Shattered

by Ava Conway

  “I will.”

  But you’re a clinical psychologist. As if that would be the answer to all her problems. As we said our good-byes, I thought of Flynn and his large family. His head injuries might have pushed him toward mental illness, but I suspected that his stealing had ultimately caused him to end up at Newton Heights. He wouldn’t have turned to stealing if he didn’t feel so responsible for his siblings. In a way, his family was responsible for him ending up in a place like that.

  I wasn’t sure about this, of course, but one more peek at his file tomorrow morning would probably confirm it.

  Surely cutting off all ties with his family would help him bury the pain and function as a contributing member of society once more. Relationships only held you back from your true potential.

  Just look at me. I hadn’t talked to my sister in weeks. I was pretty sure that, if pressed, my mother wouldn’t be able to tell anyone how I was doing in school, or how many more years I had to go before I got my degree.

  I had distanced myself from my family and focused on my work, and I was better for it. Flynn would be better for it, too. Someone just had to show him how to block out his past and move on with his life.

  I smiled as I clicked off the television and sat down in front of the boxes I still had left to sort through. The more I thought about it, the more my idea made sense. If, like me, Flynn could bury the pain his father and siblings brought upon him, then he could reenter society. He might not be able to fight again, but he could do something else, something he was passionate about. He just needed to discover a new passion.

  And I was just the one who could help him do it.

  I HAD AVOIDED Flynn throughout the morning, mostly because I didn’t know how to deal with him. Things had ended rather awkwardly yesterday with our almost-kiss, and I wanted to let him know that there were no hard feelings. I also wanted him to know that he could make himself better. All he had to do was follow my lead.

  People didn’t take kindly to advice, though, especially when it was wasn’t asked for.

  Excited about my new revelation, I arrived at work early, hurried to my office, and closed my door. It took only a few moments to toss my things on the floor and boot up my computer. Skipping the email, I headed straight to the hospital database and medication spreadsheet, eager to confirm what I suspected.

  After clicking on Flynn’s patient identification number, I scrolled through the different categories and list of dates, clicking on this date and that subject heading until I finally found what I was looking for.

  Dr. Polanski’s initial diagnosis and treatment plan.

  “Violent tendencies,” I murmured as I scanned her notes. “Anger issues.” Brain injury from a career-ending fight, minor seizures . . . but nothing about kleptomania. Nothing at all.

  If there was nothing in the initial entry about Flynn’s kleptomania, then that wasn’t why he was admitted to the hospital. There had to be another reason.

  Frowning, I clicked on a reference link at the bottom of the entry. A new web page opened up, citing an old newspaper article dated at about the time I was ending high school and preparing for college.

  Boxing protégé self-destructs after career-ending fight.

  Underneath the title of the article was a picture of Flynn. Blood was all over his face, arms and torso. He was being led away by two police officers.

  “My God.” I read the article, learning how, after his career-ending injury, his sponsors abandoned him and left him penniless. He started drinking and picking fights with his neighbors, family and friends. One night, he had taken things too far. After a particularly nasty argument with his younger sister’s boyfriend, he had beaten the man on the front stoop and in full view of all his neighbors. His family had tried to get him to stop, but he was too strong, too volatile. He continued raining punches on the young man’s head until the local police showed up and dragged him away. The young man survived, but his face would need major reconstructive surgery. Flynn showed no remorse for his actions.

  “The asshole deserved it,” he was quoted as saying. “I’m only sorry that I didn’t get a chance to kill him before the cops showed up.”

  Later, his father had told a local reporter that he was too emotional and impulsive—just like his mother. It was a damn shame that those two were slaves to their emotional impulses. They needed to learn more self-control. They needed to be more like him.

  I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my hand over my face as Flynn’s words ran through my head. Here I thought he had been admitted for taking some milk and eggs from a local convenience store. Instead, Flynn was admitted to Newton Heights for unremorsefully beating a man within an inch of his life.

  I shut down the computer, unable to read any more. My entire image of Flynn had been turned upside down, and I wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this new information. It was inevitable that we were going to see each other at some point, and I needed to rationalize the dangerous man with the one who had almost kissed me the day before.

  I tried to puzzle out Flynn McKenna all morning, and was still trying to come up with some sort of game plan when group therapy ended two hours later.

  “You seem really quiet today,” Flynn said as I put my notebook away.

  “Yeah,” I said, looking up into his pensive stare. “Look, about yesterday—”

  “Yesterday was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but didn’t press. I had more important things on my mind.

  “I didn’t know that anger management was your thing,” he said as he watched me stuff my notebook in my briefcase.

  “Not sure what you mean by ‘my thing,’ but I am fascinated by it.” I stood and pushed my glasses up on my nose. “I’m always fascinated with people who have difficulty controlling their temper. Take your father, for instance—”

  Flynn’s grin dissolved into a frown. “My father was a drunk.”

