Page 14 of Drifting Hearts
Patricia’s house had that lived-in look that made it feel like home, even if it wasn’t my home. She’d decorated her walls with pictures ofher boys. There were a couple wedding pictures and I’d wanted to ask about her husband, but I wasn’t sure that was a safe subject.
Her house reminded me of my own when I was growing up. The well-loved furniture in almost an identical shade of caramel. The pale yellow walls that matched her sunny demeanor. Her kitchen had kitschy little items that people would call vintage, but they were just hers. The ceramic knick-knacks in the shape of vegetables. It was an easy place to feel comfortable in. That’s probably why I ended up falling asleep, only waking when Patricia nudged my shoulder.
“The phone is for you. It’s your doctor.”
I sat up straighter and tried to blink the fog away. The light in the room had shifted considerably meaning I’d been asleep for some time. I took the phone from her and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Clayton Cross?”
“It is.”
“Mr. Cross, I’m Doctor Bright.”
I sat through his introduction, something I cared little about. All I wanted to know was when I could get the casts off. At the same time, I dreaded the impending news. It felt a lot like doom rolling in off the horizon.
“I’ve received your x-rays from the radiologist. I’m happy to report that your leg has healed nicely. When the cast comes off next week, we’ll get you in a walking boot for a few weeks, just to give it some extra support while you finish healing.”
“And my arm?” I wiggled the fingers on my right hand, eager to have full use of my appendage. I wanted to jerk off. To draw. To create. To do up a pair of fucking jeans.
“—not as expected.” the doctor said, and I realized that I’d forgotten to listen for the answer.
“Can you say that again?” My stomach wobbled and my mouth watered. I was suddenly very concerned with being sick in the middle of Patricia’s living room.
“Your arm isn’t healing as fast as expected. You’ll need to stay in the cast for an additional few weeks.”
“Why isn’t it healing as well?” My chest wanted to cave in on itself and crush my heart. It might as well. I needed my arm. I needed my hand. I needed to be able to do things, to earn a living. To start to pay Shane back for everything he’d done for me. I wanted to prove to Archer that I was truly sorry, and part of that would be by paying Shane back.
“It was a more complicated break than the one in your leg. Your leg was a simple fracture. There was simply less damage to heal. We’ll set up an appointment to get the cast off, and we’ll get you started on physical therapy.”
Everything else he said went in one ear and out the other, but I managed to make an appointment to get the cast on my leg removed. I should be happy about the concept of taking a proper shower. Even if I had to bag my arm, I’d be able to soak in a bath or stand in a shower. There were a million things I should be grateful for, but all I could manage to feel was anger and bitter disappointment. Fear swam up my throat, burning like acid. What if my arm was forever screwed up? What if it never healed right? What was I supposed to do? What if I couldn’t draw anymore?
“Are you all right?” Patricia asked me when I ended the call.
I didn’t know how to answer her. I gave her a weak smile that took all my energy to muster. “I get the cast off my leg next week. Thursday at three.”
“I’ll make sure you get there.” She walked over and squeezed my shoulder. “Are you hungry?”
I shook my head. I should eat, but I didn’t think I could stomach anything at the moment. What were you supposed to eat when your world threatened to crash down around you? Again.
Chapter 8
Kieran
I hadn’t seen Claytonsince last week when I took him for x-rays. It wasn’t that I’d stopped going to Mom’s. He just hadn’t been around. Every time I went there, he was holed up in his room. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, except peeved. Mom was worried about him. Apparently his arm wasn’t healing as fast as they wanted, and he’d be in the cast for a few more weeks yet.
The leg cast, however, was coming off today. Mom volunteered to take him for me, but I’d insisted. That earned me a little side-eye from her, but she didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. I was just helping out Shane. Both Shane and Archer had cooled off in the recent weeks, but there was still a lot of bad blood there where Clayton was concerned.
The youngest Taggart brother, however, found the whole situation entirely amusing.
“It’s almost worth coming home for.” Brodie’s voice filled the room. He’d called just as I was getting out of the shower. I’d put him on speaker phone so I could get dressed.
“What is?” I stepped into a pair of jeans and frowned at the way they bit into my midsection. Clearly I’d be wearing my shirt untucked. Sometimes I envied Brodie. Growing up, he’d sometimes called himself the runt of the litter. But he never had to worry about his weight.
Being overweight all through childhood, right up to college, hadn’t been a walk in the park. For as cruel as other kids could be, adults were just as bad. They might not have called me names, but I had eyes. I saw the way they looked at me with disgust or, pity.
“The Shane versus Kieran show. Both of you are ridiculous.”
