Unbroken

By Melyssa Winchester

Shattered glass. Red drops falling. A rustic scent, mixing with the smoke until it’s all I can smell. The loss of the only person that ever gave a shit about me.
My reality.

What I caused because I couldn’t be what the rest of the world needed me to be. For letting the selfish part of me win and allowing myself to fall in love.

I’ve been running as fast and as far away from the memory of that night as I can get, but no matter how far I go, I can never escape it.
The last thing I want is someone new coming along and forcing me to do what I’ve spent the last two years ducking and dodging at every turn.

Feeling, or even worse. Loving.

Isaac Crawford is toxic and it has nothing to do with his inability to speak.

He threatens everything I’ve spent the last two years trying to bury. His resemblance to my past is undeniable, bringing what should remain buried, alive again. And no matter how deep the urge is to flee, the need to stay fights back harder. Making the untouchable one impossible to turn away from.

One look—one chance meeting in a conference room was all it took for him to get under my skin and now that he’s done it, there’s no turning back.

The untouched is creating the unbroken.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melyssa Winchester
• Release date: Nov 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781928139140

Melyssa Winchester

Melyssa Winchester is a mother of four from Toronto, Ontario, Canada. When she’s not knee deep in adolescent awesomeness, she’s falling in love, one book boyfriend and girlfriend at a time. She is a lover of all things romance and will forever believe in a real and true happily ever after.When she’s not off being a mom or writing you can find her doing one of two things. Reading or buried under the covers watching Supernatural, Sons Of Anarchy or Veronica Mars.Melyssa is currently working on Through The Storm (Count On Me #7), along with Tempered Grace (Love United Series #6) and the standalone title Remembering Sunday.You can find her on the web, either at her personal site, Facebook (which she just might have an obsession with) or Twitter (@WinchesterBooks) where she talks incessantly about her kids, her writing and all things book boyfriend related.

Book preview

Prologue

Ryder

What’s a sweet thing like you doing here drinking all alone?

Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this line. I swear it’s the go-to line for hookups, at least when they happen here.

Gretchen’s Place. The piece of shit watering hole I go to when I need the escape from life’s bullshit. Also where I go when the escape I need is more than just a mental one.

The body that’s attached to the voice, it’s older, more mature. Looking up and taking in her face, it’s easy to see why I made that determination. There are creases in her forehead, bags under her eyes and all of that added to the sagging tits, it’s enough to tell me that she’s someone’s mother, or at least old enough to be mine.

As much as I need the physical release right now, it’s definitely not gonna happen with this chick.

"How many times have you used that line tonight?’

It’s not what I wanna say, but telling her to fuck off seems mean. It’s not her fault that her life has taken such a shitty turn that she’s standing here now picking up guys half her age. It’s pathetic, sure, but aren’t we all?

I know I am.

Would you believe me if I said you were the first?

No, not really. I laugh. I get the feeling you’ve used that line a little more than you wanna admit. It’s probably one of a dozen that gets you the result you’re after.

Where I expect my truth to offend her, it has the opposite effect. She smiles first and then laughter spills out around us. Well, if I can’t fix my own screwed up head, it’s nice to know I can at least entertain hers.

You might be right about that.

I usually am.

So since the line is an obvious fail, she concedes. And you’re not looking for a hookup like the rest of us; what brings you here?

That’s a good question. What am I doing here? It’s probably the last place I need to be with what today is, yet here I am, same as always, drowning my shit and feeling less than satisfied with the results.

Nowhere better to be.

Somehow I doubt that.

You’d be wrong.

I’m pretty sure the last thing you wanna hear is what an old broad like me thinks, but I don’t believe that. Guy comes in here looking like you, I have a hard time believing there isn’t a pretty little thing waiting for you at home.

Again, I repeat. You’d be wrong.

No one at home?

No one period.

Excuse me while I call bullshit. I don’t believe it.

It’s not the first time I’ve had a conversation like this with a random stranger and had them come to the same conclusion. People think that because of the way I look; blue eyes and parted light brown hair along with my build from years of playing sports, that me being alone is an impossibility. I’m too good looking to be alone. They really don’t know shit.

