Page 103 of Puck Struck
"Okay."
"Are you sure you want to be part of this? Because it's going to get worse before it gets better. The media attention, the pressure, watching me fall apart piece by piece. Are you sure you can handle that?"
The question knocks me off guard. I definitely didn’t expect him to sound so…vulnerable. "Logan, of course I can handle it. We're in this together, remember?"
"Are we?" His voice drops, uncertainty lacing his words. "Because when I look at you, and I see someone who's young and talented and has his whole career ahead of him. And then I look at me, and I see someone who's about to lose everything. I don't want to drag you down with me."
"You're not dragging me down. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." I cradle the phone against my ear, wishing I was next to him right now, there to hold him, to support him, to carry him…whatever he needs.
"Today you are. But what about in two weeks, when I'm just another washed-up ex-player with no prospects? What about when the reporters start digging into your past, trying to find dirt on Logan Shaw's boyfriend? What about when?—?"
"Stop." I cut him off. "Just stop. None of that matters to me."
"It should." His voice breaks. "Shit will come up. We all have skeletons. You should want more than this mess."
"I want you," I say. "Mess and all. That's not going to change."
Silence on the other end, and then, "I hope that's true."
"It is. I promise."
"Okay. I have to go and help Tessa make dinner.” He pauses. “And Cam? Thank you. For being patient with me. I know I'm not easy to deal with right now."
"You're worth it," I say, and I mean it. I just hope he believes it.
After we hang up, my heart is a little lighter in my chest. The weight of not knowing how Logan truly felt has been lifted. Of course Logan's scared, and he's pushing me away because that's what he does when he's afraid. And he called to make things right. He apologized. He's still fighting for us, even if he doesn't know how to show it.
I can work with that. I can be patient. I can give him the space he needs and still be there when he's ready to let me back in.
Tapping my fingers on the arm of the couch a few minutes later, something niggles at my brain. His voice was off. It wasn’t just that he was tired or stressed. I know him wellenough to recognize the difference. There was something…final in his tone. Like he was saying goodbye instead of good night.
Fisting the side of my hair, I let out a groan. I’m overthinking it. I have to be. I can’t let Keating's poison get in my head, making me paranoid about things that aren't real.
Hours later when I’m lying in my bed, that feeling still feasts on my mind and heart. The fear sits in my gut like a rock, heavy and cold, the annoying-as-fuck voice taunting me, convincing me that Logan's call wasn't reassurance.
It was actually goodbye.
TWENTY-SEVEN
logan
A blaringring tone jerks me from a fitful sleep. I peer at my phone. Six o’clock in the fucking morning and Dr. Patel is calling. No doubt today’s going to be shit. Fear grips me as I stab the Accept button.
"Mr. Shaw, I'm sorry to call so early, but we need to discuss some concerns about your donor evaluation. I just got the report."
"What kind of concerns?" I mumble, my voice still thick with sleep.
"The orthopedic specialist reviewed your shoulder scans. The damage is more extensive than we initially thought. We need to run some more tests to determine if the stress of surgery could compromise your recovery or Ethan's outcome."
I shoot up in my bed. "What does that mean?"
"It means we need to reassess your eligibility as a donor. The surgery to repair your shoulder could take months of recovery, which would delay or potentially eliminate your ability to donate to Ethan."
"So what are you saying?"
"We're saying you need to choose. Repair your shoulderand potentially miss the window to help your nephew, or proceed with the transplant surgery.”
"There's no choice," I say immediately. "Ethan comes first. Always."
