Falling With You: A Fractured Connections Novel

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  And when Jack and Rose died, leaving the bar to us, I left.

  Yeah, it was a step down to anyone who didn’t know me, but I felt more like I was home at the brewery. I wasn’t putting on airs, wasn’t pretending that I was someone I wasn’t. I was doing something for family. Something I hadn’t done enough in recent times.

  I just hated the fact that I couldn’t actually do it now because I had broken my damn hand trying to protect Sienna.

  And I hadn’t even really seen her since the attack. Because she didn’t want to talk to me. She had fucking run from me.

  Just like she had run from me after the one night we’d had.

  But I wasn’t going to think about that.

  I really wanted a beer, but it was in the middle of the afternoon, and I still had to work later. So, I opened myself a soda, something I didn’t really want, but I needed a boost of caffeine. My front door opened as soon as I took the first sip, and I glared at Cameron as he walked in.

  “What did I say about using that key for emergencies?”

  “You probably wouldn’t have let me in if I’d knocked.” Cameron just shrugged as he closed the door behind him, and I glared.

  “Well, you didn’t give me the option, did you? I could’ve been walking around naked in here.”

  “We’re twins. Pretty sure I know what you have.”

  “We may be identical, but maybe not in every single way,” I snapped.

  “Okay, do you want to compare dicks? Because I can whip mine out right now and show you exactly what I have.”

  “Well, that’s just weird,” I said and snorted. “Like, really weird.”

  “You’re the one that brought it up.”

  “Did I?”

  “Oh, shut up. I’m here to check on you.”

  I flipped my twin off and took another sip. “I’m fine. Just like I was fine before. And I’m going to be fine later. I don’t really need you all up in my business, acting like an asshole.”

  “Only one of us is acting like an asshole right now, and it’s not me.”

  “Oh, fuck off.”

  “Sorry. Can’t do that. Remember? You’re my brother. And that means I get to annoy the shit out of you.”

  “Go annoy Brendon. Oh, wait, go annoy Dillon. He’s the one who needs to be annoyed the most in our group.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so. Hey, did I tell you that we’re thinking of putting him in the dorms or something close to that next year?” Cameron asked, and I stood up straighter.

  “Dorm? Are you sure you want him to do that? I mean, is that the best place for a kid trying to find his feet?”

  “I don’t really know, but that whole band phase was just because he liked to hang out with his friends. Yeah, he fucked up, but he’s better now. And he has us. Maybe he needs to hang out with kids his own age rather than almost-thirty-somethings that are old and haggard and broken.” Cameron gestured to my hand, and then I used my free one once I set down my soda to flip him off again.

  “That’s going to be expensive. You okay with that?”

  “It’s fine. I don’t really want him to get student loans since our economy’s in the tank and you can never pay those things off these days.”

  “Dear God. When did we get old?”

  “I have no idea, and I don’t know if I like it. But Violet likes me, so I’m going to call it a win.”

  “Hell, you’re whipped.”

  “Very much so, and I like it. Maybe you should get whipped.”

  “I’m not into that kinky shit. I thought that was more Brendon’s style.”

  “I’m really not going to touch that subject,” Cameron said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Like really do not want to talk about that subject.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Anyway, you need to get yourself a woman. Maybe that would stop this attitude of yours.”

  “Shut the fuck up. Back to Dillon, though, you really want him to stay in a dorm?”

  “Maybe not a dorm. Maybe he needs to find some friends and live with them. He’s welcome to stay with me for his entire college experience, but I feel like he’s hiding within the walls of that bar. You know? Something that we all do very well.”

  “I’m not hiding.”

  “I said we. Not just you. But good to know you’re on the right track of thinking about the fact that you are indeed hiding. As for Dillon? I don’t know. I just want him to know that he has options. That he actually needs to socialize with human beings while he’s in school. But not socialize too much that he fucks up his grades. There has to be a happy medium.”

  “He’ll find it. He’s a smart kid.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. I was really afraid when I came back here with him that you wouldn’t want to talk to him at all. Or we’d fuck up our family even more.”

  I shook my head and took another sip of my drink. “I have to admit, I was really surprised when I first saw him. He looks so much like us, even though he’s not our twin and only our half-brother. And I was angry at everything then. Angry at Mom. Angry at you. Angry at myself. And I sort of took it out on him by just ignoring him at first. But I think we’re better now.”

  “You’re a thousand percent better.”

  “You can’t be more than a hundred percent.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Why are you here?” I asked, frowning. “I’m fine.”

  “Well…” Cameron began and then trailed off.

  “Violet sent you here, didn’t she?”

  “You know it. Sienna ran out of the place so quickly last night, she was worried about her sister. Since you were in the hall last we saw, we figured maybe it had something to do with you. So, have anything to enlighten us with?”

  “Not really. I don’t know why she left.” The anger rose again, and I gritted my teeth, trying to tamp it down. No use breaking shit when it came to Sienna. Because there was no way I could try and figure out exactly what was going on between us. Because there wasn’t anything going on between the two of us. “Violet’s just worried about her.”

