing a white shirt and sweatpants. His hair is disheveled, and I’m struck by just how much he looks like his little brother. Steve doesn’t have Ronan’s green eyes or his dark-blond hair, but they have the same nose and strong jawline, and their eyes have the same shape, just like their dad’s. Still, no one will ever come close to the perfection that is Ronan.

Steve looks up when he hears me walk barefoot into the kitchen. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” He gives me a tired smile. His eyes are red, and I wonder if he was crying.

“No,” I say quietly, hoisting myself up on to the kitchen counter next to Steve. He immediately puts his arm around me and pulls me close. He doesn’t share Ronan’s scent, either. Where Ronan smells like a warm, sunny afternoon at the beach, Steve’s scent is reminiscent of a woodsy mountain hike. But the warmth of Steve’s body is comforting.

“How are you doing?” he asks, still holding me.

“I feel like I’m trapped in a bad dream.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “That’s a great description, and I completely agree with you. I mean, one minute he’s good and then I get home and he’s on the floor, struggling to breathe, lying in a pool of blood with my mother standing over him like she’s the devil’s bride.”

I feel him shaking his head in disbelief. “I should have insisted he get up and leave with me in the morning,” he says, and I gently push my shoulder against him, wanting him to stop blaming himself. “He said he needed a couple more hours of sleep….” Steve trails off as a grin tugs at his lips, and he turns his head toward me. “Ran got in really late last night. I take it you two had your very own little birthday celebration?” The grin has now turned into a full-fledged smile.

I blush in the dark. “I guess so.” My cheeks feel hot as I remember last night—Ronan’s hands on my body, how it felt when he was inside me.

Steve observes me for a long moment. “Listen, I think you should know that Ran has never cared for anyone the way he cares about you. I’ve never seen him as happy as I have these past few months. It’s like you’ve made him come alive. And I can guarantee you that if… when Ran comes out of this, it will be because of you. You gave him a reason, Cat.”

I tilt my head to the side, looking Steve in the eyes as the lump in my throat grows. I want to say something, thank him, but instead I begin to cry once more. Steve pulls me tighter toward him, his arms encircling me, his chin resting on my head while he lets me sob.

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