Page 120 of Puck Struck
"I'm his..." I bite down on my lip. "I'm Logan Shaw. I'm his emergency contact."
The doctor nods. "Okay. The surgery went well. We repaired the damage to his abdomen and stopped the internal bleeding. He lost a significant amount of blood, but he's stable now."
Relief floods me so fast it makes me dizzy. "Is he awake?"
"Not yet. The next twenty-four hours are critical, but his vital signs are strong. He's young and healthy, which worked in his favor." He pauses. "He's going to need time to recover, both physically and emotionally. This was a traumatic attack."
"Can I see him?"
"He's being moved to ICU now. Once he's settled, family can visit briefly. One person at a time."
When she leaves, I sink back into the chair, my shoulder slumping as relief and gratitude consume me.
"He's going to be okay," Ryan says, a smile lifting his lips.
"Yeah." But even as I say it, I know that physically okay and actually okay are two different things. Cam's been through hell, and the last thing he heard from me was that he was too much trouble to deal with.
My phone buzzes. I grab it and look at the screen, then click on the text from Tessa.
Saw the news. Are you okay? Is Cam okay?
I shoot off a quick response.
He's stable. Surgery went well. I'll call you later.
Good. And Logan? Whatever happened between you two, fix it.
I stuff the phone into my pocket and look at Ryan. "When he wakes up, I need to talk to him. Alone."
"Yeah, of course." Ryan looks down at the floor and back up at me. "For what it's worth, I think he really cares about you. The way he talked about you, even when he was bleeding..."
"What did he say?"
"He said he was sorry. For bringing trouble into your life." Ryan's voice is quiet. “He was mumbling while the EMTs worked on him, before he lost consciousness.”
Fuck. Cam was lying there, stabbed and bleeding, worried about me forgiving him. While I was convinced that he was the problem.
"I'm the one who needs forgiveness," I growl.
"Then tell him that. When he wakes up."
After what feels like hours, a nurse approaches. She calls over to me from the doorway. "Mr. Shaw? Cam’s awake. You can see him now, but just for a few minutes."
I follow her through the ICU doors, my heart thrashing violently once we walk into his room. Cam is in a bed surrounded by bleeping machines and monitors, his face pale against the white pillowcase. But his eyes are open a crack, and when he sees me, something flickers in the depths.
Surprise. Pain. Maybe hope.
"Hey," I say, walking over to the bed. I reach down and smooth the hair away from his face.
"Hey." His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. "You came."
"Of course I came." I lean forward, careful not to disturb any of the wires connecting him to the machines. "Cam, I'm so fucking sorry."
"You don't have to?—"
"Yes, I do." I carefully take his hand. His fingersweakly curl around mine and I squeeze gently. "I told you I couldn't handle any more problems. And the whole time, you were trying to protect me from this mess."
His eyes mist over. "I didn't want you to get hurt because of my past."
