Текст книги "Trust"

Автор книги: Ella Frank

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter Fifteen

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and somewhere around three in the morning, Logan found himself in the exact same chair he’d fallen into earlier. He hadn’t spoken a word since his conversation with the receptionist.

Cole had taken the seat to his left, and sitting beside him was Rachel, who had her head on her husband’s shoulder. They both had their eyes closed. Logan envied the peace they must have felt in that moment because he would’ve done anything to be able to escape the all-consuming need to know what was going on behind the white double doors only steps away from him.

People had come and gone from the waiting room. Been seen, healed, and told to go home with a few pills—they would live to see another day. As for him, he was waiting in a room with his eyes fixated on a door in the hopes that the one person he’d thought he would never want to see again would walk through.

Diana. She was the only one who could get him access, and he’d gone over every kind of conversation imaginable so he was prepared when—or if—she decided to come out.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut and brought a hand to his face. He rubbed his gritty eyes and then looked at the clock on the wall. Hours. It had literally been hours, and he knew nothing more than what he’d originally been told.

And really, what are the odds she’ll come out here and tell me anything more?

If he was honest, she was the last person he’d want to engage with if the situation was reversed, and as that hard truth settled in the pit of his stomach, he felt bile rise in his throat.

“Logan?”

Not willing to take his eyes away from the locked doors leading to the inner halls of the hospital, he didn’t bother turning his head. He remained silent and focused.

That was when a woman in a white lab coat and a black dress stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the door. He raised his head, ready to tell her to get out of the way, but when his vision cleared, the doctor turned out to be someone he knew. He was almost shocked out of his grief by who was standing in front of him.

“Logan?” she said again, bending at the waist to touch his shoulder.

“Shelly?”

She gave him a tight smile as he tried to work out what was going on. “Hi.”

He blinked a couple of times, and when he couldn’t think of anything to say, she offered a hand.

“Want to come for a walk with me?”

The bold blonde he’d met only weeks ago at game night was nowhere to be found. In her place was a sophisticated doctor. But Logan wasn’t budging. He shook his head and turned away from her.

“No. I’m waiting.”

She stepped in front of him again and crouched down so they were eye to eye, and as she gave a slight nod, she told him, “I know.” She placed a hand on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know if Cole told you, but I’m a pulmonologist here at the hospital.” When it was clear he wasn’t about to say anything, she said, “Come for a walk,” and straightened to her full height.

When he looked up at her, the expression in her eyes finally had him getting to his feet quietly. Cole and Rachel were still resting, and he didn’t want to wake them.

Shelly glanced at the two of them and smiled. “I’ll tell one of the girls over there to let them know you’re with me if they wake.”

After Logan agreed, she approached the front desk, chatted with one of the women behind it, and then turned back to face him. He looked to the double doors one last time and then to Shelly, deciding that five minutes talking to her couldn’t hurt, right?

He walked over to where she was standing and then followed her lead as she wandered with him down the hall toward the vending machines.

“I’m so sorry to hear about Tate. I hope you don’t mind, but Cole called me this evening after you arrived here at the ER and were refused any information on his condition.”

Logan still didn’t have anything to say, so he remained silent until she stopped walking. Then he too halted his steps.

“I’m not supposed to do this, but”—she grabbed his arm and pulled him into a small alcove where there were two water fountains—“I know how much you care about him, and if I were you, I’d be going out of my ever-lovin’ mind.”

The slight Southern inflection that entered her feisty tone was the first thing that slipped through Logan’s numb state, but still, it wasn’t enough to get a verbal response.

“I spoke to the surgeon who worked on Tate when he was brought in and found out as much as I could. The first thing you need to know is that his condition is serious. They’ve listed it as guarded.”

Logan took a step back and used the wall as a prop to hold him up just in case his knees gave out from what she was about to tell him.

“He suffered a broken clavicle and two broken ribs, one which punctured his right lung, causing it to collapse. Also known as a pneumothorax.”

“Oh, God,” Logan muttered, the words escaping without any conscious thought, as he ran a hand through his hair. Gripping the back of his neck, he sucked his top lip behind his lower teeth, trying to keep the shout that was bubbling up inside him from slipping free.

“I know this is hard to hear. Do you want me to stop?” Shelly reached for his arm, a physical show of support.