Being alone is my penance. It’s what I deserve for the firestorm of shit I created two years ago and the damaged people I left behind when it was over.

Well, if I’m too fake for you, there’s about ten other guys here that I’m sure your tired old lines will work on.

Here we go. It’s time for the venom to come out.

Maybe I like fake.

Or maybe you’ve tried everyone else and I’m what’s left.

It’s not working.

What’s that?

I know the way you see me and I even know why you’re saying the shit you are right now. You want me to hurt the same way you do. The thing is, you can’t hurt what’s already been destroyed.

That’s the first thing she’s said since she showed up that I can actually agree with. I’m just not about to admit it to her.

I really shouldn’t have come here tonight. This will teach me the next time I need a tension release.

The only thing hurting me sweetheart is the fact that you’re still here.

She turns to leave and for the first time since I got here, I’m filled with relief, but it doesn’t last because where I’m expecting her to go, she lingers and the next words she says are like a knife straight into my chest.

What you’re hoping to bury; the thing you don’t wanna admit or focus on; kiddo, you ain’t gonna find it here. This place don’t serve your kind.

My kind.

And what kind would that be?

I need to get up and go. Get as far away as I can, as fast as I can until this place is completely in my rear view, but I’m stuck.

Even with as badly as I want to escape, I know I can’t.

The kind that turns down a real chance at escaping because deep down, it’s not in the form he really wants.

That’s a whole lot of assumption for someone who knows nothing about me.

I don’t have to know you, sugar. It’s written all over you. What you want, it’s not here. So if nothing else sticks tonight, I hope this does. She pauses and I use the moment to slide off the stool, more than ready to get the hell out of here. Stop running from it. You’ll feel a whole lot better when you do.

Yeah right. The minute I stop running, I’ll have to admit the truth. I’m determined to never go down that road again, even if I have to fuck my way through every female on and off campus in order to distance myself from it.

I’m never gonna admit that she’s right. That what I want really isn’t going to be found in this heterosexual hellhole.

I’m never going to admit I’m gay.

Chapter One

Ryder

The game against Central, you’re out, and if something doesn’t change with you, getting cut from games is gonna be the least of your worries.

He doesn’t have to say it. I know what he’s getting at.

Academic Probation.

You’re a hell of a ball player, Kane, but when more than one of your professors comes to me about your performance in their class, what do expect me to do?

He really doesn’t expect me to answer that does he? He can’t. What I expect him to do and what he’s gonna do, is gonna be two different things. I’m not even gonna waste my breath.

I get it, Coach.

Son, I don’t think you do. When you’re out on the field, nothing can stop you. It’s the way you are that wins us games, but it’s gotta be about more than that. You gotta use that same tenacity in class or you’re not gonna go anywhere.

That’s the point. I don’t wanna go anywhere. I’m only doing this college thing because it allows me to do what I love. Play football.

What he doesn’t get is that when I’m on the field, it’s the one place I can push everything else down. I don’t have to focus on what a fucking mess I am. The deep dark secret that only me and a few other people back home know about. I can let it all go and be Ryder Kane, Wexfield Panthers Running Back.

How do I fix it?

There, that seems like the right question to ask. Let him believe I give a shit about my performance in class so he’ll stop me from having to go home with my tail between my legs and admit what a complete waste of space I am.

Put more of an effort into showing up for class. Past that, I think you need to look into getting yourself a tutor. If the reason you’re pulling this crap is because you’re not understanding the material, then get help until you do.

I understand it all just fine.

Kane, you wanna get back on the field?

Yeah, of course I do.

Then stop lying.

I’m not—

Denial only makes it true, son.

The way he calls me son pisses me off. I’ve already got a father. I don’t need another one, especially when it’s just more of the same disapproval I’ve been hearing all my life.

Fine. I’m lying.

That’s better. If you wanna play ball again, and I know you do, I suggest you do what I said and look into getting help.

How am I supposed to do that? I don’t even know where to start.