  I thought about the news article and how sober his father had sounded. Flynn, by contrast, had come across as a raving lunatic.

  “Yeah, you mentioned your father’s drinking, but—”

  “He drank because his oldest son was an idiot.”

  “Your father had his own issues, I’m sure.”

  “He drank because I couldn’t fight anymore.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? I stopped fighting, so the money stopped coming in.”

  “But you said that he started drinking before that.”

  “And he did, but it got a hell of a lot worse after I lost that fight.” His eyes turned hard and unyielding. “Before, he just beat on me. After I lost that fight, he turned his violence toward the rest of the family.”

  I thought about Flynn’s self-deprecation and the information I had read in that article that morning. “Did he become violent, or did you?”

  Flynn stared at me, his eyes hard and his features schooled into an expressionless mask. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you hit that man.” I cleared my throat and forced myself to hold his gaze. “Your sister’s boyfriend.” I tightened my grip on my notebook. “I read how you beat him so badly that he ended up in the emergency room.”

  “They had to redesign his face.” Flynn pressed his lips together for a moment in thought. “Asshole was lucky. He deserved a lot worse.”

  “No one deserves to get beaten, Flynn.”

  Flynn narrowed his eyes and straightened. “You think I’m a brainless thug.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He took a step back. “You think you have everything all figured out, don’t you?” He made a fist and knocked on his temple. “I’m just a violent thug who got punched too many times in the head.”

  “Part of the reason why I’m here is to evaluate—”

  “So you evaluated me, is that it? ‘Flynn McKenna is a drunken bastard, just like his old man.’ ”

  “No, of co
urse not.” I took a step forward, trying to bridge this divide growing between us. I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted answers.

  Flynn fisted his hands. “If you know everything about me, then you know how my father used to come home drunk and look for me. If I couldn’t be found, he’d beat my siblings. And if they weren’t around, well, my mother had always taken the brunt of his anger.”

  “Ye—what?” I didn’t remember seeing any of that in the database.

  Flynn flexed his fingers. “I was an undefeated boxer, and I couldn’t dodge a drunk old man’s punches.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t protect my mother, or my siblings. I really was a featherweight in every sense of the word.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “Someone who was cowardly wouldn’t have stood in a boxing ring.”

  “That was different.” He cracked his knuckles and rubbed his thumb over his chest. “I suppose the file also told you that my siblings started staying over at friends’ houses to avoid him, and I was left alone to protect my mother.”

  “Flynn—”

  “Or how my sister’s boyfriend told her that if she wanted to continue staying in his home, she had to put out.”

  “Jesus.”

  “And how she felt that letting her boyfriend use her body was a better alternative than letting her father use her face as a punching bag.”

  “God, Flynn, I’m so sorry.”

  “My file probably didn’t say how, when she could no longer hide that she was pregnant, he cast her out of his home and told her never to come back.” He adjusted his bandanna with a shaking hand. “That bastard got lucky, Mia. If I had my way that night, he wouldn’t be alive today to mess up other people’s lives.”

  I stood there in silence, not sure what to say. Words seemed cheap in light of so much pain.

  Flynn turned away and strode over to a nearby window. When I caught up to him, he crossed his arms, stared out at the quad below, and steeled his jaw. His eyes appeared unfocused.

  We stood there in the uncomfortable silence. I wasn’t sure what to say, what to believe. It was as if his case file painted him as one man, but the real Flynn was someone else entirely.

  “You can’t learn everything about a person from a file,” he said as he nodded at my notebook. “Or by taking notes.”

  I clutched my notebook closer to my chest. “Want to hear my assessment?”

  He shrugged and kept his gaze fixed on the quad below.

  I took a deep breath and dove into what I had puzzled out last night, feeling that he needed to hear it. “I think that your family is the major source of your problems. You care too much for your siblings, and obviously have some strong issues to work through regarding your father.”

  “No shit.”

  I cleared my throat. “It’s my professional opinion that you need to remove yourself from your family—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.”

  He turned away from the window and stared at me. “What?”

  I lifted my chin, confident now that I had his full attention. “Only by jettisoning your past will you be able to move forward and build a future.”

  He widened his eyes. “You want me to cut ties with my family?” he whispered.

  “It’s the only way to heal,” I said. “Trust me.”

  He moistened his lips as he searched my face. What he was looking for, I had no idea. “You can read about a roller coaster all you want,” he whispered. “But until you are sitting there in the front seat, and you’re going headfirst down a steep incline, you never really know what it’s like to ride in one.”

  “Are you comparing yourself to a roller coaster?”

  He cracked his fingers again. “You stand there in your designer clothes with your leather briefcase and take notes on me like I’m some rat in a lab. Always observing, never participating.”

  I loosened my grip on my notebook and took a step back. “That’s not it at all.”

  “Isn’t it?” He shook his head. “Do us both a favor and stop giving me advice—especially when it comes to my family. You can’t possibly know what it was like, Mia. Or how big a failure I am.”

