Chapter 37
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
Salem
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and I never used to understand what that meant.
Photos can be destroyed. They can be altered, manipulated, creased and bent. I didn't realize until now that the same could be said for a memory.
I sit at Logan’s bedside, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. His heart rhythm matches my own, the machine connected to him beeping in my ear. The hand I hold in mine is warm but limp. Stubble dusts his chin from six days of lying in bed with a ventilator down his throat.
But he still doesn't wake. Not when they airlifted him home to Utah yesterday. Not through the MRIs and multiple skin grafts to cover the road rash all over his body. Not even now, as I squeeze his hand tightly, his wedding band digging into my skin.
“There's some activity,” the doctors had said, “but he's experienced a traumatic brain injury. Healing will take time.”
But how much time? Nobody knows.
A picture's worth a thousand words, and I have none of the man currently lying comatose in front of me. I’d destroyed them all after he left me in Vegas.
I didn't even take any of him at Matty and Xed’s wedding, or on the tour.
Oh, there's plenty of Devon and Arya, though. Thousands of Taylor and Christian.
But not one goddamned photo of Logan. It's like he's ceased to exist.
Voices drifting down the hall catch my attention, and I rub my aching neck in time to see Logan’s parents, Joel and Sarah, step through the door.
His mother gasps when she sees him, a hand flying to her mouth, while his father lingers in the doorway. Technically, I didn't have to call them, but… something shouted at me that I should. He may not be their biological child, but they still raised him.
I drop Logan’s hand and wipe my eyes. His mom rushes forward to stroke his hair, blinking rapidly like she’s trying not to cry. “Oh, my sweet boy,” she whispers. “What did you do to yourself?”
What did he do to himself?! I bite my tongue so hard it nearly bleeds.
His father still hasn’t stepped into the room. “Does he know we’re here?”
“He’s in a coma,” I snap bitterly. “So probably not.”
“I see.” Joel finally steps inside, taking a spot beside his wife. “Well, I guess he got that wild streak out of his system. You can leave now.”
I blink, stunned by his sheer audacity. “That’s not happening.”
Logan’s mom glances at me in surprise, but it’s his dad who dares to level me with that holier-than-thou sneer—the same one he gave us the day we stole Logan from his office. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not leaving him.”
Joel exhales sharply through his nose. “You and your group of heathens are the reason my son is even in this mess.”
Fire rises in my chest, but I clench my fists to keep from marching over there. “Actually, that blame falls on you. If it weren't for the fact that you lied to him about being adopted, he never would have left his cushy little office job to come with us.”
Logan’s father opens his mouth to argue, but his wife silences him with a gentle hand on his arm, all without lifting her eyes from her son. “She's right. We messed up, Joel. Let her stay. He’d want her here.”
For once, the man listens, though he doesn't seem pleased about it.
I settle back into my chair and take Logan’s hand again, watching his lids flicker rapidly. Sarah pulls up a seat on his other side and does the same, meeting my gaze over Logan’s head. “Devon is okay, then?”
Huffing a dry laugh, I shrug. “Last I heard, but the multiple broken bones and collapsed lung sound harsh. He's getting his chest tube removed as we speak, so Huckslee and Taylor will be bringing him home from Kansas later.”
She nods, but doesn't say anything else as she gazes at her son. Joel stands behind her with his hands on her shoulders, lips pressed into a thin line. It's hard to tell whether he's pissed or in pain. Or constipated. Probably all three.
With a sigh, I look back down at the man in the bed—at the man who once loved me so much it felt suffocating. If he wakes up, I’ll take every damn photo we missed.
A quiet sob bubbles through the room, and Sarah lowers her head. “I never wanted him to hate me.”
All I can do is nod, because I feel the same. Guilt pulses through my veins as I study his lax face. I don’t know if he can hear us, if any of this will reach him, but… I hope it does.
“I didn’t want him to hate me either,” I whisper, my thumb brushing his knuckles gently.
She sniffles quietly. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
So did I.
We all sit for a long moment as Logan’s mother cries softly onto his shoulder, but I never let go of his hand.
When he finds his way back to me, I want him to know that I was here. That I stayed.
And this time, I'm not going anywhere.
Hours stretch into days.
