Chapter 18

Ryan’s all too aware of that hand hovering above his leg—he can almost feel it through the worn jeans he wears. “Fine,” he whispers as he watches Dante’s fingers trace down one of the cool metal bars of his brace. There are two such bars, one on either side of his leg, thick, ugly things that he hates. They’re attached to his knee and ankle with hard rubber grips to keep his leg immobile—when Ashlin’s skate cut into him, it sliced through his muscle easily, tore the ligaments in both legs, and shattered the bone of his right calf into a million tiny pieces. He’s had three surgeries to reconstruct the lower part of his leg and the doctors assure him that as it heals, there are cosmetic procedures they can do to smooth out the bumpy ridges, cover over the red, angry skin. He’s not so sure, though—he’s seen the naked flesh and it hurts his heart just to look at it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever wear shorts again.