Chapter 43
Chapter
Forty-Three
Logan
Devon’s hand hasn't left mine.
Not since I woke up and a whole slew of doctors came in to examine me. He let go briefly during the brain scans, but once I popped out of the machine, he was right beside me again to take it.
I don’t know how to handle this. Neither do my parents apparently, from the glances they keep throwing between us. Some mix of horrified curiosity and genuine relief. It's… unsettling. This whole situation makes me uncomfortable.
Taylor called Huck right away but when he tried to call Salem, her phone was off.
That was hours ago. She's not at her apartment, either, and her closet is empty. Both Tay and Christian are out searching for her now. Don’t get me wrong, having Devon hold my hand is nice—if not slightly jarring—but he’s not the only one I wish were at my side right now.
I'm desperate to see her, to tell her that I'm alive—that I love her.
No one knows where the fuck she went and for the life of me, I don't know either. Those few days leading up to the accident are a blur. The doctor says my memories could come back, but there’s no way of knowing.
Unfortunately, one thing I do remember is that I’m adopted and my parents hid it from me for twenty-four years. That memory is crystal clear.
“So…” I shift awkwardly in the hospital bed, my body weak. Turns out there's this thing called atrophy when you don't use your muscles. They had to wheel me down for the MRI because I can't stand on my own yet.
Mom reaches for my other hand from her chair, but I move it away. Hurt flickers across her features and for a moment, I feel guilty, but guilt is what got us here in the first place, isn’t it? Guilt and silence and pretending to be something we're not. I'm done living a lie for them.
I glance at Devon, his profile sharp against the hospital lighting. Black and blue bruises still mottle his skin. When his eyes meet mine, he tightens his grip, and the move makes my throat swell.
He's also been uncharacteristically quiet these past few hours, and I find that I hate when he’s not running his mouth.
I wish he'd say something fucked up to get the conversation started, but maybe the crash knocked his brain loose like it did mine.
Looks like it's up to me to get some answers for the both of us.
“I’m not gonna pretend I’m okay with how you handled things,” I murmur to my parents, dropping my gaze to the blanket.
“Logan,” Mom whispers, her eyes glassy. “You almost died. We thought you were—”
I cut her off with a sharp shake of my head. “I'm not talking about pulling the plug on me. That part I understand, no one knew I was still in here. I get it.”
“Salem knew,” Devon mumbles, running a hand through his tousled hair.
My heart lurches, but I file that information away for later. “I’m talking about the adoption.”
Mom flinches back. “We were going to tell you.”
“When? After I got married? After I had my own kids? Maybe at my fucking funeral?”
Dad stiffens, his hands folded so tightly together they’ve gone pale. “Logan—”
“I don’t care that I’m adopted,” I say quickly, forcing myself to look at them. “I care that you lied to me about it my entire life. Devon’s, too. Our whole identities were built on a foundation that wasn’t ours to stand on. We deserve an explanation.”
Dev scoffs harshly, the sound an odd juxtaposition to the gentle way his thumb strokes my knuckles. “They didn't want me, Logan, so they handed the burden off to someone else.”
“That's not true!” Mom starts crying softly. “I wanted you with every fiber of my being. Please, you need to know that.”
“I don't need to know shit.”
“You were mine, Devon. Ours. I was so excited when I found out about you. I bought clothes and toys, everything. We had a whole life planned.”
Devon's jaw works, but he doesn't respond. He just sits back in his chair and stares at the wall. My curiosity is piqued, though, so my gaze bounces between our parents questioningly. “What happened?”
Mom hiccups through her tears, leaning into Dad for strength.
When it becomes clear that she can no longer continue, he takes over with a slight tremble to his voice I've never heard before.
“I know you think I was strict with you, son, but it was nothing compared to how I grew up. Your grandfather is a deeply religious man, more so than your mother and I. We may have set certain rules for you, but I never once made you pick your own switch from a tree because you didn’t wash your hands before dinner.
You can't even imagine what that man was like.”
“No,” I agree, my stomach twisting as I squeeze Devon’s hand, “but I'm pretty sure he can.”
The blood drains from Dad's face. “I didn’t know. I swear, I made him promise to treat you right. I didn’t know he ever—”
“Bullshit,” Devon bites out with barely-contained rage. “You knew. You just didn’t care.”
Mom sobs harder, her shoulders shaking as she hides her face. Dad looks like he’s been punched in the gut, but I can't find it in me to feel sorry for them right now.
“We were just kids, Dev. A couple of teenagers with no clue what they were doing. Your mother and I had planned on keeping the pregnancy quiet until we could marry, but my parents found out and threatened to have us excommunicated from the church unless we signed our rights away. The shame alone of having a child out of wedlock would have been enough, but losing our community was more than we could bear.”
“I was also a kid,” Dev replies through gritted teeth, his grip tightening almost painfully. “Do you have any fucking clue what kind of life you sold me into? They made me feel like the devil lived in me. Every fucking summer, when they'd send me—”
He cuts himself off abruptly. For the first time since I woke up, he drops my hand and bolts from the room.
