A Broken Man

by Brooklyn Wilde

  “Well, you know what they say—everybody is just one unplanned pregnancy away from being pro-choice.”

  “Not you, though?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I don’t judge other women for their choices. It just wasn’t the right one for me.”

  “And the father?”

  “Henri. He was a foreign exchange student. I had the biggest crush on him all year long. We got together the night before he went back to France. He said he’d write. He never did. I never told him. I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to. I didn’t even have his address.” It was the story of her life. She had acted on impulse, and then he had abandoned her. Just like her father.

  “And you reconciled with your mom, but not your dad?”

  “No, he had a heart attack a year or two before Mom fell. I didn’t even know he’d passed.”

  “Why didn’t you mention any of this last night?”

  “It never came up. Most people who don’t have kids don’t ask, and the fact that I was an unwed teen mother isn’t exactly something I go around volunteering to most of my clients.”

  “And it isn’t like you were planning to have any kind of relationship with me other than therapist-client, right?” It was a loaded question.

  “Right,” Sarah said, with conviction. Who was she trying to convince? And was that a trace of disappointment on his face?

  Ethan went mute. She thought she’d put the matter to bed, but he seemed to be making up his mind about something.

  “I don’t see how this changes anything. There’s plenty of space. He can take the room right next to yours.”

  “I…” Sarah didn’t know what to say. “Do you even like kids?”

  “We’ll find out, won’t we?”

  “I’m going to need some time. I can’t make a decision like this on the spot.”

  “Don’t take too long.”

  “I’ve gotta go. You all right here by yourself?”

  “Yeah. Leave the door unlocked when you go. My friend Tony is stopping by to go over some work stuff.”

  She nodded and then all but ran from the room, desperate to get away and think things through.

  The drive home was a blur. Ominous gray clouds moved in overhead. A sign? Lightning flickered in the distance, and she punched the gas, hoping to make it home before the storm broke in earnest. Nervous tapping on the steering wheel formed the soundtrack to her racing thoughts. She wasn’t actually considering this…was she?

  Moving in with a man she hardly knew sounded like a bad idea under any circumstances, but moving her son in seemed completely insane. Grudgingly, she admitted that she was attracted to Ethan. Would she be able to control herself if she lived with him? She told herself that she would. It was a one-time thing, a mistake, induced by copious amounts of whisky. He’d said the same thing. And it would be different with Jared. She never drank when he was home; she always maintained control.

  On top of that, Ethan had a temper, which, of course, only made him more attractive. But a man with a temper and a chip on his shoulder was dangerous. One time. That’s all it would take. If he snapped at her son even one time, she’d go batshit. Bile swirled deep in her gut. Even thinking about the possibility pissed her off. There would have to be a set of ground rules—impenetrable, unbreakable, one-strike-and-you’re-out ground rules.

  No.

  Rules implied that there was a possibility of this happening. There wasn’t. Except…this might be the only chance she’d ever get. A backer with money doesn’t come along very often. And double salary? No more slaving away to pay for a two-bedroom shithole with a leaky roof. No more loading clothes into the back of her beater for trips to the Laundromat. No more picking up odd jobs and extra shifts just to make her monthly payment into Jared’s college fund. A better life for both of them.

  “Fuck me. I’m going to say yes.”

  Chapter Seven

  The minute Sarah walked out the door, Ethan was on the phone with his assistant. He gave her a list of tasks and told her to put a rush on it. Money was no object. In less than an hour, his house came alive with activity. Two different construction crews rolled in and began making the entire house wheelchair-accessible. Another worked on the section of the house where Sarah and Jared would stay. Deliverymen and installers from the local medical supply store poured into the basement.

  He couldn’t make Sarah say yes, but he could make it very hard for her to say no. He wondered how much convincing it would take. In the meantime, he grabbed his laptop and searched for service animal providers. The list was surprisingly short. He called the first name that came up.

  “Service Dogs of Springfield. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, I need a dog. How much and when can it be here?”

  “Uh…well, sir, service dogs cost approximately $15,000. They are not covered by insurance, though there are some programs to assist people with covering the cost. There is a six-month waiting list.”

  “Six months? Are you kidding? Is there any way to put a rush on it, skip the queue? I’ll pay.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Six months is standard, and there is no line jumping. But your patience will pay off—”

  He hung up the phone. Six months was too long. He needed a dog now. How hard could it be to train a dog? The thought was interrupted when Tony walked in with a bewildered look on his face.

  “What’s up?” Tony dropped his bag on the floor.

  “Remodeling.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Did you bring ’em?”

  “As requested.” Tony held up a thick stack of take-out menus. “What do you need them for?”

  “Never mind that now. Do you know where to get a dog?”

  “I dunno, the pound?”

  “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  After forty-five minutes of Ethan’s wheelchair clanging around in the back of Tony’s pickup, the two of them finally arrived at the animal shelter. Neither had thought to call ahead and ask if the place was wheelchair accessible. It wasn’t. Ethan had to roll through the grass to get to a back door at ground level.