Logan shook his head and tried to stave off the tears—he needed to hold it together.

“Okay. After they inserted a drain and relieved the air in the lung, his condition deteriorated and they had to place him on a ventilator. They thought that would be enough, that it would get him through the safety window and on the road to healing, but around thirty minutes ago, one of my colleagues was called to his room. Tate’s condition…” She paused, and Logan didn’t dare look away from her. “It’s continued to deteriorate, and they’ve started differential lung ventilation.”

He’d tried to keep up with all of the medical jargon she’d been throwing his way, and he’d understood most, but the last part… “What’s that mean? Differential?” His voice was scratchy, and he knew it was from fighting back the emotional lump in his throat all day and his lack of actually speaking.

When Shelly stepped in beside him and ran her hand down his arm to take his hand, he looked at her sympathetic eyes and felt his entire body shudder.

Obviously, it meant nothing good.

“It means he’s on two ventilators, one going into each lung. They’re doing additional x-rays now, and we’ll know more soon.”

“Fucking hell,” Logan cursed, unable to think of anything else that even remotely relayed every feeling he was having in that moment.

Tate was somewhere in here, with God knows how many tubes and needles going in and out of him, and he wasn’t able to do a fucking thing. He was useless. Helpless. And the more he thought about it, the more enraged he became.

“Did you see anyone back there with him?” he grit out. “He shouldn’t be alone through all of this, and since the guard dogs at your front desk won’t let me back…”

Shelly winced, appearing uncomfortable, but then she said softly, “His parents are in there. And so is another woman.”

Logan let the rage inside him boil over, welcoming the emotion, as he pushed off the wall and stalked away from Shelly.

Best to be nowhere close—he felt homicidal.

“His parents are in there? Jesus, no wonder his condition is deteriorating. I thought you were supposed to be around people who love you to heal, and he’s stuck with his ex-wife and the parents who disowned him? Awesome job. This hospital is really on top of their shit.”

“Logan?” Shelly said.

“What?” he snapped, rounding on her. He knew that it wasn’t her fault, but at this stage, she was the only one around to let his anger out on. “The man I love is somewhere in this fucking building, surrounded by people who practically threw him out on the road like a piece of garbage. I’m not even allowed back there to see him. What a goddamn joke.”

“I know this is frustrating.”

“Frustrating?” he mocked. “No, you know what’s frustrating? When you see someone you really want to fuck and can’t because they keep saying no. I’ve been frustrated. This…this is agony. Torment beyond anything I’ve ever felt before.” He paused and closed his eyes before whispering, “This is hell.”

Shelly came over to him and clasped his hands. “Let me see what I can do about getting you in there, okay? Until then, I’ll keep an eye on his progress. Hey?”

Logan looked at her. “Yeah?”

“He’s lucky to have you.”

Logan nodded as she stepped around him.

“Will you be okay getting back to the waiting room?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, his anger having drained from him.

“Okay. I have rounds, but I’ll be back before I go home. If anything changes, I’ll let you know. Hang in there. He’s going to need you when he wakes.”

As she walked away from him, Logan was left with the one thought he’d been trying to avoid. “If” he wakes.

The sun had risen a little over two hours ago, and as the clock in the waiting room hit eight, Logan stretched his neck from side to side. He’d just finished telling Cole and Rachel what Shelly had said, and after getting over the initial shock of the severity of Tate’s condition, Cole had volunteered to get them some real coffee.

As Logan bent over and rested his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his hands over his weary face. The day-old stubble scratched against his palms, and he realized just how unkempt he was. His jacket was a crumpled mess beside him, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. They all looked like hell, which was understandable considering the day and night they’d had.

Cole had tried to convince him to go home and take a shower, but there was no force on Earth strong enough to make him leave that hospital.

He wanted to see Tate. He needed to see for himself that he was still there—still here with me. And until he got that, he was going nowhere.

Trying to occupy himself, he undid the buttons at his wrists and started to roll the sleeves up his arms. When he was halfway done with the second, the double doors pushed open and the woman he’d ironically been hoping would walk out…did.

Diana Cline—or should he say, Diana Morrison—stopped just outside the doors and scanned the waiting room. Her eyes hadn’t found him yet, and as Logan got to his feet, he noted that Tate’s ex looked terrible.

