Page 6 of Broken King

That answer doesn’t satisfy him, unfortunately. “We’re not trying to torture you, Ronan. We’re only doing what he says you need.”

Sick and tired of hearing doctors say I should get out when they can’t understand what I’m going through, I can’t stop myself from barking, “What I fucking need is to be left alone!Why won’t any of you accept that? I don’t want to go anywhere. Just leave me alone!”

Matthias winces like I’ve just slapped him across the face and simply looks down at the floor. “Okay, Ronan.”

He leaves me alone in my misery, but he doesn’t make it far. Ava and Kellen are waiting for him out in the hallway.

“Did he say no to coming down to the pool?” Ava asks, sounding teary.

Matthias says something in a low voice I can’t hear, but I can bet it’s something like he wishes I’d snap out of it. He has no idea what I’m going through here. Snapping out of it isn’t going to happen.

“I don’t know what to say to him to get him to see life is still worth living,” Kellen says in a rare moment of seriousness. “He can’t just stay in that room for the rest of his life.”

“He can stay here as long as he wants,” Matthias says, “but the doctor told me he has to make some effort to at least try to get back to normal.”

The three of them whisper something as I try to remember what normal felt like. It’s all a blur now, the past where I was just like everyone else and had my whole life to look forward to a distant memory. Those days are gone.

“I just wish there was something we could do to make him see he has so much to look forward to,” Ava says.

She’s wrong. There’s nothing to look forward to. There’s only this room where I can hide out and never see the world again.

CHAPTER THREE

Kate

My mother scoopsup my clothes out of my suitcase and starts to walk out of the living room before I can stop her. “Mom! I don’t need you to wash my clothes. I just stopped by on my way to my apartment because I wanted to see you guys.”

Michelle Abbott could never be confused with a mother who doesn’t care. Too often, she cares too much, in my opinion. I’m a twenty-four year old woman who can do her own laundry, but to my mother, I’ll always be her baby.

“It’s no problem, honey. Sit with your sister and I’ll be right back. Don’t go into any detail about your trip before I return from the laundry room, okay?”

My sister Kelly gives me a disapproving look and then laughs. “Must be nice being the baby. I’ve been here for weeks since Jason and I broke up, and never once has she offered to do my clothes.”

She caught her husband cheating on her with the maid who was supposed to come in once a week and clean up after them. Somehow, they fell into bed that day nearly a month ago, andsince then, Kelly has been staying back here at our childhood home while she gets her divorce started. Jason is about to learn the exact meaning of hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, poor fool.

“I don’t want her to clean my clothes, you know. She’s the one who’s into that. I was just going to go home and throw everything into the wash, colors and whites all together.”

My sister’s eyes get wide, and then she throws her head back in laughter. “Don’t tell Mom that, or she’ll stroke out right here in front of us. Colors and whites in the same load? Oh, heavens no!”

I look around for any sign of my mother and lean in toward my sister to whisper, “I do that all the time. It’s never turned anything pink or any other color.”

Kelly smiles. “Me too.”

“We better not let her find out, or she’ll think she was a failure as a mother,” I joke.

“Seriously. But forget the laundry. Tell me all about Europe. Did you and Jessie have a good time? I want to hear everything. I’m living vicariously through you, so don’t leave out the tiniest detail.”

“It was incredible! We had so much fun. My favorite part was France. Oh, you should have seen us. We saw the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. We ate at this adorable outdoor café, and these two gorgeous guys came up to us and sat down at our table. Thank God I remembered some French from high school, or we wouldn’t have been able to talk to one another at all. People say the French don’t like Americans, but that’s not true. All they wanted to talk about was American sports, especially baseball and basketball. I let Jessie handle that part of the conversation, but since she doesn’t know much French, things got rocky fast.”

As I finish, my sister’s expression grows dark. “Speaking of baseball, did you hear about what happened with Ronan King?”

Why she uses his last name I don’t understand since I’ve only known a single Ronan in my entire life. “What? We talked once a week the whole time I was gone. If something happened, why didn’t you tell me?”

With sadness in her eyes, she explains, “I didn’t want to ruin your trip. You waited two years for Jessie to be able to go.”

Scared about what I’m going to hear but needing to know, I ask, “What happened to him?”

Kelly grimaces, and quietly says, “He was in a car accident on New Year’s Eve. Seems some drunk lost control of his car and hit his. The car rolled a bunch of times, and he was trapped, pinned between the steering wheel and the seat until the ambulance got there. The drunk walked away from the mess he caused, but Ronan wasn’t so lucky. Both his legs were broken, but even worse, he lost his right hand.”

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