  My head shot up, and my eyes widened. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

  Cameron gave me a look, his brows raised. “You seemed a little overly curious.”

  “Shut up. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. At least physically. But she’s not talking about what happened, and then she ran away from the bar. Yeah, we were all watching her, but it was a little out of the blue. We just want to make sure she’s fine. And since you were the last one to really talk with her, it might be helpful if you told us what you talked about.”

  “So you’re blaming this on me? You don’t have to. I already do enough of it on my own. Maybe if I’d actually remembered my damn phone and hadn’t left her, she wouldn’t have been attacked at all. So, yeah, it’s my fucking fault she’s hurt. But I’m not the one who forced her to run out of the bar last night. So, don’t put that on me.”

  Cameron held up his hands. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m not blaming you for any of that. Sienna doesn’t blame you for the fact that she was attacked. We blame those stupid idiots that came at her. The ones that held her down.”

  “Don’t fucking tell me what happened to her in the alleyway. I don’t want to relive it again. Because I saw it. You weren’t there.”

  I hadn’t been either.

  But I didn’t say that.

  “What the hell is the matter with you? Sienna is physically fine. Your hand is going to heal. But there’s something wrong with her. She needs to talk about it, and she’s not. I was just wondering if she actually talked about it with you. But if you’re going to act like an asshole, maybe I won’t talk to you at all.”

  “Fine. Just fucking leave. It’s what you’re good at.”

  “That’s uncalled for. I thought we were over that. But if you’re going to throw that in my face, I’ll just go. And leave you to deal with whatever the fuck is going on in your head.”

 
Anger rushed through me, and I fisted my hand at my side before reaching out to the first thing I could grab before I threw it at the wall.” Glass shattered, and Cameron just looked at me, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tense.

  I looked down and saw the photo of when Cameron, Brendon, and I were teenagers, glass all over the floor around the broken frame.

  “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

  “You need to work out whatever’s going on in your head. Because you’re going to hurt yourself. If you don’t figure out how to deal with your anger, deal with whatever guilt you have going on, something’s going to happen. And we already lost Allison. I’m not going to lose you, too. So, get your head out of your ass and talk to one of us. Figure it out. While you’re there, help us with Sienna. Because she’s hurting, and Violet is worried. And if Violet is worried, then I’m worried. But I’m worried about you, too, Aiden. You’re my brother. So, you’re going to have to fucking deal with me. No matter what.”

  Cameron walked away, leaving me with the broken glass, and the rest of my mess.

  I was an asshole. I was a fucking guilty asshole who didn’t know how to deal with anything. I was just so pissed off at the world.

  Because Allison was dead. Sienna had gotten hurt. And I couldn’t do what I needed to.

  It was all my damn fault.

  Everything was my fault.

  And I hated it all.

  Chapter Five

  Now I have guilt!

  -Sienna, age 5, thanks to endless viewings of Toy Story.

  * * *

  Sienna

  It was nice to get into the swing of things again, even if sometimes my job wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.

  “You have to keep up with your treatments, Rocko,” I said, shaking my head. I folded my hands over my chest and tried my best to look stern. But it was really hard to look that way when a man who had to be at least over a foot taller than me rocked back on his heels and looked like a little kid rather than a forty-something-year-old former football player.

  “I know, it’s just…sometimes it’s really hard. You know?”

  “I do. But we have the plan in place. And you’re doing great things now. You’re able to sit in a chair longer than you used to. And even go walking. But your back needs help. And that’s what I’m here for.”

  “I know, Miss Knight. It’s just hard. You know?”

  I nodded, knowing we were going in circles again. But Rocko kept going on, and then we went through our checklist before he left for the day.

  I was a physical therapist and worked at a clinic that focused on sports injuries. Ninety percent of my clients were former athletes. Not that you could really be a former athlete once you’d put your entire body and mindset into becoming one. But ones who were no longer at the peak of their careers and no longer worked professionally came to me. Their sports teams and other agencies would pay for the bigger-name clinics. But when they no longer had those options or wanted something a little smaller, they came to my clinic.

  Not that it was actually my clinic, I was just one of the six physical therapists. I didn’t own the place, but it was in my dreams to one day own and run my own clinic, much like this one.

  I loved this place, though. They worked wonders for people and really cared about an athlete’s body rather than what that body could do for the sports.

  Don’t get me wrong, I loved sports. I watched them, went to games, I had even played some in college and high school. Hell, I still played softball and even touch football with friends every once in a while. But I hated what professional sports did to an athlete’s body.

  So, it was my job to try and get those battered, bruised, and broken bodies into some form of shape. Not physical shape, but in a way where someone could actually have a fulfilling life without constant pain, fatigue, or even death at times.