You show up. That’s how. You show up and you keep showing up until your teachers are so damned annoyed they’ve got no other choice but help you. I guarantee, if you do that, you’ll get where you need to be.

Where I need to be.

How can he know where that is when I don’t even know anymore?

I lost the right to be anywhere the night I thought it was smart to take a pissed off attitude, add alcohol to it and wrap my car around a telephone pole.

Killing the only person that mattered.

Survivor’s guilt. I can fill a 747 with the stuff. The wrong person died that night, and no matter how many days I get up and go through the motions, nothing’s gonna change it. It’s not gonna bring him back.

When Gavin died, I died too.

Does my exile from the team extend to sitting on the bench for practice?

No, but are you sure you want to torture yourself that way?

He has no idea the lengths I’m willing to go to torture myself.

I can handle it.

Ryder, I know how bad it looks, but it’s not too late to turn things around.

It’s not his intent, but those words, I’ve heard them before. It’s what the first therapist said the minute I sat down in his chair about a week after I was released from the hospital. His attempt at trying to make me feel less responsible for the life I took that night. A useless attempt since it didn’t sink in. The same way it’s not sinking in now.

You know what you gotta do?

Yeah, Coach.

Good because two weeks from now, I want you back on the field. You hear me?

Loud and clear.

Conversation’s over. Looks like I know what I gotta do now.

It’s time to find myself a tutor.

*****

After the talk with my coach, I went to talk to two of my professors, who only confirmed everything he already went over. I was dangerously close to being thrown on probation without some serious intervention. I needed to start giving a shit if I ever wanted to play ball again.

If that wasn’t enough to turn this already shitty day worse, the look on Dillon’s face the minute I get home seals it.

We need to talk.

We do?

Yeah we do, Ry.

Dillon transferred in a few months before I did and being on the same team, we bonded over our love of the game. It didn’t take long from there for the two of us to be friends, which after a couple of explosions in his personal life, ended with us living together.

It’s been a pretty easy go of it considering my hatred of being around people, but something tells me from the look on his face, the fun ride is about to come to an end.

What about?

He sighs and what was left of my spirits, the hope I had that the day wouldn’t be total shit, dies with the sound.

Ry, did you really think he wouldn’t come talk to me?

Now I get it.

Coach came and talked to him about what he said to me earlier and Dillon being Dillon, is going to take his turn on the merry-go-round. I knew I was going to hate him taking the Assistant Coach position.

Not in the mood, D.

You know, I’m not exactly in the mood for this either, but sometimes you gotta do shit you don’t like.

I feel for you, bro. I do. I can see how horrible this is, having to call me out on my shit like you’re my fucking father or something. How about I save us both the aggravation and leave?

Don’t be like that.

Like what? Not in the mood to hear another lecture? Offended that this is coming up in the one place it shouldn’t?

Fine. You don’t wanna talk about what Coach said, let’s talk about last night.

From one annoying topic to another. It really is like he’s the parent and I’m the child. I don’t even need to ask what he’s getting at. It’s another screwed up reminder I don’t need.

Not going there either.

When we made this plan to live together, I told you I didn’t care what you did with your personal life and Ry, I meant it. I can’t ignore last night though. It wasn’t right. How many did you bring home this time? Three?

It was two, but I’m not arguing semantics with him. It will just make it worse and I want this over with so I can go in my room and forget the day even exists.

You just said that you didn’t care, so you wanna tell me why this matters?

Because you weren’t the only one they kept up all night with their screaming, that’s why.

What he’s referring to, it’s how I cope. When going to the bar yields less than desirable results, I’ll hop around to a club or two, find whatever willing participant I can and bring them home. Last night, it happened to be two of them. They did what I needed them to do and by morning, they were gone. Another notch in a bedpost I stopped giving a crap about a long time ago.

Women. I drown myself in them because I can’t handle the way I feel normally. Being attracted to guys, it’s what landed me in this messed up situation. Falling in love with one of them only made it worse. So if jamming my dick up in something I don’t need to give a shit about in the morning is the only way I can get relief, so be it.

Won’t happen again.