Her hair was in a mess of a bun on top of her head, she was dressed in baggy sweatpants, and the sweater she had on looked three sizes too big. She looked like a woman who’d been sitting at home and had to suddenly drop everything and go somewhere.

Diana looked as bad as he felt.

When her eyes finally skidded to a stop and latched on to his, his palms started sweating and he had to move them to his pants to wipe them. This was it. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. The moment where, if he needed to, he’d grovel at her feet to see Tate—even if it was only for a second.

He took a step toward her, and when her eyes widened, Logan raised a hand, trying to convey he was…what? Coming in peace?

Diana’s chin started to quiver as he continued to approach her. Her red-rimmed eyes blinked frantically, and Logan’s pulse picked up. He was so close, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, she clutched her handbag across her body, turned, and ran out the automatic doors.

Fuck. “Diana!” he called out. No. Damn it, he thought as he watched her go.

He was two seconds away from chasing after her when the doors opened again and there, standing directly in front of him, was Tate’s father.

“Mr. Mitchell, isn’t it?”

Logan dropped his hand to his side and tried to get his mouth to work. But as he stood before Mr. Morrison, all he could think about was the last time he’d seen this man and that he had Tate’s eyes.

Then he said something Logan had never expected to hear. “We need to talk.”

Logan followed Tate’s father over to an empty area in the waiting room. Rachel’s eyes were on them, and Logan gave a small nod of his head, indicating that he was okay, before he took a seat opposite the exhausted-looking man.

“Is he okay?” Logan rushed out, not knowing what he was there to say but needing to ask someone who’d seen him.

“He’s in rough shape.”

“If you’re here to tell me to leave, you can forget it,” he said. “I’m not going until I see him. If I have to wait two days, two weeks, two fucking months—I’m not leaving.”

Tate’s father held his hand up and nodded grimly. “I’m not here to tell you to leave.”

Logan swallowed back his next argument and instead asked, “You’re not?”

Mr. Morrison met his gaze head on, reminding Logan so much of his son. There was no argument Tate would back down from, and Logan could see where he’d gotten his determination.

“No, I’m not. I’m here to tell you that we’re leaving.”

Logan narrowed his eyes and sat back. “I don’t understand.”

“In a couple of hours, I’m going to take Tate’s mother and his sister home to get some food and get cleaned up. Then I’ll bring them back this afternoon around four.”

As what he was telling him sank in, Logan was at a complete loss for words. This was the last person he’d expected to show compassion. Never in a million years would he have guessed that Tate’s father would be the one to let him in to see his son—yet that was exactly what he was doing. Isn’t it?

Just to make certain, Logan said cautiously, “I can’t get back without—”

“They have your name,” Mr. Morrison said, and then he stood.

Logan looked up at the tall man towering over him, and in that moment, he felt the tears he’d been holding back since the moment he’d answered Cole’s call slide down over his cheeks. The gift this man had just extended to him was…was…

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m still not on board with all of this, but Diana mentioned that, just before his surgery, Tate regained consciousness for a few seconds. The last thing he said before they put him under was, ‘Tell Logan yes.’”

Logan brought a hand to his mouth and clamped it over his lips, trying to hold back the overwhelming heartache those words had caused. Even while lying on an operating table, in and out of consciousness, Tate had reached for him.

“I don’t know what he was talking about, but this is my way of honoring his words. I’m telling you yes. You can go in there. See him, talk to him, but don’t be there when I bring his mother back. If you can do that, I’m happy for you to try to get my boy to wake up.”

Logan nodded, willing to take anything at this point. Tate’s father gave a final nod, and as he walked away, Logan stood and somehow made his way down the hall Shelly had taken him to earlier that morning.

When he found the small alcove with the water fountains, he stepped into it and slid down the wall until he was crouched with his back against it. He wrapped his arms around his knees, placed his head on them, and finally let go of every pent-up emotion he’d had over the last twenty-four hours.

The wracking sobs that left his chest made his entire body shake and he clutched his knees tighter, trying to ground himself. The pain inside his heart was excruciating, as though someone were ripping it from his body, and as he opened the floodgates to release some of the strain, it merely intensified until it physically hurt to cry any more.

