Page 107

Chapter

Forty-Three

Logan

Devon’s hand hasn't left mine.

Not since I woke up and a whole slew of doctors came in to examine me. He let go briefly during the brain scans, but once I popped out of the machine, he was right beside me again to take it.

I don’t know how to handle this. Neither do my parents apparently, from the glances they keep throwing between us. Some mix of horrified curiosity and genuine relief. It's… unsettling. This whole situation makes me uncomfortable.

Taylor called Huck right away but when he tried to call Salem, her phone was off. That was hours ago. She's not at her apartment, either, and her closet is empty. Both Tay and Christian are out searching for her now. Don’t get me wrong, having Devon hold my hand is nice—if not slightly jarring—but he’s not the only one I wish were at my side right now. I'm desperate to see her, to tell her that I'm alive—that I love her.

No one knows where the fuck she went and for the life of me, I don't know either. Those few days leading up to the accident are a blur. The doctor says my memories could come back, but there’s no way of knowing.

Unfortunately, one thing I do remember is that I’m adopted and my parents hid it from me for twenty-four years. That memory is crystal clear.

“So…” I shift awkwardly in the hospital bed, my body weak. Turns out there's this thing called atrophy when you don't use your muscles. They had to wheel me down for the MRI because I can't stand on my own yet.

Mom reaches for my other hand from her chair, but I move it away. Hurt flickers across her features and for a moment, I feel guilty, but guilt is what got us here in the first place, isn’t it? Guilt and silence and pretending to be something we're not. I'm done living a lie for them.

I glance at Devon, his profile sharp against the hospital lighting. Black and blue bruises still mottle his skin. When his eyes meet mine, he tightens his grip, and the move makes my throat swell.

He's also been uncharacteristically quiet these past few hours, and I find that I hate when he’s not running his mouth. I wish he'd say something fucked up to get the conversation started, but maybe the crash knocked his brain loose like it did mine. Looks like it's up to me to get some answers for the both of us.

“I’m not gonna pretend I’m okay with how you handled things,” I murmur to my parents, dropping my gaze to the blanket.

“Logan,” Mom whispers, her eyes glassy. “You almost died. We thought you were⁠—”

I cut her off with a sharp shake of my head. “I'm not talking about pulling the plug on me. That part I understand, no one knew I was still in here. I get it.”

“Salem knew,” Devon mumbles, running a hand through his tousled hair.

My heart lurches, but I file that information away for later. “I’m talking about the adoption.”

Mom flinches back. “We were going to tell you.”

“When? After I got married? After I had my own kids? Maybe at my fucking funeral?”

Dad stiffens, his hands folded so tightly together they’ve gone pale. “Logan⁠—”

“I don’t care that I’m adopted,” I say quickly, forcing myself to look at them. “I care that you lied to me about it my entire life. Devon’s, too. Our whole identities were built on a foundation that wasn’t ours to stand on. We deserve an explanation.”

Dev scoffs harshly, the sound an odd juxtaposition to the gentle way his thumb strokes my knuckles. “They didn't want me, Logan, so they handed the burden off to someone else.”

“That's not true!” Mom starts crying softly. “I wanted you with every fiber of my being. Please, you need to know that.”

“I don't need to know shit.”

“You were mine, Devon. Ours. I was so excited when I found out about you. I bought clothes and toys, everything. We had a whole life planned.”

Devon's jaw works, but he doesn't respond. He just sits back in his chair and stares at the wall. My curiosity is piqued, though, so my gaze bounces between our parents questioningly. “What happened?”

Mom hiccups through her tears, leaning into Dad for strength. When it becomes clear that she can no longer continue, he takes over with a slight tremble to his voice I've never heard before. “I know you think I was strict with you, son, but it was nothing compared to how I grew up. Your grandfather is a deeply religious man, more so than your mother and I. We may have set certain rules for you, but I never once made you pick your own switch from a tree because you didn’t wash your hands before dinner. You can't even imagine what that man was like.”

“No,” I agree, my stomach twisting as I squeeze Devon’s hand, “but I'm pretty sure he can.”

The blood drains from Dad's face. “I didn’t know. I swear, I made him promise to treat you right. I didn’t know he ever⁠—”