Page 7 of Edge of Unbroken

“Here I am,” I mutter, not really sure what it is I’m here for. My only desire is to get back upstairs, into my dark room, and crawl back under my covers. “You do know that I’m of no use to you, right?” I say to my grandfather, an edge to my voice, even though he doesn’t deserve an attitude from me.

My grandparents are some of the kindest, most loving people I know, and they’ve put up with my shit since the moment I got here. And hearing my grandmother talk to Doctor Seivert and my dad last night was a reminder that there is someone out there who does have my back.

“You’re going to be of as much use as you believe yourself to be,” my grandfather says simply, tapping his right index finger against his temple. “I think you could really help out your grandmother and aunt. Erin is working on a new guest portal or some thingamajig for the website. You’re young and tech-savvy; I’m sure you could be of help to her. We also have some guests arriving tomorrow that we need to prepare for. And this afternoon, I’ll need your help branding some of the new bulls.”

“I can’t help you brand the bulls, Athair,” I tell him, my voice low, tired. “I can barely get around.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he says encouragingly.

I don’t argue back. I don’t have the energy. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

He squeezes my shoulder. “But first I need your help with the truck. I tried to start it yesterday, but I had no power coming in, nothing. I jumped it and it was fine, but then it was dead again in the evening.”

I look up at him, unconvinced. “Youneedmyhelp with the truck?” My grandfather and dad taught me everything I know about cars; if there is one person who can fix the truck, it’s my grandfather.

“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly, his face stern. “I have a few things to take care of with Thomas this morning, but be ready to work on the truck after lunch.” He kisses my grandmother and walks to the mudroom where he puts on his boots, jacket, and hat before finally heading out of the house.

“For now, just eat a little something,” my grandmother says. She sets a plate with eggs and toast down on the kitchen counter.

I make a face. “I’m not really hungry.”

I haven’t had an appetite for months now, and it shows. I’ve lost way too much weight and muscle mass. My clothes feel loose on my body and I get tired easily, although that’s probably connected to my mental state, which is, admittedly, less than stellar. I know that my being here in Montana is supposed to help me heal from my physical and emotional injuries, but honestly, I feel like I’m on a rapidly accelerating downward spiral. Right now I don’t feel like things are getting better, and every day it gets harder for me to force myself out of bed, to make myself do anything. It feels like I’m stuck in quicksand with legs made of cement. I’m suffocating.

But I guess the fact that I’m standing here right now rather than lying in bed is a step in the right direction.

“I’ll be happy with anything you’re able to get down. Just try.” She leads the way into the adjacent dining room where she puts my plate on the table and pulls the chair out for me. “I will spoon-feed you if I have to, Ronan Perry Soult. Please, just eat!”

So I do what I’m told, just like I always have, and force myself to eat some of the eggs, even though they taste of sawdust. Everything tastes like that right now, even my favorite foods. It’s like the world has lost all taste, all color, all sound.

***

I spend a good chunk of the morning helping my grandmother with basic chores, like folding laundry, which obviously doesn’t require me to move around a ton, but I still get tired quickly. God, tired isn’t even the right word. It’s a bone-deep exhaustion, and it’s constant. I’m too damn tired to even engage in conversation, and I frequently feel my grandmother’s eyes on me, hear her sigh heavily as she observes me. But she doesn’t give in to my requests to let me go back up to my room. I know she’s worried about me, and I’m trying—fuck, I really am—to pull myself up by my bootstraps, but I can’t seem to find it within myself right now. I’m just so fucking tired. Of everything.

Just after eleven my grandmother relents and allows me to head back upstairs, where I fall asleep—still fully dressed—as soon as my head hits my pillow. I sleep until my grandfather rouses me a couple of hours later.

“You slept through lunch, Ran,” he tells me as I blink my eyes open. “Let’s get some food into your stomach and then I need you to come take a look at that truck.” He turns around and leaves my room before I have a chance to object. I contemplate ignoring his request and giving in to my desire to let my eyes fall shut, to let sleep drag me under and into darkness, but my mom’s conditioning is still very much ingrained in me. Obedience and respect have been beaten into me for years. I don’t think my anxious mind would let me rest if I defied my grandfather’s wishes.

I sit up with labored movements, then slowly get out of bed, feeling even more drained than I did before I went to sleep. I’ve never felt like this before—like just breathing zaps all the energy from my body. It takes me a few minutes to make my way back down the stairs, moving more cautiously after I decide to take off my knee brace and see how things feel. It’s been hit or miss, though right at this moment my knee feels pretty stable as I make my way down in measured steps, my eyes on my feet while I hold on to the railing.

“Do you want me to warm up a plate of Irish stew for you?” my grandmother asks when she sees me approach, my limp still prominent.

I shake my head at her. Eating feels like a chore. I know it’s a problem, but much like everything else, I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with it right now. It requires enough effort for me to get out of bed, let alone eat. “No thanks, Morai. Is Athair already outside?” I ask, noting how damn tired my voice sounds.

She nods. “He is. Be careful, baby boy, the porch is a little slippery.”

I make my way to the mudroom, pull on my jacket and boots, then walk out of the house.

Holy shit, it’s bright out here. I haven’t stepped even a single foot outdoors since I got here over a month ago, and I shield my eyes, squinting while I allow them to adjust to the late-autumn sunlight. Was the sun always this bright?

I take a deep breath in through my nostrils, the crisp, clean air making its way into my chest, expanding my rib cage, my lungs. It’s surprisingly invigorating. I stand for a moment, taking deep breaths in through my nose, exhaling through my mouth, feeling the rays of sun on my face before I open my eyes and orient myself.

I spot my grandfather by his truck parked in front of the sizeable barn and make my way over to him.

“So, what exactly is wrong with it again?” I ask him when I join him at the front of his truck. The hood is already propped open.

“Well, the battery doesn’t hold a charge, and there are some electrical glitches here and there,” he says with a steady cadence, not looking up at me.

“Do you have any voltage running to the block?”

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