Raising his head, Logan looked up at the white popcorn ceiling above him. His eyes stung from the sheer amount of tears he’d shed, and as he thought about the man he’d finally get to see in a couple of hours, he sent a prayer up to the God Tate believed so strongly in.

“Please…” he started, wiping his cheeks. “If you’re up there and listening, I know I don’t deserve it, but he does. He really does. Let me see him today. Let me tell him how much I love him.” He dragged the back of his hand across his wet mouth and could taste the salt on his lips before he whispered, “Please hear me…just this once.”

Chapter Sixteen

Sometime later, Logan found himself being led through the double doors of the ER and down several winding corridors. He had no idea how he finally got to the ICU, but somehow, that’s where he ended up.

The nurse who’d retrieved him pointed across the hall to room three and told him that Tate was just inside. With his jacket clutched in his hand, Logan took several steps toward the glass sliding door, petrified of what he would see on the other side, yet at the same time, needing to know. As he got closer, he reminded himself to breathe, but nothing could’ve prepared him for what he saw when he looked inside.

In the center of the room was a lone bed surrounded by mountains of equipment. But it was the man lying on the bed, flat on his back, with stark, white sheets around his waist, that had Logan reaching for the wall for support.

Tate’s arms lay still by his sides. One had an IV inserted into the top of his hand, and the other had a small, blue clamp on his index finger that monitored his pulse. But that wasn’t what had Logan gripping the jamb so tight that his knuckles were white. No, that was due to the drainage tube inserted below his purplish-colored ribs on the right-hand side and the tangle of them winding from the complicated machines by either side of his head to his mouth.

“It’s hard to look at, isn’t it?”

The quiet voice came from behind him, so Logan made himself turn, shocked to find Diana. She wasn’t looking at him though. She was staring through the glass at the man lying in silent repose.

“I still can’t believe it when I’m in there.” She brought her eyes to his then. Logan saw the redness from hours of crying surrounding them. He supposed that his were much the same. “That it’s really him, you know?”

Of all the ways Logan had ever thought he’d speak to Diana again, this was not it. He’d hoped, when he’d been outside, that she would see him, but after she’d run, he’d figured that was it.

“I know,” he said, surprised when she stepped beside him. He looked at her side profile as she touched the glass.

“He really loves you.”

Logan straightened and let his hand fall from the wall to clutch the jacket between both of them. So many things had gone through his head and heart over the last couple of days, but never had he expected to be standing here and discussing this with Diana of all people.

All the smartass comments or arrogant responses he would usually dish out in this kind of situation vanished in an instant, and he found himself…speechless.

“When I first came home from college years ago and Tate and I…” She gave a small grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she glanced over at him. “When we got together, I begged him to tell his parents, and he wouldn’t.” She laughed a little and looked back at Tate through the glass. “He was worried about how they’d react since I was a friend of the family. It took him months…months to finally tell them. And with you—” She stopped talking and shrugged. “I thought if I threatened him, made him have to tell them, that he’d deny it. That he’d turn up at the house for Sunday lunch and tell me to never mention you again. But he didn’t do that. That stubborn ass brought you home for lunch. A man. I never expected him to do that. Not to his very Catholic mother. And you know what?” she asked, fully turning to face him.

Logan looked at the woman who had caused them so many problems, and in that instant, he didn’t feel any of the animosity he once had. He felt sympathy at the defeated look in her eyes.

“He never would’ve done that if he didn’t love you with every fiber of his being.”

When she placed a hand on his arm and stepped closer, Logan held his breath for whatever she was about to say.

“Love him,” she whispered. “Love him, and don’t ever stop—not even for a second. Because trust me—losing him feels much worse than standing outside this door right now.”

Before Logan could respond, she moved around him and walked away.

Beep… Beep… Beep.

That was the first sound that hit Logan’s ears as he slid the door open, and squared his shoulders. Making sure to close it behind himself, he gathered his courage and walked into Tate’s room.

Logan placed his jacket over the arm of the aqua-colored recliner in the corner and slowly made his way across to the intimidating bed Tate was stretched out on. He had a surgical cap on over his curls, likely to keep them away from his mouth and the tubes secured to his lips. His beautiful eyes were taped shut, and stuck to his smooth, tan chest were the pads connected to the heart monitor.

