Read Broken for Free Online Page B

awaits this girl, and it is not pretty. Far from it.
    I open the door, wondering how I’m supposed to chase after the girl with this leg.
    Turns out I don’t have to chase her.
    She’s waiting for me.

Chapter Five
Olivia
    For five minutes I’ve been standing outside the library, staring at the door he slammed in my face and wondering just who—or
what
—Paul Langdon is.
    I mean, I wasn’t expecting a gentle teddy bear in need of a hug and a listening ear or anything, but that
thing
is more like a tormented barbarian than a war-weary human. Still, it’s not until the door unexpectedly swings open again that I realize just how stupidly unprepared I am.
    He was completely in the shadows before, but this time the hallway light catches him, and it feels like my stomach drops to my feet.
    Paul Langdon is
not
the crippled, middle-aged recluse he’s supposed to be.
    He steps back into the shadows before I can see him properly, but my first impression is broad shoulders, military-short blond hair, and piercing blue eyes. And young. Like
my age
young.
    “What the hell are you still doing here?” he asks, taking another step backward into the darkness of the library.
    I instinctively take a step forward, and he goes back another step just as quickly, and for the first time I notice that despite giving the overall impression of youth and vitality, he doesn’t move nimbly.
    I stop in my tracks, as though not to scare a wounded animal. Aren’t wounded animals the most likely to lash out? And this guy is definitely wounded.
    “What the fuck are you still doing here?” he repeats, this time with a snarl.
    Well. At least I didn’t imagine that whole surly caveman episode from a few minutes ago. Seconds after he’d dropped that little bomb about a suicide watch, Lindy sighed and patted my shoulder, telling me to be “patient with the boy.”
    Patient my ass. Sure, the guy has likely seen more horror that I can possibly imagine, but if there’s anything that a rich Manhattan girl is familiar with, it’s the tone of a self-indulgent jerk. Paul Langdon
definitely
has some of that going on.
    I’m probably supposed to answer his testy question about what I’m still doing here with something calm and straightforward and soothing. Nothing comes to mind, so instead I stay silent.
    He remains in the shadows, and I’m suddenly desperate to know what he’s hiding. What would turn someone who looks like him into a suicidal recluse?
    “At least throw a dollar in the hat,” he bites out before turning away and moving toward the desk. He walks with a slight limp, but…
    Is it my imagination, or did the limp come
after
he started moving? Almost like he had to
remind
himself to limp?
    I guess I should go to him and make some sort of effort to help, but some dark, untapped instinct tells me not to. That’s what he’ll expect, and being predictable with this guy is a mistake.
    “A dollar in the hat?” I repeat, shutting the library door quietly behind me. Stupid move. The already dark room now seems intimate, and I’m all too aware that it’s just me and a guy who may or may not want to kill himself. Or me.
    “If you’re going to gawk, at least give me the same sympathy dollar you’d give any other circus freak,” he clarifies, still not turning around.
    I roll my eyes at his melodrama as I move closer, wanting to see his face. No,
needing
to see his face.
    From the back, he’s practically perfect. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that’s tight enough to show the ripples of his sculpted back, and his dark denim jeans ride just low enough on his hips to be interesting. I’m pretty sure that if he lifted his hands above his head, I’d catch a glimpse of boxers.
    Or briefs?
    Why is my mouth watering?
    I haven’t even seen the guy in full light yet and I’m about fifteen seconds away from asking if his offspring would like to take up residence in my uterus.
    I should run. Instead, I move closer.
    “Let me guess. You were