Somehow I doubt that.

Of course you do.

Ry, standing from the sofa, he makes his way over to where I’m leaning at the entryway to the kitchen. Do you think I’m an idiot?

If I answer that truthfully, are you gonna hit me?

Maybe.

I debate whether or not to push it, but with the way this conversation is already going, decide against it.

No, I don’t think you’re an idiot, but what does that have to do with this?

You saw what happened to me. You remember it right?

The shit a few months back?

Yeah.

No offense, D, but if you don’t get to the point soon, I’m going to bed.

For a few minutes, we’re bathed in some pretty heavy silence and it’s only when I go to move around him that he decides it’s time to speak again.

You’re doing what I did. You can say it’s none of my business, but take it from someone who’s been there. You don’t wanna go down that road.

What road is that?

This is starting to remind me of the other night with the random woman dishing out her advice even though I wanted no part of it. Something I’m definitely not in the mood to repeat.

I got hurt on the field and instead of just admitting what that did to me, I turned to something else in order to take it away. You’re doing the same damn thing and you need to stop before you lose everything.

Losing everything implies having something to lose in the first place.

So your position on the team; the one you’re gunning for now that I’m not there; that doesn’t mean shit to you?

Damnit. He’s got me. Running back was never my dream position, I wanted something bigger and with Dillon on the sidelines indefinitely, I was primed to take over as quarterback. I was until I screwed it all up anyway.

What’s your point?

You bringing home all these women, it’s your drug. He says, referencing the amphetamines he was taking in order to continue playing after the injury to his knee. And despite what you think, I give a shit and don’t wanna see you become me.

The problem with his speech is, it’s like the one I gave him when I caught on to what he was doing. Walking into the locker room, catching him swallowing pills, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to see what was going on, especially with his mood changes. When nothing I said got through, I took it to the only other person that had half a chance of making him see the damage he was causing himself.

His girlfriend.

It’s just too bad that like the night two years ago with Gavin, I was too late then too. Another failure I’ve gotta live down, despite the fact that Dillon seems happier than I’ve ever seen him.

You’re wrong.

No, Ry, I’m not.

Yeah okay, Dad. You’re right. I’m so screwed up that I use women in order to feel better. Happy now?

Acting like a dickhead isn’t gonna change the fact that I’m right. You forget that you’re talking to the king of them. What’s it gonna take for you to wake the fuck up?

Wide awake already, D.

My fake laugh or as he calls it—me being a total dickhead—is only making this entire thing worse. I can tell by the scowl on his face that it’s not gonna be long now before I frustrate him enough to make him lose it.

Dillon Murphy is pretty damn scary when he’s pissed.

You live with me for a few months and suddenly you think you know me?

"I do know you because I was you."

You don’t know shit.

Before I realize what’s going on, I’m being pushed up against the wall and he’s got a grip on my shirt, forcing the full weight of his own body into mine, keeping me locked in place.

I know that you’re holding on to something pretty damn heavy and it’s changing you. I also know that the women you bring around here are only a smoke screen because you don’t wanna face the truth.

And that is?

You’re gay, you idiot and before you try and deny it, since it’s engrained in your god damned head to do it, let me remind you of what happened in the shower a couple of months ago.

Son of a bitch.

The truth I’ve been trying to bury about myself, most of the time I’ve got a grip on it, but sometimes, like what happened with Dillon, I slip and of course he caught me.

If it was just me looking, I could have easily blown it off, but it’s the amount of time I spent watching him that blew my secret wide open. It’s something I hoped he’d forgotten about with how I’ve acted since, but obviously that was too good to be true.

He knows and with the way he’s smirking at me, I’m pretty sure any denial I mount is gonna fall on deaf ears.

Releasing the hold, he backs up and makes his way back across the room until he’s throwing his body back down onto the sofa completely stretching out, his smirk now a full on grin.

I’m officially screwed.

Now that I’ve shut you up, you wanna talk about what Coach said?

He’s giving me an out and I’ll be damned if I’m not gonna take it. Maybe if we change the subject, he’ll forget about everything he just said and I can go back to hiding the way I have been. It’s the way it has to be.