  “You didn’t fail, Flynn.”

  “You weren’t there,” he snapped. “So don’t tell me that I’m not a failure.”

  “But the newspaper article said—”

  “Fuck the article.” He glanced down at her notebook. “You didn’t hear my sister cry, or my baby brother tell me that it was my fault that there was no food in the house.” He rubbed his thumb over the energy drink logo on his chest, which I was beginning to see was one of his nervous habits. “You didn’t hear your father tell you over and over again how your baby sister, only eight months old, wouldn’t get any milk that night because you didn’t punch fast enough.”

  “Oh, Flynn.” I reached out to touch him, but he pulled away from my grasp.

  “You never had so many people counting on you to succeed, Mia. You don’t know what it’s like when you’re the perfect sibling.”

  “You’re wrong there,” I said.

  He stared at me for a long moment. The world around us faded away, and it was as if we were in our own little bubble.

  “I get it, Flynn,” I whispered. “And I can help you.”

  He flexed his fingers as he considered me. When he spoke, his voice was so soft, I could barely hear it. “No one can help me, Mia. Not anymore.” He turned to go.

  “I can!” I shouted at his back.

  He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Flynn.” I stepped closer. “I do.”

  He took my hand. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked as he dragged me from the room.

  “To get some new clothes.”

  “Clothes, why?”

  Flynn didn’t answer; instead he led me down the hallway and into one of the supply closets.

  ELEVEN

  ”WHERE ARE we?” The place smelled like fabric softener and bleach. The room was small, and without the lights¸ it was difficult to see.

  ”Hold still.” Flynn flicked on the lights and started searching the shelves of plain white clothing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Finding something for us to wear.”

  “You can’t wear scrubs. They’re for the staff.”

  “I know.” He found a pair, pulled them out and looked at the tag. “They don’t seem to be your size.”

  “I know. They’re on back order. Dr. Polanski told me yesterday that they should be here in a few weeks.”

  He nodded as he replaced the uniform and pulled out another one. “Then you should be okay with what you’re wearing.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  He looked at the tag, put the uniform back, and grabbed another one. “These will do.” He started to take off his shoes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked as he dropped his shoes and put one leg into the fresh pair of scrubs.

  “You can’t wear that. It’s against the rules.”

  He glanced up at me as he shoved the other leg inside. “You gonna tell on me?”

  I glanced at the door. “This is wrong.”

  “You have a very interesting view of right and wrong.” He pulled up his pants and tied them over his jeans.

  “We could get in a lot of trouble for this. I should go.” I put my hand on the doorknob, but he covered my fingers with his own, stopping me.

  “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

  I turned and met his gaze. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him no, but I couldn’t force the words past my lips. After seeing that picture of him in handcuffs that morning, I realized that I had no idea what he was capable of doing.

  He tightened his jaw. “Afraid I’m going to beat you?”

  “I—no.” Not really. Okay, maybe a little.

  “Then what’s the problem?�
� He slipped on his shirt and adjusted his bandanna. “Who’s going to find out?”

  “I don’t know. Johnson or Everett.”

  “They’re too self-absorbed to notice us.”

  “Elias.”

  “He’s a softie.”

  “Dr. Polanski.”

  “She’s at a budget meeting.”

  “I could lose this internship.”

  “You worry too much, you know that?” He finished dressing and took my hand. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  I was, but I also wanted to keep my job.

  “I won’t let anything bad happen.” He made an X across his chest. “Scout’s honor.”

  I considered him for a moment as I weighed my options. I wanted to stop this, but I was also curious.

  “This is ridiculous.” He grabbed my hand, cracked open the door, and checked the hallway. Before I realized what was going on, he was dragging me toward the reception desk.

  “Wait.” I tugged my hand, but he held fast.

  “Remember my promise. Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

  I glanced at his stern profile and reconsidered my resolve to go back to my office. He seemed to know what he was doing, and my curiosity was growing by the minute. “Scout’s honor, eh?”

  “You bet.” He squeezed my hand and then pulled away. “Let me do the talking.”

  Panic rose up in my chest as we neared the front desk. Pam wasn’t there, but another woman, with long, chestnut hair, was. I had seen her a few times over the past several days, but she mostly kept to herself. She frowned at her computer, clearly frustrated over something she saw on the screen. Her features brightened as she saw us approach.

  “What do you have today for me, sir?” she asked as we approached.

  I watched as Flynn rummaged around in his pockets. “Some of your favorites.”

  She held out her hand and he placed something into it. After a quick glance around, she peeked into her palm. Her eyes sparkled. “This will do.” She put the contents into her purse and slid a badge across the counter to him. “You have forty minutes before check-in.”

  “It’s enough.” He clipped on the badge.

  She nodded and went back to her computer screen as if nothing had happened. Flynn tugged on my fingers. “Come on.”