The picture he made was gut wrenching.

Logan came around the left side of the bed, glad for the chair that was there as he practically fell down into it and stared at the silent man in front of him. It was like looking at a stranger, because instead of the strong, obstinate, lovable man he was used to seeing, he was looking at someone who was a mere shell of himself.

He scooted to the edge of the seat and reached for Tate’s hand. Surprisingly, it was warm, and as Logan lowered his head and pressed his lips to Tate’s fingers, he felt his body start to shake as the shock of seeing him this way started to overwhelm him.

The tears were starting up again as he continued to kiss Tate’s knuckles. Then he glanced at his face and said the words he knew he would if Tate’s eyes were open.

“You stubborn ass. I don’t know if you can hear me right now, but damn it, Tate, I need you to wake up.” Closing his eyes, Logan squeezed the fingers he was holding and asked, “Do you remember our first date?” He knew he wouldn’t get a response, but thought about what Tate’s father had told him.

“See him, talk to him… Get my boy to wake up.”

“You know, the one where you tried to embarrass me by ordering a blow job? I don’t think I ever told you, but that was the first time I thought about just how far I would go to keep you.”

Resting his arms on the bed, Logan stroked a thumb over the back of Tate’s hand.

“You were gearing up to tell me to stop coming by the bar, to stop seeing you, and I remember how angry I was that you were even suggesting it, but at the same time, I was grasping for anything—anything to make you stay. Then you did the one thing I can never resist. You dared me. You dared me to try something with you and only you.”

Logan stopped and shook his head, not knowing if any of this would work but willing at this point to talk for hours straight if need be.

“So I’m daring you. Wake up. Wake up and tell me that you were right. That you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Logan sucked in a shaky breath and then let it out as he ran his eyes over Tate’s body. “And that I never stood a chance. I love you, and I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever. I can be stubborn too. Got it?”

When the only response he got was the beeping of the machines, Logan sat back in the chair and let his eyes wander around the room. It wasn’t until they landed on the drawers on the far side that he noticed a plastic bag. He got to his feet, and walked over to it and saw Tate’s clothes inside. Logan opened it up and removed his black leather jacket, noticing that one arm had a hole ripped into it from the accident. But other than that, it was as it had always been.

He turned back to the bed and brought the leather up to his face. He nuzzled into the collar of the worn material, and as the scent of Tate surrounded him, he closed his eyes and thought about the last time he’d seen him.

When he opened them again, he noticed the whiteboard behind Tate’s head with the day, date, and time and was shocked. I last saw him…Monday morning? And it’s only Tuesday. Fuck. It seemed like an eternity had passed.

With Tate’s jacket in hand, he went back over to the chair by the bed and settled into it. As he did, he pulled his phone from his back pocket so it wouldn’t jam into his hip. Ever since he’d arrived at the hospital, he’d had it on vibrate, but as he sat there in the silent room, he had an idea.

He’d heard somewhere once that music was a good way to reach those who were unconscious, even bring back memories to those who had lost theirs—so hell, why not try everything.

As Logan scrolled through his music list on his phone, searching for the song he was after, he noticed a piece of paper that had fallen onto the floor. He bent down and picked it up, opening it.

Across the top, scrawled in Tate’s handwriting, was: Possible Bar Locations

There were several listings underneath with check marks beside them or crosses through them, but what caught Logan’s attention was the final listing. It was circled several times, check marked, and beside it, Tate had written: Perfect location. Decent price. Show Logan.

That wouldn’t have been overly significant except for what was beside that—three simple words. The same words he’d been told earlier by Tate’s father. Tell him yes.

For the first time in days, Logan felt his lips twitch, wanting to grin as he refolded the piece of paper and slipped it back in the jacket pocket.

Of course, he thought as he pressed play on his phone. Even when you’re finally ready to give me what I want, you’re going to tease me a little first.

As Peter Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill” filled the room, Logan stood, placed the jacket on the chair, and then leaned down until he was close enough to press his lips to Tate’s forehead. “Come on, Tate. It’s time to wake up and tell me yes.”

Logan couldn’t remember how he’d ended up in Cole’s car, but when his eyes opened and he realized where he was, he sat up like someone had jolted him with electricity.

How the…“What the fuck, Cole?” he demanded as he glowered at his brother.

