Page 85 of We Were Something
For the first time since I found out his mom was in an accident, I have a split second of nervousness, wondering if I overstepped by coming here.
I’ve been so focused on being here for him, and when I imagined if someoneIlove had been critically injured, I knew I would want Logan there, holding my hand. But I never stopped to consider that Logan might not want me here.
I come to a stop a few feet away, my fists opening and closing nervously as I try to decide what to say.
Fuck, hours and hours of time between when I found out and when I got here and I didn’t think of anything to say?
“I know I might be overstepping by being here,” I finally tell him. “I know it might be too much or too soon for me to think you’d need me to be here with you. But I kept wondering what I would want if someone I love were in the hospital, and I could only picture you being there to hold my hand. So. That’s why I’m here.” Taking the seat next to him, I take his hand in both of mine. “To hold your hand.”
He watches me for a long moment, his eyes flitting across my face with an expression I don’t understand.
And then he leans forward and tucks his head into my neck, my arms wrapping around him instinctively.
I feel him inhale, long and slow, before he pulls back and looks me in the eyes.
“Thank you,” he whispers, then gives me a short kiss. “Thank you.”
I nod, giving him a soft smile as he pulls back and returns to how he was sitting before I got here, slumped over and facing forward. When I sit back and look in the same direction, I see we’re facing a glass wall and doorway into an ICU room.
Inside, a woman with the same color hair as Logan’s is lying in the hospital bed, a tube down her throat and a bunch of machines and wires hooked up to her body.
I want to ask what happened, but it feels stupid. Clearly something horrible happened or she wouldn’t be lying unconscious in a hospital ICU wing with a bunch of bandages and cuts on her face. Asking will only serve to assuage my own curiosity, so I say nothing, instead just sitting in silence next to Logan and alternating between rubbing his back and holding his hand.
Every so often, he rises to his feet and paces up and down the hallway, standing in front of the glass wall with his arms crossed over his chest or his hands resting firmly on his waist before walking the hall again and then sitting down.
We’re there for hours. Nurses and doctors move in and out of the room, reading her stats on a machine and taking notes on her chart.
But nobody talks to us.
When I hear Logan’s stomach growl sometime in the late afternoon, I squeeze his hand.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, and then I was thinking I could grab something from the cafeteria. Do you want a coffee? A water? A snack?”
He thinks for a long moment. “A coffee sounds good.”
I squeeze his hand again. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” I tell him. “Call me or text me if you need anything else.”
He nods, but his eyes stay on his mother as I turn and head down the hallway, exiting the ICU and following signage to the bathroom before visiting the cafeteria.
I buy a water bottle and some fruit then take a seat in the corner and dig out my phone, dialing Lennon.
“Girl, what is going on?”
The sound of Lennon’s voice, concern in her tone, sends a new wave of worry through me.
“What do you mean?”
“Lucas and Hannah went in for their apheresis blood donation thingy today and there’s a new doctor managing Ivy’s case.”
“Logan’s mom was in a major car accident,” I tell her, my tone low. “She’s in the ICU.”
Lennon gasps on the other end of the line. “Oh my god.”
“I know. It’s really intense.”
“So that explains why you couldn’t get in touch with him last night. I’m guessing he flew home?”
“Yeah. I got here a few hours ago and found him sitting outside her room. God, he looks wrecked.”