I need to get a tutor, get my grades back up in a couple classes and he’ll let me play again. I got a few names from my Poly Sci professor and another one from English. I’m working on it.

The names they gave you. Did a guy named Isaac come up at all?

Yeah, that’s the one my English professor gave me. I’m supposed to text him. Why?

He helped me out when I got here. He’s good. Use him.

I still can’t believe how quickly the conversation changed. The only thing that hasn’t is the smile lingering on his face and no matter how much I try and focus on something else, my mind won’t let me.

What the hell does he have to smile about, and why does it bother me so much?

Isaac

Mr. Crawford, may I steal a moment of your time?

Nodding, I slide out of my seat and head to the front of the room, paper at the ready for whatever he’s got waiting for me.

Being called out by my professor should scare me, but it doesn’t. It’s half the reason I take so much time getting my things together at the end of class. It makes it easier should they need to reach out. Considering my issues, it’s the least I can do.

I’m what the world calls High Functioning Autistic but with a twist. I don’t talk. I haven’t spoken since I was two and no matter how many different therapies were tried, I still haven’t. I’ve adapted to it, but the rest of the world, well, they need a little bit more of a push.

When I came here in September, finally ready to take the plunge and enter the world as a college student, I was surprised with how easily my professors seemed to adapt to the way I am. Where I expected looks and even total lack of acceptance, I didn’t get it, at least not from them.

The students were another story, but it’s just another thing I’m used to by now. No matter how much I wish it was another way, the world is always going to be filled with the ignorant. The only thing I can do is rise above it.

It’s gotten a whole lot easier to do that since Isabelle Reagan showed up in my creative writing class. She’s autistic too, but just like no two coins are the same, we aren’t either. It’s because of her that I’m still here and able to make my way around campus with a bit more confidence then I had before. She’s shown me that just because no one else seems to see the best parts of me, it doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Who am I tutoring this time? :)

When his laughter comes, I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. It’s another thing that not a lot of people realized when I first showed up. I’m smarter than the average bear. It didn’t take long for the professors to clue in and use it to their advantage. Though if I’m honest, with how much I get paid for helping a lot of the people that have been tossed my way, I’m using it to my advantage too.

It’s nice having a side business when most people think I’m too stupid to do anything at all.

Ryder Kane. His attendance alone speaks to his need for help, but the work he has submitted is also not at the level I was hoping he would be at by now.

When do you need me to start?

As soon as possible. As with the other students you’ve helped, I’ve given him your number. It is my hope that over the next couple of days, he will reach out to you so we can help him.

If he doesn’t reach out?

Ryder isn’t like the others. I can’t go into details, but it’s a safe assumption that if he does not reach out, it will cost him dearly.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. I can read between the lines pretty easily. Ryder, even though I don’t know much about him, is probably like Dillon was when he first transferred here. Sports oriented and not at all interested in the academics needed to have a fall back option if that road wasn’t there anymore.

Dillon changed though, so I’ve got no doubt that with the right amount of work, Ryder can too.

Does he know that he has to text me?

Yes. I’ve made him aware of what he needs to do.

Okay. Well, I’ll do my best.

I know you will, Isaac. I’m not concerned about that. I just hope that we’re not doing this too late.

Does Ryder really need that much help?

Ryder Kane needs a level of help that I’m not even sure your level of intellect can provide. It’s my hope that curing one problem will help with the rest.

This is where things get uncomfortable. He’s not giving me personal information, but what he is saying is enough to make me draw my own conclusions about what my professor believes is the issue here.

It’s information I have no business knowing.

I’ll do what I can for him.

It’s the truth. I’ll help Ryder in whatever way I can. I just hope that knowing what I do now, I don’t live to regret it.

Chapter Two

Ryder

This has got to be someone’s idea of a sick joke.

Considering who recommended this guy to me, there’s no other way I can look at this. I’m the damn punchline in an elaborate joke put together by my annoying roommate.

Isaac Crawford.

