What You Broke (Bluebell Falls #3)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Rina

I’ve never liked hospitals. They remind me of a time when a twenty-year-old and a twenty-two-year-old had to be strong after the loss of their parents, and subsequently transform into parental figures for their two younger siblings.

At the time, it was what I was supposed to do; what my older brother, Ledger, was supposed to do. Neither of us have regrets or any resentment, but it changed the course of both of our lives forever. Instead of experiencing college and then moving on to build his dream landscaping company, Ledger put everything on the back burner, slowly building his company here in Bluebell Falls. It wasn’t until very recently that his goals from back then became a reality, thanks to his fiancée, Ainsley.

As for me? I fell back into what I was good at—furniture building. I had greater aspirations once upon a time. I went to trade school to learn the ins and outs of carpentry and such, but I always thought I would do more with it. Sure, I’m pretty in demand lately with my custom furniture builds, but my life changed a lot within only a month’s time when my parents died.

Which brings me to why sitting here in the waiting area—waiting to hear any information about our youngest brother, Lennox, and watching our sister, Willow, have a mental breakdown over her man—is literally killing me inside.

It doesn’t help that he’s here.

Sheriff Arlo Steel.

The man who crushed my heart right after my parents died in a car crash.

The man who was supposed to stay away from Bluebell Falls, thanks to his military career.

The man who showed me love is a hoax and not something sacred, like I was led to believe.

It was a hard lesson to learn so young, but I’d like to think I’m all the better for it.

Except now, I see how good Ainsley is for Ledger. How Willow is so desperate to hear good news about her man, Oakley. It has my head wandering into dangerous territories.

And all the while, Arlo, with his stupid, dark brown crew cut, keeps pacing into my periphery. His deep brown eyes keep looking over at me, like he’s checking on me.

Well, fuck him. He lost that right long ago.

He doesn’t get to act like he gives a shit.

A doctor calling all of us to a room for updates interrupts my angry thoughts.

The update we receive is a good one, albeit still fucking miserable. Lennox was caught in the crosshairs of the Tennison Strangler. He was cut multiple times and had some extreme blood loss, but for the most part, he will physically recover just fine. Emotionally, as the doctor tells us, he’s in for an uphill battle. My heart hurts just hearing that. I know, logically, none of this is even remotely on me, but I can’t help but feel like I failed Lennox. I’m supposed to keep him safe, and yet he sits in a hospital bed in the ICU after a psychopath took his vendetta against Oakley out on him.

The doctor drones on, but I can barely focus. I catch a few words, like Oakley saying Willow is his fiancée so she can stay updated on his condition, and that Lennox will be here for at least a week.

The walls start to get this weird movement to them and close in on me. Squeezing my eyes closed, I focus on the knowledge that it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.

“Do you have any more questions for me?” the doctor asks.

I vigorously shake my head. The claustrophobic feeling is getting worse by the second, and I know I need to get out of this room and away from everyone. I need a place where I can freak out without an audience.

I hear the door shut and slowly open my eyes to see that it’s just Ledger, Ainsley, Willow and me left in the room. Everyone looks like they’re reeling from the news, but I can’t stick around to talk about it.

Slowly, I stand from my chair and walk to the door, shakily heading down the hallway to an area that looks deserted.

Lucking out, I find an empty room with a little table in it and plop down into the chair.

As I bury my head in my hands, the tears start to fall, and it only pisses me off more. I’m not a crier. I’m not one who falls apart. I made a vow a long time ago to always be strong and never let anyone see any weakness. But it sure as hell feels like I have weakness bleeding out of me right now.

And I hate every second of it.

I’ll allow myself this moment of fragility before I force myself to get my shit together .

My shoulders shake as the sobs come harder, and I’m barely able to catch my breath. I want to be mad at Oakley, at everyone involved in letting this happen to my baby brother. I want to be able to take Lennox’s pain away and have him live his normal life. To go back to being the happy-go-lucky pain in my ass, who names every animal he comes across as a park ranger. For him to bust a hole in Ledger’s drywall by throwing open the front door too hard. I don’t want him to have to live through this horror, through this trauma, that will probably fundamentally change him.

I’m still trying to catch my breath when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I turn into the strong body that sits next to me, not even caring when his familiar scent of fresh air and laundry soap hits my nose.

This is my moment of weakness; being fragile enough to take comfort from the one man I swore never to turn to again. Arlo.

