Free Broken by Lauren Layne Page B

Langdon’s issues are a lot more in his head than in his leg. And I suspect that, deep down, he knows it too.
    Which is why he’s avoiding me.
    He’s not trying to run me off with the same sort of hostile enthusiasm he displayed yesterday, but he’s certainly not seeking me out. I’m disappointed but not surprised. After all, he’s made it very clear that he can’t stand anything about me. Not my personality, not my running technique, not my pink shoes…
    Later, Lindy asks me to take Paul lunch—homemade minestrone and a ham sandwich—but when I bring it into the study, the room is still empty. However, there’s a glass of some brown alcohol on the desk that I know wasn’t there earlier, so he’s obviously not locked in his bedroom anymore.
    Yup. Definitely avoiding me. I take the tumbler of liquor out with me after setting the tray on the desk. I’m not a teetotaler by any means, but the last thing this guy needs is to be drinking before noon. When I get back to the kitchen I dump the alcohol down the sink, perversely hoping that I’ve just tossed something extremely expensive.
    I spend the next couple of hours in my room. I call my mom and give her a glossy, half-truth-filled version of my first day. Next I call Bella, and although I fill her in on the fact that Paul is younger than expected and ridiculously sexy (best friend privilege; I can’t
not
tell her), I stop short of confiding that I’m both drawn to him and utterly terrified by him. I certainly don’t tell her about the kiss.
    Then I kill as much time as I can checking in on the various social media stops, spending an extra few minutes studying the newest pictures of Ethan and Stephanie, just to punish myself.
    Seeing the wide smile on my ex’s face when he looks at the tiny brunette feels a bit like a knife in the chest. He used to look at
me
that way. Didn’t he? Ugh. What if he
didn’t
? What if nobody does again?
    Once I’ve exhausted every social media network and every celeb gossip site I know, I’m about to close my laptop when a new email comes through.
    It’s from Harry Langdon.
Ms. Middleton:
    Glad to hear you’re settling in nicely. I hope Paul wasn’t too unwelcoming. He can be a bit rough around newcomers given his condition. I know he’ll be difficult, but I’m confident that even just an hour or two of human contact each day is vital to his recovery. Be patient with him. He’s a good boy.
    I’ll be in touch,
    Harry
    P.S.: Watch his drinking.
    I read the message twice.
Really
? “A good boy”? Clearly Harry hasn’t spent much time with his “boy” in a while, because the guy I met is far from
good,
and well on his way out of boyhood.
    Also, what
condition
? Hostility? General asshole-ness? Being allowed to wallow in self-pity for too long?
    Plus there’s a detached quality about the email that’s bugging me. Sure, the man is paying ridiculous amounts of money to hide his son away in luxury, but can paid babysitters really make up for the lack of family? And where’s Paul’s mom? I make a mental note to ask Lindy.
    The only thing about the businesslike email that gives me
any
peace of mind is Mr. Langdon’s mention of “an hour or two” of human contact. I admit I’ve been feeling a little weird about getting free room and board plus a decent salary to watch over a guy I can’t even seem to locate. But hey, if they want to pay me to intrude on his morning walks and dump out his booze, bring it on.
    I set the laptop aside and reach for the book I brought with me. One of my personal goals for this little Maine adventure is to read more. I mean, I’ve always been really good at reading gossip magazines, and I read my textbooks carefully enough to get good grades. But lately I’ve had a little craving to get more substance into my life.
    I pulled a biography of Andrew Jackson off the shelf in my dad’s library when I was packing, mostly because it was big and had “Pulitzer Prize Winner” printed on the