  An unusual mixture of earthy, animal smells and disinfectant hit them the instant they entered the building. A shelter volunteer led Ethan and Tony down the aisle of dogs. Some huddled against the back corners of their kennels, obviously nervous and scared. Others pushed up against the cage doors, desperate and pleading for the smallest shred of attention. Ethan couldn’t decide which was more depressing. The small kennels gave way to cement dog runs for the larger animals.

  “Generally medium-sized to large dogs like labs or shepherds are used as service dogs.” The shelter worker absently stroked the nose of a shaggy white dog as she spoke. “They’re better physically suited to the job.”

  One dog looked as good as another to Ethan. “What about that one?” He pointed to a sleeping basset hound.

  “Oh, that’s Mabel. She’s a wonderful dog, but I don’t think she’d be much of a service dog. She’s just not very motivated.”

  As if to confirm the worker’s diagnosis, Mabel snored and then passed gas so loudly she woke herself up.

  “Next.” Ethan gave his wheels a shove.

  “A lab would be ideal, but we’ve only got one at the moment, and I’m afraid she wouldn’t be a good candidate.” The worker gestured to a skinny chocolate lab laid out on an old quilt. Gauze covered her freshly amputated back leg. She raised her head and looked squarely at Ethan, ears perked up to attention and muscles twitching in anticipation of his command. “It’s a shame, too. She’s probably the smartest dog I’ve ever encountered. Sweet disposition, too.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Hit by a car.”

  “Car accident.” Ethan repeated the words almost to himself.

  “We’re hoping someone will want to take her on, but her chances for adoption aren’t that great. She’ll probably be euthanized. People want a whole dog.” The worker shook her head sadly.

  A car accident
had left her incomplete and unwanted. Ethan didn’t believe in fate, but the connection was instantaneous. He knew there would be no turning back, rational considerations be damned. Determination creased his forehead. His mind was made up. Soulful, brown eyes stared up at him. That dog was coming home with him. Immediately.

  “I’ll take her.”

  “Sir, really, she’s not physically able to be a service dog. She’s not even recovered from her surgery yet. We’ve got several dogs that—”

  “I want this one. She’ll have all the time she needs to recover, and we’ll figure out the rest together. Don’t just assume you know what she’ll be physically capable of. You don’t.” Ethan’s voiced dropped to barely more than a whisper. “She is whole.”

  The worker looked down at the chair and flushed, clearly embarrassed by her gaffe and unsure what to say next. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Is there some kind of paperwork I need to fill out? I want to take my dog home.”

  “Yeah, yes, right this way.” The worker was good and flustered, but Ethan didn’t care.

  “What’s her name?” he asked as they made their way toward the office.

  “Dame.”

  Fluorescent light bounced off the dingy tiles in the small space. A chair had to be removed so that Ethan’s wheelchair would fit near the desk. He hurriedly filled out the forms and pulled out his checkbook.

  “Our adoption fee is $100. I think you’ll find it’s a very reasonable rate, given that it includes shots, microchip, spay—”

  Ethan scribbled furiously and handed her a signed check. Her mouth fell open when she saw the amount.

  “A-are you sure? This is very generous.”

  “This is the going rate for a service dog.” Ethan reversed and rolled out of the cramped office. The worker never took her eyes off the check, made out for $15,000.

  There was nothing left to do but take her home. Dame was rolled out to Tony’s truck on a metal cart. Ethan locked the brake on his wheelchair and stared at the single-cab pickup.

  “Isn’t really ideal for hauling around two cripples, is it?” Ethan shot Tony a sarcastic smile.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll put the bitch in the back.”

  “Hey now, I’ll not have you talking about my dog like that.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the dog.”

  Ethan tried to keep a straight face, but could only hold back the laughter for a few moments. Dame thumped her tail at the sound. Ethan reached over and scratched behind her ears, and she shook her head in appreciation.

  “I wouldn’t act so happy if I were you.” Ethan looked seriously at the dog. “I don’t know what I’ve gotten us into. This could be a disaster.”

  Dame huffed and put her head down.

  “That settles that,” Tony said.

  To get everyone into the pickup, Tony first had to load Ethan into the passenger side and huck the wheelchair into the truck bed. Next, he had to gingerly lift Dame and place her on Ethan’s lap. Even skinny and down a leg, she easily weighed fifty pounds. Tony strained and held his breath while he threaded her through the open door, careful not to jostle her too much. By the time he got everyone loaded up, Tony was exhausted and out of breath.

  “You’re getting old. Maybe you can lead a senior citizens’ tour.”

  “That was harder than it looked, you know.”

  Though the awkward position couldn’t have been comfortable, Dame contentedly laid her head across Ethan’s lap and didn’t make a sound the whole ride home.

  Chapter Eight

  “Hello?” Sarah was completely exhausted.

  “Come over.”

  “Ethan, I was going to call—”

  “Don’t say anything. Please, just come over first. I want you to see something. Please?”

  She let the line go quiet for a long time before she finally replied. “OK.”