  Rocko was one of my many football players who had just run his body to the ground. He had been an offensive lineman, so he was big, a little bulky, and not very quick on his feet, but he had loved the game and had always protected his quarterback. And, because of that, he hadn’t actually protected his body or his own back. So now, it was my job to make sure that he could sit in an airplane and not want to cry from the pain. That he could take a casual walk with his wife and not want to throw up. Rocko’s knees and back were shot. It had taken over three years of working with me to get to the point where he could sit in his car and drive to see me.

  Penalties came from throwing your life and body into professional sports. Sure, they paid you well, but you ruined your body by the age of twenty-five or thirty. I didn’t think it was worth it, but then again, I liked being able to move.

  Just the few days I had been sore and bruised from the attack had been enough.

  I pushed those thoughts out of my mind and got my room ready for my next patient.

  Jefferson was also a former football player, a quarterback. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a wicked smile. He also had a traumatic brain injury thanks to his sport, and sometimes had problems remembering to come in or recalling the conversations we had.

  It was my job to work on his knees and his shoulders, but he refused to get help for everything else.

  It didn’t matter that he wore a helmet, helmet-to-helmet contact was still too much.

  So, his brain was messing with him. And while it was my job to help his body, other people helped his mind. At least, that was the goal—if he’d let them.

  “It’s good to see you, Miss Knight.” I gave him a small smile and nodded. “It’s good to see you too, Jefferson. Did you do what we talked about last time?”

  “I made a note and everything. See?” He pulled out a note from his back pocket, and I smiled. His mother usually came with him to these appointments, and for that, I was grateful. Sometimes, Jefferson was normal, or at least as normal as someone in his position could be. Other times, he got angry. Even more times, he just reverted back to a sweeter, younger version of himself.

  I knew he got headaches and had other issues that came from having so many concussions while he was playing professional football.

  But there was only so much I could do. Today, we were going to work on his shoulders.

  And I could just hope that he was happy, at least as much as he could be.

  I pushed all those thoughts out of my mind and went to work. I worked in the same gym area with the other therapists, but during this hour, I was alone with Jefferson. I didn’t mind because I knew others would be around, and his mother was in the hallway. But sometimes I had to push back the thoughts that I was alone, much smaller than any of the men that I worked with, and a woman. I never used to think so much about that, even though it was always a constant note in my head. More like I could get through it. But then the alley happened. And I thought about it a bit more now.

  I shook my head and then went back to what we had been working on.

  Jefferson was in pain a lot of the time, so our goal was to decrease that and restore mobility. Eventually, we’d increase strength and flexibility. But mostly, we just wanted to make sure that he could function. We didn’t need to optimize his performance like some sports medicine people did because he was no longer a professional athlete. But some of my job was to prevent injuries and educate my clients on what they could do to not re-injure themselves. Because no matter what you did, you couldn’t take the athlete out of some of these people. A lot of them still did charity events or just played with friends. And it could all lead to more injuries if they weren’t careful.

  What was funny to me, was that a lot of these guys with shoulder injuries just went off to golf in charity tournaments, thinking it wouldn’t be that bad, only to hurt their shoulder again and need a whole new plan.

  Today, we were working on Jefferson’s shoulders, but I knew that next time we’d work on balance. And that meant I got to do my favorite thing, dancing.

  All of my guys rolled their eyes at me when I brought it up, but they were li
ght on their toes when flexibility and balance were key.

  “Your bruises are going away,” Jefferson said, glaring down at me.

  I knew he wasn’t actually glaring at me, more at what had happened to me, but I still didn’t like seeing the glare.

  “I’m fine. You know me, it takes forever for this pale skin of mine to stop showing bruises.” I pulled down the sleeve of my shirt. The only place there was still a bruise was on my wrist. And even then, it was so faded that you couldn’t really tell it was there. I just happened to heal slowly, despite my profession.

  “Now, let’s work on your shoulders. Grip the handles and then pull back. We’re on bands today, so you’re going to have a little more give than you would on a machine.”

  He nodded at me, pulling his gaze from my wrist as he went to work.

  We did a few reps and then worked on a couple of other things before I went to work on his shoulder, making sure we were all cooled down and ready to go.

  I was tired but still had two more patients before the end of the day.

  I loved my job, even if sometimes my own body hated me for it.

  It didn’t matter that I wasn’t technically an athlete, working on athletes’ bodies was hard on my own.

  My next patient was Chad, a former wrestler, and so sweet. He had hurt his shoulders and his back quite severely when another wrestler in his collegiate league broke the rules and did a few things that he wasn’t supposed to do.

  Chad had been in a wheelchair for almost a year as he healed.

  Now, Chad was walking and doing most things that anybody could do, but he still had some pain—something that was going to be forever now. An injury like that led to chronic pain, but that’s why Chad came in twice a week to make sure he didn’t injure himself further. He was still in his mid-twenties and had a long life to lead.

  I just hated the fact that someone else’s mistake had hurt him.

  I took my lunch after Chad had left, knowing I was late doing that. I still needed to feed my body and my soul.

  My last client of the day was a man named Marcus, a former track and field all-star athlete that had torn his ACL and injured his hamstring while training for the Olympics.