Page 96

But how much time? Nobody knows.

A picture's worth a thousand words, and I have none of the man currently lying comatose in front of me. I’d destroyed them all after he left me in Vegas. I didn't even take any of him at Matty and Xed’s wedding, or on the tour. Oh, there's plenty of Devon and Arya, though. Thousands of Taylor and Christian.

But not one goddamned photo of Logan. It's like he's ceased to exist.

Voices drifting down the hall catch my attention, and I rub my aching neck in time to see Logan’s parents, Joel and Sarah, step through the door.

His mother gasps when she sees him, a hand flying to her mouth, while his father lingers in the doorway. Technically, I didn't have to call them, but… something shouted at me that I should. He may not be their biological child, but they still raised him.

I drop Logan’s hand and wipe my eyes. His mom rushes forward to stroke his hair, blinking rapidly like she’s trying not to cry. “Oh, my sweet boy,” she whispers. “What did you do to yourself?”

What did he do to himself?! I bite my tongue so hard it nearly bleeds.

His father still hasn’t stepped into the room. “Does he know we’re here?”

“He’s in a coma,” I snap bitterly. “So probably not.”

“I see.” Joel finally steps inside, taking a spot beside his wife. “Well, I guess he got that wild streak out of his system. You can leave now.”

I blink, stunned by his sheer audacity. “That’s not happening.”

Logan’s mom glances at me in surprise, but it’s his dad who dares to level me with that holier-than-thou sneer—the same one he gave us the day we stole Logan from his office. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not leaving him.”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose. “You and your group of heathens are the reason my son is even in this mess.”

Fire rises in my chest, but I clench my fists to keep from marching over there. “Actually, that blame falls on you. If it weren't for the fact that you lied to him about being adopted, he never would have left his cushy little office job to come with us.”

Logan’s father opens his mouth to argue, but his wife silences him with a gentle hand on his arm, all without lifting her eyes from her son. “She's right. We messed up, Joel. Let her stay. He’d want her here.”

For once, the man listens, though he doesn't seem pleased about it.

I settle back into my chair and take Logan’s hand again, watching his lids flicker rapidly. Sarah pulls up a seat on his other side and does the same, meeting my gaze over Logan’s head. “Devon is okay, then?”

Huffing a dry laugh, I shrug. “Last I heard, but the multiple broken bones and collapsed lung sound harsh. He's getting his chest tube removed as we speak, so Huckslee and Taylor will be bringing him home from Kansas later.”

She nods, but doesn't say anything else as she gazes at her son. Joel stands behind her with his hands on her shoulders, lips pressed into a thin line. It's hard to tell whether he's pissed or in pain. Or constipated. Probably all three.

With a sigh, I look back down at the man in the bed—at the man who once loved me so much it felt suffocating. If he wakes up, I’ll take every damn photo we missed.

A quiet sob bubbles through the room, and Sarah lowers her head. “I never wanted him to hate me.”

All I can do is nod, because I feel the same. Guilt pulses through my veins as I study his lax face. I don’t know if he can hear us, if any of this will reach him, but… I hope it does.

“I didn’t want him to hate me either,” I whisper, my thumb brushing his knuckles gently.

She sniffles quietly. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

So did I.

We all sit for a long moment as Logan’s mother cries softly onto his shoulder, but I never let go of his hand.

When he finds his way back to me, I want him to know that I was here. That I stayed.

And this time, I'm not going anywhere.

Hours stretch into days.