Cole took his eyes off the road and looked over to him with a frown of concern on his face. “You need a shower, brother. A shower, some food, and maybe, oh I don’t know, ten minutes of uninterrupted shut-eye.”

“Fuck you. Take me back.”

“No,” Cole told him, and Logan had the urge to punch him square in the jaw.

“Take. Me. Back.”

“No.”

That answer was really pissing him off, and as Logan unbuckled his seatbelt, Cole reached across and stilled his hand.

“Think about what you’re doing. Do you really think you’ll be any good for Tate if you can’t function? If you yourself get sick?”

Logan wanted to tell him to go to hell, but the smart fucker had a point. Cole released his hold and brought his hand back to the steering wheel as he wove them through the quiet streets.

“I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but I will tell you this: If that were Rachel in there and you were pulling this shit…I’d want to fucking kill you. But think for just a minute and you’ll realize we’re trying to help you.”

Choosing to bite his angry words back, Logan glared out the front window and remained silent. Cole was right. He did want to kill him. He was furious that he’d taken him away from Tate. What if something happens and I’m not there?

“Shelly promised that, if anything changed… Hey?” Cole stopped talking and snapped his fingers.

Logan turned his head to look at him.

Then he continued. “If anything changes, she will call.”

Logan didn’t bother responding. He went back to staring out the window as Cole continued to talk.

“Rachel went home with Lena so she could watch her, and you are stuck with me.”

“How wonderful,” Logan muttered.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘How fucking wonderful.’”

“Logan…” Cole sighed.

“What?”

“You were like a fucking zombie when you came out of his room. You were barely coherent. You need to refuel.”

Rolling his eyes, Logan shook his head and spat out, “How do you know what I need? I need to be there. With him.”

Cole turned into the parking garage of Logan’s condo, and as he punched the code in and drove into the visitor’s area, he remained silent. It wasn’t until he drew the car to a stop and pulled the keys from the ignition that Cole really let him have it.

“Listen to me for a second. I know you want to be there. But there’s no fucking way I’m going to sit there and let your health go to shit. I have three people I’m currently worried about, and if I can get you remotely off the ‘is he going to fall the fuck apart’ list, that would be pretty damn awesome. You got it?”

Logan shoved the car door open and managed to get himself out, which was a feat in itself considering how shaky his legs were. Gripping the side of the car, he held on to it for a moment as everything started to spin around him. He felt like shit, and before he knew that it was going to happen, Logan grabbed his stomach, and threw up all over the concrete floor.

“Shit, Logan, are you okay?”

As Cole’s words hit his ears, Logan’s stomach convulsed a second time, and whatever was left inside him came out exactly as the first round had.

Jesus… What the hell is going on?

“You’re a goddamned mess,” Cole said as he wrapped his arm around his back and clutched his waist.

Logan’s head hung down and his hair flopped in his eyes as the stress, the shock, and fuck, everything else finally took its toll.

“Upstairs. Come on. We need to get you upstairs.” Cole pulled him up until he could sling his arm over his shoulders.

Logan brought bleary eyes up to his. “’Kay,” he finally agreed.

“Can I just say how grateful I am that you waited until you were outside of the car to do that?”

Logan swallowed a gulp of air at the acrid taste in his mouth. He really did need a shower and, now, his toothbrush and toothpaste. After hobbling across the lot with Cole, he leaned on the wall and waited for the elevator.

When they got inside, one of Cole’s eyebrows rose as he asked, “You going to be okay in here?”

Logan managed a small nod before the elevator took them up to his floor.

Cole got him down the hall and into his condo, and as the door shut behind them, Cole said, “Come on. You need a shower. Then, once you feel up to it, I’ll take you back. I promise. You’ll be there when he wakes.”

Logan staggered into his dark living room, Cole’s words repeating in his head. As he stopped and looked out his balcony doors to a view he thought would forever make him happy, he now found himself wondering if he’d ever know that feeling again.

When Cole had walked farther into his place, Logan finally voiced his biggest fear. “What if he never wakes?”

“He will.”

Logan rounded on Cole and demanded, “What if he doesn’t? You didn’t see him, Cole. He’s hooked up to so many damn machines it was hard to tell where they ended and he began. Fuck, I feel sick again.”