Page 83 of Puck Struck
My phone rings again. I see Tessa’s name and stab the Accept button.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes, I just wanted to update you. His fever's the same. The doctor called me back, said to keep monitoring him overnight and bring him in tomorrow when the office opens at nine."
"I'll get an earlier flight," I say. "Call me if anything changes. Doesn't matterwhat time."
"I will. Love you."
"Love you too."
I hang up, exhaustion washing over me. Between the game, my shoulder, and the constant worry about Ethan, I'm running on fumes.
"You should rest," Cam says, watching me closely.
I nod, too tired to argue. "Yeah."
"So what now?" he asks.
"Now, we go home," I say. "And we figure out how to handle James."
But even as I say it, I can't help feeling like we're heading toward something bigger than either of us is prepared for. What happens next is completely uncertain and surely dangerous knowing the psycho we’re dealing with.
For someone who craves control as much as I do, it's a terrifying thought.
But looking at Cam, I know I'm not turning back.
TWENTY-TWO
cam
The flightback to Oakland the next morning feels endless. We caught an early flight out together so Logan could make it to Ethan’s appointment on time. He sits next to me, his jaw clenched, fingers drumming against the armrest in the way that tells me he feels like things are spinning out and he’s afraid he won’t be able to catch them before the crash. He obsessively checks his phone throughout the flight, scrolling through texts from Tessa, reading the same updates over and over.
"His fever broke around midnight," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "But it came back this morning."
I want to say something reassuring, but what the fuck do I know about sick kids? About family? About any of this? Instead, I just nod and resist the urge to reach for his hand.
The guilt that sits in my gut feels like a cement block. Logan's got enough to worry about without my shit adding to the pile. James, the threats, the photos…it's all because of me. Because I couldn't stay away from him, couldn't keep away like I should have.
When we land, Logan's already on his feet before theseatbelt sign turns off. He grabs his bag from the overhead compartment, his face etched with frustration and impatience.
"I can drive you," I offer as we run through the terminal. “Leave your car. We’ll get it later.”
He glances at me. "You don't have to?—"
"I want to."
Something in my voice must convince him because he nods. "Thanks."
The drive to the medical center is quiet except for the GPS directions and Logan's occasional phone calls to Tessa. His shoulders are tense and stiff, and it’s clear that every muscle in his body is coiled tight with worry. I keep stealing sidelong looks at him, his tight-lipped expression, the white-knuckled grip on his phone.
"He's going to be okay," I finally say, because I can't stand the silence anymore.
Logan's laugh is sharp and bitter. "You don't know that."
"No," I say, sweeping a hand through my hair. "But I know he's got you looking out for him. And that means everything."
He doesn't respond, but I see him swallow hard. I want to reassure him, to erase the panic and fear. But I know I can’t. I have zero power to help him. Zero power to help anyone. And shit, I’ve never felt so useless in my entire life.
