Page 110 of The Way We Touch

“It wasn’t easy. You were so much like your mother as a boy, it was difficult even to look at you in those days. Now… it seems you’re a lot like me.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

Something like regret tightens his features. “No, you’re not. You’re better.”

I don’t answer. There was a time when I would’ve sincerely appreciated him saying these words. As it is now, with everything coming down on me like it is, he needs to read the room.

Walking to the door, he stops before exiting. “Take care, son.”

26

Dylan

“Has he been going to therapy or something?” Garrett is at Logan’s bedside, waiting to help the large male nurse get him into the wheelchair.

I stand at the door with his bag of clothes and toiletries.

“Don’t know.” Logan slides to the edge of the bed.

“Was he drunk?” My brother teases.

“I’ve never seen my father drunk.” Logan looks up at the man in scrubs gripping his arm. “Is this really necessary? I can walk on the crutches just fine.”

“It’s the rules,” the nurse says.

“They’re all out there.” He gives the guy a look of please, but nobody’s getting anything past Logan’s nurse.

I almost wonder if that’s why he was assigned to my tall, dark, and stubborn boyfriend.

“We have security on standby if we need it.” The man nods to Garrett, who steadies Logan’s other side.

Logan drops into the wheelchair with a frustrated grunt, and my brother and I follow as we slowly make our way to the elevator. Nurses and staff smile and applaud, and Logan forces a smile, nodding his thanks.

We’re safe inside the hospital, but when the elevator doors open at the first floor, hoards of fans and spectators are visible through the glass doors. They’ve lined the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of the injured celebrity.

He looks up at me. “You want to go on ahead?”

“Do you mind?” I reach down to hold his hand.

“It would actually make me feel better, since I’m stuck in this chair. It’s going to take forever to get me out of it and into the SUV, and I’d rather not have you standing around exposed.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” I lean down to kiss his cheek before hustling ahead of him to the waiting vehicle.

I brace for my exit from the lobby. Logan’s driver sees me and stands waiting with the door open. As soon as I emerge from the hospital, I duck my head against the throng.

Some people call my name and cheer, but others boo and yell at me. I’ve never had people vocally dislike me this way, and it’s a shock. It hits me hard every time, twisting my stomach and making me want to hide.

I’m a nonstop topic of discussion with some people saying I’m a real person, just what he needs. Others say I’m a gold digger or at the least, a distraction. Since his injury, a new group has emerged, blaming me for what happened.

They point to the replay where he looks up at me after the catch, just before he gets hit, as proof I distracted him. Like I’d want him to be hurt that way. Like I’d want his career to be cut short.

Those shouts hurt the worst. My heart hammers in my chest as I reach for Fred’s hand. He helps me into the black SUV, and as soon as I’m inside, I go to the very back doing my best not to cry.

Logan gets so angry about all of it, and he’s got enough on his mind right now. He hasn’t said much about how he feels, and I know from personal experience, he’s still processing this injury and what it means.

When I broke my foot, it wasn’t until the day I was supposed to return to ballet practice that it hit me. When I realized I wouldn’t go anymore. Ever again.

Then it all came crashing down at once. It was a painful, black day, and I’m ready to hold his hand through it.

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