Days turn into weeks.
Before I know it, a whole month passes and the only sign of life from Logan is the rise and fall of his chest.
According to the doctors, there's been no increase in brain activity, either. He's just… there. Alive, but not. A shell of the man I fell in love with.
But I'll never give up hope.
“I really think you should consider it, Salem,” his mom says softly, broaching the same subject she's been trying for days. Taylor looks up from his chair by the window, deep frown lines bracketing his mouth.
My hand tightens on the clippers as I pause trimming Logan’s facial hair. “We aren't talking about this.”
He looks really good with beard. I'll have to tell him so when he wakes up. Bet it'll make him smile. I can't wait to see him smile again.
Sarah sighs, and I can tell she's losing patience with me. Joel already did yesterday, inciting a screaming match that the nurses had to break up, which led to him storming off.
“It's just that the doctor thinks he's—”
“Have you heard from Devon?” I interrupt, glancing over at Taylor. “Either of you?”
Tay blows out a breath and shakes his head grimly. Sarah does the same.
A sickening relief washes over me as I focus on getting the little hairs under Logan’s chin. “Well, let me know when you do.”
Asshole’s in the wind. As soon as Tay dropped him off at his place when they'd gotten back into town, the fucker vanished. No one knows where he is except for me, but I’m not telling.
As long as he stays missing, I can keep shoving this issue back until they all hopefully forget about it and leave Logan alone.
Huckslee's dad, Aaron, had visited the other day to pray over him, for fuck's sake. I allowed it, though, only because I'll take all the miracles I can get.
A whole slew of Logan’s family have been stopping by, including his grandparents—the people who raised Dev.
Honestly, I get why he's messed up because that little meeting had been condescending as hell.
They'd taken one look at my clothes, my belly piercing, and turned their noses up at me. His grandfather said that this is Logan’s price for not living a devout life, and he needed to “repent before the Good Lord deems him worthy enough to return.”
Yeah… I may or may not have run them out of the room, wielding the clippers like a weapon. Tay found it hilarious, but Joel and Sarah were not impressed.
“Salem,” Taylor starts slowly. "How do we know if we'll even find Dev? I don't think he wants to be found.”
Good. Stay gone, dickweed.
Let me hold onto Logan for as long as I can.
When I don't answer, he exchanges a look with Sarah, and she nods like she's coming to a decision. “I'll have the doctor come in and talk with you again tomorrow.”
“Don't bother,” I mutter, setting the clippers down before cupping Logan’s face in my hands. “I'm not doing shit until Devon is found. So until then, this conversation is over.”
Don't fucking bring it up again.
Sarah says her goodbyes, but I tune her out and rub my thumbs over Logan’s cheekbones.
They're so prominent now, the skin on his face gaunt and hollowed out. With nothing more than the feeding tube for sustenance, he’s losing weight quickly.
When he wakes up, I'll feed him anything he wants.
Pizza, ice cream, cake. We'll have a party. Just me and him.
Taylor's arms slide around me from behind as he rests his chin on my shoulder. “Salem. We need to talk about it.”
“I said no, Taylor.”
He sighs and drops his forehead to my back. There's a beat of silence where I think he might push the issue, but he squeezes me tight. “Okay. How about we just talk about him, instead?”
I relax into his arms without letting go of Logan. “Yeah. I'd like that.”
Tay settles into the chair beside me, keeping one arm around my waist like a tether. “I remember during freshman year of high school, I made fun of him for crying during Marley & Me in our film history class. Then I ran to the bathroom and bawled like a baby, because that movie fucked me up.”
With a smile, I blink back tears. “He cried during Brother Bear, too. And Star Wars.”
“He had a Darth Vader lunch box until like tenth grade.”
A wet laugh bursts out of me, and I wipe my cheeks on the back of my hand. “God, he's such a fucking nerd.”
We fall into silence again, but this time it feels softer. I keep my gaze on Logan’s chest, proof that he's still here with me, still breathing.
“Do you really think he's in there?” Taylor asks gently.
I nod, leaning down to brush my lips over Logan’s jaw. “Yeah. I do.”
And I’ll wait. However long it takes.
Because when he opens his eyes, I want mine to be the first thing he sees.