“Emmerdeur.” The anguish in his voice makes the tears fall harder.

The nickname I haven’t heard in years breaks my heart all over again. His arms wrap around me, his hand rubbing over my back just like he used to do when we were dumb, young kids. It always soothed me then and it does the same now, much to my infuriation.

“Why” —hiccup— “did this happen?” Hiccup. “Why Lennox?” I whisper.

“I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself the same thing for hours.” The hoarseness of his voice catches me off guard. It’s not that I think he doesn’t care; it’s that I don’t think he cares about me . I know his pain is because of Lennox and not me, but it still throws me off enough to pull back from him.

Wiping my eyes with the sleeves of my hoodie, I sit up straight and clear my throat .

Moment of weakness over.

“Emmerdeur…”

“I’m good.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “I’m good, Arlo,” I say, firmer.

“I tried to get him out of there as fast as I could,” he murmurs. There’s that pain in his voice again. It makes me irrationally angry. Mad that he’s making me feel bad for him. Pissed that I’m even taking his feelings into consideration when he’s never done the same for me.

“You did good. He made it here and is stable. That’s all we could ask for.” Putting my hand on his forearm, I attempt to assuage him of his guilt. I’m not sure why I’m trying to console him, but I want him to know that we don’t blame him for any part of this. Tennison is responsible, no one else.

His eyes shift between mine, looking for God knows what, and before I can get my bearings, he leans forward ever so slowly. I can see it all happening in slow motion, and my logical brain is screaming at me to stop it, but I don’t. I watch as he gets closer before he finally presses a kiss to my lips.

My eyes flutter shut with nostalgia. Once upon a time, I thought this man would be my everything. Once upon a time, I thought he was my Prince Charming.

Like a lightning bolt, my body catches up to my brain and I jerk back. I watch as his eyes shutter, the emotion that was so clearly on display now hidden from me. Just like it always is.

“Fuck,” he grinds out, scrubbing his hand over his face.

I give myself one second to revel in the feel of his lips on mine again. To imagine those hands all over my body, and then I shut that shit down .

“Fuck!” he says louder as he stands, his chair shoving back with force. I’m sure if he had longer hair, he would be pulling it right now. That’s how agitated he looks. It’s his own damn fault, though. He’s the one who kissed me. He paces in a little circle before beelining for the door.

The sound of the door clicking shut has a finality about it.

I don’t know what just happened. I don’t know why he followed me in here, comforted me, and then kissed me, but I do know it won’t happen again.

I won’t let it.

I made myself a promise after the haze of grief cleared all those years ago. Both the grief of losing my parents and losing Arlo. I promised myself I would never give my heart to a man again.

I stand by that, but as I bring my fingertips up to my lips, I can still feel the electricity of his touch. How does he still have this much power over me after more than a decade?

My head feels jumbled with too many thoughts and not enough answers. Between the stressful situation with Lennox and still not really knowing the extent of where he’s at mentally, and now fucking Arlo throwing the biggest mixed signal there is, I have no idea where I stand.

Which is not a great place for my head to be. I thrive on having answers, on knowing everything about a given situation. I’m a control freak through and through, born out of necessity and self-preservation.

Leaning forward, pressing the heel of my palms to my eyes, I try to relieve the massive amount of pressure I’m beginning to feel. This is why I don’t cry anymore. I suck back any tears I start to feel because I almost always get an instant migraine. And I can’t afford to have one at this moment. There’s too much going on, and my siblings need me .

That thought reminds me of how distraught Willow was. She probably should be getting looked at too, even if she isn’t physically hurt. She was in that cabin, came face to face with the devil himself. Combine that with whatever is going on with Oakley, and I know she’s losing it right now, even if she’s trying to convince everyone otherwise.

I lift my head up, draw in a deep breath, and count to ten.

Ten seconds to push everything I’m feeling down.

Ten seconds to forget Arlo showed me a glimpse of the man I thought he was.

Ten seconds to pull up my big girl pants and take care of my family.

One more deep breath before I stand up and straighten myself up. Nothing can be done about the beet-red face I’m surely sporting, but I think everyone’s focus will be elsewhere.

As I walk out of the door, I spot Arlo no more than twenty feet down the hallway, pacing and looking distressed. I stand up taller as I near him and continue to walk right past him.

It’s better for us to get back to hating each other.