Page 57 of What's Left of Us

I nod. I’ll have to talk to him when I get inside to make sure there’s nothing I can do to help.

As I shift my weight on the ladder to reach over and hold the strand of lights into place with my left hand, a shooting pain sends shockwaves down my whole left side until I’m teetering backward and sucking in a breath.

“Lincoln!” Hannah screams as I fall, the nail gun tumbling in front of the ladder as I drop onto my back behind it.

The impact steals my breath away, making the pain in my bad arm seem dull in comparison.

Groaning, I blink a few times before seeing Hannah hover above me, blocking the sunlight. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Are you okay? Did you break your back? How many fingers am I holding up?”

She shoves five fingers in my face. “Stop,” I groan again, closing my eyes and shoving her hand away. “Give me…a minute.”

I hear the front door open, followed by a frantic, “What happened?”

“He fell!” Hannah tells our mother.

“Should I call nine-one-one?”

I say, “No,” the same time Hannah screams, “Yes.”

Opening my eyes, I take a deep breath before slowly moving my fingers and toes, then my hands and feet, and do a silent examination of my body. I hurt, but nothing feels broken. I count to three and then force myself to slowly sit up, my motherand sister helping me until I’m seated beside them on the pile of leaves Hannah was supposed to clean up days ago.

“I’m fine,” I tell them, rubbing my back and wincing when my bad arm pops. Trying to breathe through the traveling pain, I release it and pat the ground. “The leaves broke my fall.”

Hannah blows out a breath before falling onto her butt in relief. “See, Mom? All those times you and Dad got mad about me not cleaning up the yard just saved Lincoln’s life.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I muse dryly.

She shrugs, taking the credit anyway.

Mom examines me, completely ignoring her daughter. “Are you okay? What happened, honey?”

Moving my head to the right makes the left side crack. It feels good, so I try doing the same on the right side with no luck. If anything, it pulls on all the wrong muscles and adds to the intensifying pain throbbing there. “I moved my bad arm the wrong way and lost my balance. That’s all.”

The two women frown at me.

“The doctor said it’s healed,” I tell them, rolling it and hissing through the bite of pain still lingering there.

They share a look, probably trying to figure out who I’m trying to convince—them or me.

“Stop doing that,” I grumble at their silent communication.

Mom sighs. “Maybe we should take you to the doctor to make sure you didn’t do more damage. We don’t want your recovery to be delayed any more, do we?”

I shake my head, making myself stand and stretch out my sore muscles. It hurts like a bitch, but I don’t want them worrying. “I don’t need to see a doctor.”

Hannah picks up the nail gun where it landed in the bushes. “I’m just glad this thing didn’t go off and shoot one of us. All I can think about is that episode ofCSI: Miamiwhen the nail went through that guy’s eye.” She gags, setting the tool onto theladder carefully and backing away like it’ll pull its own trigger if she moves too quickly. “I think we should call it a day.”

I’ll agree with her there. “I’ll finish this tomorrow.”

Mom walks us toward the front door. “Don’t worry about it. Your father can get one of the neighbors to help him finish.”

“I can do it,” I insist, following her inside. “I just need a break for today. I don’t go into work until tomorrow afternoon, and it’s not like desk work is strenuous. This is good for me.”

I can tell my mother wants to disagree, but she doesn’t. She sits me down on the couch and comes back from the kitchen with an ice pack in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Speaking of Dad,” I say, eyeing my mother as she sits across from me. “I think we need to talk.”

She instantly looks at Hannah, who checks out of the scolding before she gets a lecture. “I’m not having this conversation. I’ll be in my room. Good luck.” As she passes me, she pats my head like a damn dog and adds, “Glad you’re not dead, big brother.”

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