Page 7 of Drifting Hearts
She was gone as quickly as she’d appeared, making me wonder if she was part hummingbird for the way she flitted around, zooming in and out of rooms.
“I can manage,” I told him. With my good arm, I turned the wheel, and with my good leg, I dragged the chair forward a couple inches. It wasn’t coordinated, or practical, but given the chance, I could make it work.
“Cut it out.” Kieran said, walking around behind me and pushing my chair through the door, careful not to bash me into anything. I was lucky that the break was below my knee and I was only in a partial cast. It still made everything awkward as hell, but it could’ve been worse.
It could always be worse.
Kieran wheeled me to the table, sitting me to the left of Patricia, who sat at the head of the table. Two women were on the other side. Both were blonde, one looked to be barely out of her teens, while the other had to be well into her fifties. They both offered me soft smiles and introduced themselves. Patricia served me as she served herself,piling my plate with mashed potatoes and gravy, a generous helping of roast beef, and candied carrots. The roast beef was tender enough to fall to pieces with the edge of my fork.
Everyone around me carried on their conversations, not asking anything of me. Not being compelled to participate took some of the pressure off my shoulders and before I knew it, I’d finished my entire plate of food.
“Would you like more?” Patricia was already reaching for the mashed potatoes.
“Oh, no, thank you. That was good, but I can’t eat another bite.” It wasn’t a lie. What I didn’t tell her was that had been the most I’d eaten at one time in months. Maybe she’d known from the look of me that I’d been skipping meals. It wasn’t like there was a lot of me to begin with. I topped the height chart at five-foot-ten and if I stood sideways I could probably hide behind a fence post. I looked like a strong wind would knock me over.
Now that I’d eaten, bone-deep fatigue once again hit me like a brick. I covered my mouth and yawned.
“You should get all tucked up into bed. I’ll save you some cookies.” Patricia looked at Kieran, spurring him into action. I watched him wipe his mouth with his napkin before tossing it down onto the table next to his plate.
Kieran wheeled me into my room and grumpily asked if I needed anything. He barely waited for answer, which of course was no, before leaving the room. I was still getting the hang of doing everything one-handed, but I managed to climb into bed and get comfortable by myself. I tried not to wonder what would have happened to me had Archer’s boyfriend not taken pity on me. I didn’t want to know where I’d be.
Was there anything below rock bottom?
Chapter 4
Kieran
“Three times in oneweek, Kieran.” Mom stood at the counter stirring cookie dough. She kept her back to me, but I didn’t have to see the look on her face to know the expression on her face. The slight smirk of knowing, the glimmer in her eyes from calling it out, and the smoothness of her brows, indicating how unbothered she was by literally anything.
I, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped feeling concerned, bothered, and downright paranoid ever since Shane called me and asked me to help with his latest pet project. For as long as I could remember, Shane was the guy who would bring stray animals home. When a bird flew into the window and stunned itself, Shane was the first one out there with a shoebox and a towel to keep it sheltered and safe until it recovered.
But Mom’s house wasn’t a shoebox and Clayton wasn’t a bird. Though he looked to be about as fragile as one.
“He’s done a therapy session nearly every day that he’s been here. Not that I need to report to you, but Clayton told me I could tell my boys whatever I felt necessary to tell them.”
“You act as though I’m here because Clayton is here. Can’t a guy hit his Mom up for homemade cookies now and then?”
Mom turned and looked at me. “You’re a shameless liar, Kieran. You’re here checking on that boy.”
“He’s hardly a boy, Mother.”
“He’s as old as my kids, therefore he’s a boy. That’s how it works.”
“How are the girls getting on with him here?”
“Don’t you worry about them. Clayton’s been fine. He comes out to do his therapy and he visits with us at meals. Other than that, he stays in his room a lot. I think he’s still having some trouble recovering from what happened.” Mom kept her voice low to relate that last bit of information to me. “He has nightmares sometimes. I think that’s why he’s had so many therapy sessions. And he seems determined to get out of here.”
Clayton had only been there for a week, but he’d already wrapped my mom around his finger. She suffered from the same affliction as Shane. I called it Good Samaritan Syndrome. Neither one of them could walk past a person in need if they thought they could help. It was endearing and admirable, and in cases like this, infuriating.
Clayton wasn’t someone who could be trusted. Telling mom to lock up her valuables was on the tip of my tongue, but for now Clayton was house-bound unless someone else took him somewhere, so the chances of him ripping off my mom were slim to none.
If I wasn’t trusting enough, it was because Shane was too trusting. He wanted to believe the best in everyone. Most of the time it worked in his favor. Everyone loved Shane, even back before he’d won the money and turned into a philanthropist. Shane was the good one. Brodie was the little ball of sunshine. And I was, well… I was me. Not the life of the party. Not the favorite Taggart boy. I could deal with that. I was happy to have it that way if it meant keeping my family safe.
The sound of wheels on the floor got my attention and I turned to see Clayton on a rolling stool, not unlike the kind they had in tattoo shops that artists sat on. Clayton stopped when he saw me and his perfectly pleasant expression dimmed to a respectful resignation.
“Kieran,” Clayton greeted me as he scooted around the room awkwardly using his one good leg to drag himself.
“What are you doing?” I could have tried to be less incredulous, but the tone of my voice had never bothered to ask my permission before and it wasn’t going to start now, no matter how many murderous looks my mother was sending me.