The door swings shut heavily behind him, slicing through the silence like a blade. I can only sit there in my bed, stunned, watching the space where Devon had been a moment ago while my fingers flex like they're reaching for him.
My hand feels so much colder without his in it.
Dad runs both palms down his face aggressively. “We didn’t know it was that bad.”
“You should have,” I say flatly. “You gave up your firstborn for a God that probably doesn't exist.”
Mom finally lifts her head, gasping with tears streaking down her cheeks. “Logan Joseph Peterson, don't you dare say something like that!”
Ignoring the use of my full name, I drop back onto the pillows and stare at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Where do I even fit into all this? Why did you choose me instead of trying to get Devon back?”
Dad opens and shuts his mouth a few times, mulling over his words without saying anything. Mom just stares at me like a stranger who's taken the shape of her son. Maybe I am.
“We didn’t choose you over him,” she finally says quietly.
“The pregnancy was rough. I probably should have gone to a hospital, but Joel's parents were so intent on hiding it that I gave birth in their home.
It ruined something inside of me. When we tried again after marriage, the doctors told us there was so much scar tissue that I was unlikely to conceive again, and the adoption papers we signed were closed.
They didn't want him to know, that's why they kept him away from us. You were… a second chance.”
“A do-over,” I mutter bitterly. “You adopted a whole baby to ease your guilty conscience.”
“That’s not fair,” Dad barks, but I turn to him with a glare.
“No, what’s not fair is the shit Devon went through because you were too fucking scared to stand up to your parents. What’s not fair is being treated like a second coming when he never even got to be the first.”
They both fall silent, eyes widening at the way I nearly scream those words.
It’s then that I realize none of this fucking matters.
I don't care about the lies anymore, or the hypocrisy.
The fact that they made me propose to Salem because we were living together when they were doing far worse at far younger.
In the grand scheme of things, none of it holds a candle to the fact that I almost died. I did die, holy shit. My heart stopped for four whole minutes.
I've been given another shot at life, and I sure as shit will not waste it crying over things I can't change. Somewhere out there, my wife thinks I'm dead, and I need to get stronger so that I can find her. But first…
First, I need to be honest with myself, my parents and God before I do.
“I like men,” I blurt, feeling both terrified and elated to finally say those words out loud. “Including Devon. And I don’t mean in a way that’ll make you sleep better at night, I mean I like him. The way you taught me not to. The way your church made me hate myself for.”
Mom’s hand flies to her mouth, and Dad takes a shocked step back. “But… but you're married. To Salem!”
“I like her too.” A laugh bubbles up my throat at how ridiculous that sounds—like a grade school crush. What I feel for Salem can’t be quantified into words, and she doesn't even know that I'm alive right now.
Dad looks like he’s buffering—eyes wide, mouth ajar. Mom, meanwhile, sinks slowly into the vinyl chair like all the strength has been zapped out of her.
“You’re… bisexual?” She whispers the word like a slur.
I let it roll around in my head, testing the feel of how it applies to myself. “Yeah, I guess. Sounds right. And no, it’s not because Salem broke my heart. And no, I’m not confused. I’ve always known. I just didn’t feel safe enough to admit it until now.”
Not to anyone.
Jesus Christ, Huck and I are going to have so much to talk about. Out of all the things we have in common, I never thought nearly dying and liking men would be two of them.
Both of my parents stare at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head, utterly speechless. Floundering like a bunch of guppies.
Shit, my fish. Where the hell is Sitka?
“Let me break it down for you,” I try again, feeling lighter than I ever have. “I like Salem. I also like Devon. My attraction isn't divided, it’s just… different. For once in my life, I’m not going to apologize for who I am or who I want to be with.”
Dad opens his mouth again, and I brace for some kind of hellfire sermon or exorcism—but what comes out instead is surprisingly soft.
“We never meant to make you feel like you had to hide from us.”
“Well,” I breathe, reclining onto my back with a painful groan, “you did.” They both flinch. “But you can start making it right by not forcing me to be someone else anymore. And you need to make things right with Dev. He didn't deserve to live through the consequences of your actions.”
No one's child does. And yet, we're often the universe's punching bag when parents make mistakes—sins of the father, and all that. Salem not wanting kids is starting to make a hell of a lot of sense now.
Guilt flashes over Dad’s face, followed by bone-deep sorrow. He nods slowly. “We can try.”
Mom looks like she wants to argue, but the fight is gone, replaced by something hollow. Maybe realization or regret. Either way, I don't have the energy to comfort her through it.
“I'm exhausted.” I glance at the door, my voice cracking as I add, “Can you send Devon back in?”
Mom hesitates, then leaves the room without looking at me. Dad pats my leg and follows, leaving me alone with nothing more than the steady beep of the monitor and the words we exchanged buzzing around my head.
I don’t know if anything I said will get through to them.
Maybe nothing will, but for the first time ever, I feel like I said the right thing—and not just to make them happy, but to make me happy.
I'm finally going to live my life the way I want, without letting fear hold me back.
I already died once, so what the hell else can be worse than that?
Now I just need to find Salem so that she can live it with me.