I should have put two and two together when his name was given to me days ago, but of course, in another life I must have been a blonde because I didn’t see this coming. The guy that’s supposed to be helping me out of the mess I got myself into, my ticket to getting back on the team and not getting thrown out of school altogether, is the one guy on the entire campus that can’t even talk to me.

Even on a campus this big people talk, and a lot of the time it’s never anything good. It’s even worse with the guys on the team. There’s a lot of shit talking that goes on and I’ve heard a lot more than I want to admit about this guy. If I’m Dillon’s punchline, than I’m pretty sure Isaac is everyone else’s.

I should just bail out on this now that I know, but I don’t. Choosing him the way I did, especially now that I know he’s in every class I need help with most, I’ve got no other option.

Isaac it is.

So how does this work? Do I just tell you everything I’m completely bombing in and you work some kind of magic until I’m back on top again?

Way to go Kane. That didn’t sound perverted at all.

He slides the paper across the table and despite not wanting to react, I laugh.

I already know what you’re bombing in. It’s everything.

You caught me. I suck at everything that isn’t football. So can you help or not?

I can help.

Screw this. I can’t sit here passing paper back and forth like this and not ask. I need to know if this is for real or not. To hear the guys on the team tell it, he does this in order to make girls feel sorry for him. If that’s true, I’m gonna put an end to it. I’d much rather talk to my tutor if I’m gonna be spending the majority of my time with him.

Man, I gotta know. This whole not talking bit, is it for real?

No. It’s all a lie. I enjoy making my hand hurt by writing to thoughtless meatheads all day. It completes me.

Thoughtless meatheads? Is that the best you got?

Calling you a brainless moron wasn’t enough for you?

Well, when he puts it that way, maybe I need to quit while I’m ahead. With the way I’ve been treating my classes, I’m pretty sure the name is accurate.

Point taken. So where do we start?

I’ve put together a list of things I think we need to focus on. We’ll tackle one subject every few days and then I’ll test you on what we’ve gone over and go from there.

What if I do all that, take your tests and it turns out I’m a lost cause?

No one’s a lost cause, Ryder. Some people just need a little more work than others.

Shit. Of all the ways I expected him to answer, especially with his earlier sarcasm, it definitely wasn’t like that. I need to say something back, but I don’t have the first clue what.

His earlier assessment is true. I am a brainless moron.

Is there somewhere more important you need to be right now?

Wow. Pulling away from the conversation with him, going inside my head like I always do, I didn’t even realize how much time passed.

Nah man. Why do you ask?

You’re fidgeting and you keep looking at the door.

Another thing I didn’t notice I was doing. Shit. At the rate this is going, he’s gonna be the one to bail. I need to turn this around or I’m never gonna get back on the team.

I don’t think I need the help, but I don’t have anywhere to be.

He slides a set of papers across the table and when I look down, I see what he’s done. He’s taking what I’ve said and turned it around until it’s glaring me in the face.

You enjoy showing me what an idiot I am?

His eyes move down between the papers in front of him and the table. Anywhere but at me, where for some weird reason I want them to be. Considering I just asked him a question, turning away and not responding, even though I shouldn’t care, bothers the hell out of me.

I guess that’s a yes. I whisper under my breath and that’s when I see the pen start moving across the paper. Pushing it across until it’s bumping up against my tapping fingers, I see the reason for the speed. I’ve pissed him off.

I don’t think you’re an idiot. I’m pretty sure I know what your problem is and it’s not that you’re stupid. If this is going to work, I want you to see the reality of your situation, and what we’ve got to do in order to fix the mess you made to get you back where you need to be. That’s all.

Sorry.

It’s okay, Ryder. I’m used to it.

I should just leave this alone, but the way his eyes go back down to the table, weakened from the way they were when I got here, I can’t just let it sit. I need answers.

Used to what?

He taps the pen against his cheek before placing it on the paper and writing out his response. For whatever reason, this answer, unlike the other ones he’s given me since I got here, is one he’s taking his time with and if what he said earlier wasn’t enough to intrigue me, this definitely is.