  Her car turned over on the fourth try, and she pumped the gas to get the juices flowing. The drive over wasn’t long, but it was long enough for Sarah’s resolve to waver. Again. She’d been back and forth over this decision so many times in the last three days, she had whiplash. Her brain screamed “NO!” But her heart…in her heart, she was already hanging pictures in the office of her new clinic. She was imagining having enough money to give Jared the kind of Christmas he deserved, with so many presents they wouldn’t be able to see the floor for all the wrapping paper by the time it was over.

  Everything was jumbled up in her brain, and she couldn’t ignore the fact that she hadn’t stopped thinking about that stupid night with Ethan since she’d left. The memory of his scent, his touch, his taste invaded her every thought. She was distracted at work, and even the simplest of tasks had become nearly impossible. How much worse would it be if she saw him every day?

  “No. This is not a good idea.”

  That was it. She would go over, hear what Ethan had to say, and then politely but firmly decline his offer. There was no other way. Anything that sounds too good to be true, fucking is.

  A light snow started to fall and dust the trees just as she pulled into the long, winding driveway. She imagined what the house would look like after a heavy snowfall.

  “Like a goddamn Hallmark card.” She clucked her tongue. “It’s too good.” No was the only possible answer.

  A full-sized van was parked on a freshly paved concrete pad. She parked the car and walked over to the porch. Off to the side, a brand new wheelchair ramp with a safety rail ran down to the concrete pad. He’d done some work since she was last here.

  Ethan opened the door before the doorbell finished ringing. He must have been waiting by the window.

  “Hi, Sarah. Thank you so much for coming.” Sweat rolled down his brow, and he quickly wiped it away with his shirtsleeve. “Do you want a drink or something?”

  “What is it you have to show me?”

  “Okay, then.” Ethan’s eyes darted around the room nervously. “Let’s get right to it.”

  Right away, she noticed that he had laid all new floors. Smooth hardwood had replaced the textured stone and plush carpets that had been there before. The steps and changes in elevation that seemed to be a trademark of Ethan’s father’s design had been eliminated, leveled, or lain over with a ramp. Sarah could barely believe it was the same house.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I was in a rush. It’s not an indictment of your superior construction skills. I think there is still sheetrock dust in my mattress.”

  “You were able to get into the bathroom, weren’t you? I’d call that a success.”

  He led her down the hallway toward the guest room where she’d stayed before, his wheels whisper quiet on the smooth surface. He rolled past the door and gestured for her to go in. He hung back behind her, as if in silent acknowledgement that this would be her room, her sacred space, and he would not enter without her permission. His hands clenched and released over and over again in his lap. He was nervous; she could tell. He could hardly look her in the eyes. He acted like he was gearing up to ask her to the junior prom.

  She walked into the room and audibly gasped when she took in the space. The stark white walls had been painted a warm, honey color. The hotel-standard linens had been swapped out for high-end decorator stuff. “You installed a fireplace?” An exact replica of the one in the living room, scaled down to fit the space, stood in the corner of the room. A hearty fire roared inside. Next to it sat a recliner with a reading lamp. “How’d you manage the fire?”

  “May I?” He nodded to the doorway.

  “It’s your house.”

  “No.” His jaw set in a hard line. “Not if you stay. You stay, and my house ends at the door.”

  She had to admit he was taking this seriously. “You may enter.” She did a little curtsy.

  He handed her a remote control. She looked down at it like he’d just handed her magic beans.

  “What’s this for?”

  “The firepl
ace. Natural gas. Not like the wood-burning one in the main room. You don’t even have to get out of bed.”

  She pushed a button and the fire disappeared. She pushed another and the lights dimmed. Hastily, she pushed again, trying to get the lights back on. Instead, she cued up the stereo. Ella Fitzgerald. Color rushed to her face. Ethan quickly hit the wall switch and backed out the door.

  “Jared’s room is right next door.” His eyes were fixed on his lap again.

  She hurried after him, eager to get away from the romance room.

  “Holy shit.” This was Jared’s?

  It was the same size as her own—meaning huge—and was done up in cool, neutral tones. A massive work desk filled one wall, outfitted with a shiny, new laptop and tons of books. A basketball hoop hung over the closet door. That wouldn’t get much use from Jared, but still, he would lose his mind over this place.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Sarah ran a hand along the wall, as if to convince herself it was real.

  “Don’t say anything yet. I haven’t shown you the best part.” Ethan was clearly getting excited now. He was talking faster, and a mischievous look shone in his eyes.

  What else could there be? He led her further down the hallway to a wide set of stairs leading down to the basement.

  “Go on. I’ll meet you there.”

  Before she could ask how, he’d disappeared. She skipped down the steps. The basement was one big, open space that ran the entire length of the house. She didn’t know what had been in it before, but it had been converted into a private physical therapy studio. Top-of-the-line equipment filled the space, some of it custom stuff she’d never even seen before.

  A mechanical noise pulled her attention to the far wall. Ethan was being lowered into the basement by a lift on a metal track. How had he had time to install a wheelchair lift? He’d practically rebuilt the whole house in three days. “How did you do all this?”

  “Two crews working round-the-clock shifts. I stayed at Tony’s place so they could get everything done.”

  “What is all this?”