Fragile by M. Leighton Page A

watching her.
    “Do you remember what you were looking at?  What made you feel that way?” Miracle asked.
    Hardy shook his head noncommittally, avoiding her eyes.  “Nah, not really.”  He hated to lie, but he had yet to figure out what he was feeling for Miracle.  The last thing he needed was to blurt out some crazy nonsense that might scare her away. 
    Clearing his throat, Hardy took the picture from her fingertips and exchanged it for another.  “And this one?”
    During their walk through the park, Hardy and Miracle had stumbled upon a group of Peewee cheerleaders that had made Hardy think of Cheyenne, his supposed “good luck charm.”
    Hardy’s father had always been convinced that luck had everything to do with football.  He believed that if you found something that worked and stuck with it, the outcome would be inevitable.  According to Wayne Bradford, Cheyenne had her place in Hardy’s luck and he’d always drilled into Hardy’s brain the importance of keeping her around.  For that reason, he would be the one person sure to find fault with Miracle.  Seeing him at the restaurant had only confirmed that. 
    Now, as Hardy looked at his own face in the picture, he relived the tornado of emotions those thoughts had stirred up inside him. 
    “I see turmoil.  Lots of turmoil.  I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I can see it.”
    Miracle’s brow was wrinkled, almost as though she was feeling what he’d felt during the split second that photo had been taken.  He hoped she couldn’t feel it.  Not really. Miracle had undoubtedly had more than her fair share of rough days.  He wanted to bring her sunshine and laughter, not more of the same.
    “Why do you hide?”
    Her question took him by surprise.  “What?”
    “Why do you hide?” she repeated.
    Hardy frowned.  “I don’t hide.”
    “But you do,” she said, taking a step closer to him.  She tilted her head to the side as she studied him.  “What are you afraid of?”
    Although he knew there was no way she could know, Hardy felt his hackles rise in response to her line of questioning.  “The only thing I’m afraid of is your twisted insight,” he said glibly, deflecting.  “Next time you decide to take my picture, I’d appreciate a heads up.”
    With that, Hardy handed Miracle the pictures.  He ignored the way the stunned and hurt expression on her face tugged at his heart and he turned toward the door.
    “See you at school.”
    And then he left.
    ********
    Hardy was feeling prickly and disgruntled on the trip home.  He wasn’t quite sure why he’d reacted as he had to Miracle, but her insight left him unsettled.  He wasn’t used to people seeing the real Hardy. Not even those closest to him, much less a veritable stranger. 
    Only Miracle didn’t feel like a stranger.  She felt more like the missing piece of his soul, a piece he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.
    Distracted by his unhappiness over the way he’d left things with her, Hardy was paying little attention to his surroundings when he walked through the front door.  He jumped when his father’s booming voice interrupted his musings.
    “Hardy!  Get in here!”
    An old, familiar dread pooled in the pit of his stomach.  Hardy’s thoughts immediately shifted from Miracle to the remembered fear.  He had to remind himself that he had nothing to fear, that he wouldn’t allow his father to hurt him anymore.  Not him, not his mother, not his brother.  He’d come too far to regress now.
    “Sir?” Hardy answered respectfully as he stepped into his father’s study.
    Wayne Bradford stood from behind his desk, but didn’t walk around it.  He simply placed his tented fingertips on the glossy mahogany surface and leaned forward.
    “Where have you been?”
    His ire crackled in the air around his head like a fiery halo.  Hardy knew the look, knew the tension all too well.  He was loaded for bear and ready to fight.
    “Taking part of an