You’re not the first stubborn football player I’ve had to tutor. I know what people think about me and what the guys on the team say. I went to high school with a lot of them and it’s been the same repeated stuff for years. The way you are, I’m used to it. This is the last place you want to be and I get it because if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here either.

Damn. He pretty much told me that I’m the last person he wants to be sitting here with. I should open my mouth and agree with everything he said because it’s basically the truth, but I can’t. I don’t know what other people besides Dillon he’s tutored from the team, but if this is gonna work, he needs to know that I’m not everyone else. Even if I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes proving otherwise.

You wanna know the truth?

Sure.

When I got here today, I didn’t realize you were the Isaac that was going to be tutoring me. You’re right. The guys on the team talk a lot of shit about you. I wanted to bail out on this because I don’t get how someone who can’t even talk to me is supposed to be the one helping me. It’s a dickhead thing to think and even say, but it’s true.

Can I show you something?

Yeah.

Sliding two separate pieces of paper across the table until they’re resting against my fingers just like the paper he’s writing on, I see what he’s trying to show me.

This is Jamie’s test before he was tutored and the other one is what he scored after it. It’s the same test, just given at different times. Look at them and tell me if someone who can’t speak to you can help or not.

The first test, it’s even worse than some of mine. I thought it couldn’t get worse than the way I was performing when I was in class, but apparently it can. I don’t know the rules about showing me other peoples work, but looking at the other test and seeing the score in the high eighties, there’s no doubt he’s made his point.

Again.

He’s also effectively shut me up, which judging by the grin on his face, is exactly what he was going for.

So Ryder Kane. Do you still want to bail?

This guy. Damnit. His grin is wearing me down because my answer to that question isn’t even in the same ballpark as what I said before.

No, I don’t, but I do have one more question.

Shoot.

Do you think you can help me beat his score?

Isaac

I’ve helped a lot of people since I got here. It’s one of the things that despite all of the other crap I get, I know I’m good at. There’s nothing better for me then when someone I’ve tutored comes back and shows me how much sitting with me helped them. It gives me a purpose and for a really long time, I didn’t have one.

When I got here this morning, that’s what I was focused on. It’s only when he entered the conference room, stopping at the door the minute he noticed it was me here that everything started to change.

When he finally threw his body into the seat across from me, I was on edge, prepared to run head first into the brick wall that is Ryder Kane’s body because he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. It’s a place I’ve been more than once, so I was ready for it.

What I wasn’t ready for was what happened when he finally raised his head and looked at me for the first time.

The way people talk about me, they do the same thing with Ryder, but in a different way. The girls talk about how good he looks and the guys talk about what a force he is on the football field. Hanging around Belle and her friends, I’ve even heard Dillon say it a few times and no one knows football better than him.

I know nothing about sports, but the eyes I catch staring at me, I start to get what the girls are talking about. They’re blue like Belle’s, but a lot lighter. They’re like the experiment in chemistry class my senior year of high school. Round pools of crystalized glass and hard as hell to break away from.

He’s built the way I expect a football player to be, almost menacing as he leans across the table, but not so much that it’s distracting. His eyes do that enough on their own. He shakes his head, bringing his hand up through his light brown hair and when it falls, it parts in a way that affectively breaks the staring contest I’ve had going on since he walked in.

Focusing my attention back on the reason we’re here and putting my eyes down toward the papers in front of me, he sighs and I force myself not to look back up and acknowledge the sound.

There’s no doubt about it. What the girls say about Ryder is all true and for the first time since I finally admitted I was gay, I’m physically reacting to someone. It just sucks that it’s him.

Even though I don’t have a lot of experience with dating, I can still appreciate a good looking guy. Until now, nothing has ever clicked past that and knowing what I do about Ryder, it

Reviews for Unbroken

[Estarianne · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This is a popular trope, the lovers with disabilities story. Unfortunately the whole "I haven't spoken since I was 2" and the "high functioning autistic" thing seem to be gimmicks rather than character traits, as the character of course has perfect written language and has only occasional "autistic" moments. I found it poorly researched and the whole "autism as fetish" thing bothers me.