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CHAPTERONE
Logan
“Logan? Baby, wake up… Baby…”
Logan woke up with a gasp, frantically trying to get his breathing under control. Sophy’s voice was still ringing in his ears, choking him out of breath and the last dregs of his sanity. He could feel the ghost pressure on his chest, still so impossibly real to his muscle memory. His legs were shaking and the muscles of his calves spasmed painfully. His whole body was drenched in cold sweat and completely out of his control. His mind was screaming desperate panicked warnings, alerting him for danger that simply was no longer there. It took a long time for him to settle and remember where he was. He was no longer in the hospital. He was at home. He was safe.He was alone. Well, not exactly.
There was a weight on his chest, but it wasn’t the twisted metal and burned plastic of his dashboard after the car crash. The pressure he was feeling now, was one he welcomed. It was Morpheus resting his paws and his muzzle on Logan's chest, keeping watch over him during his nightmare-induced panic attack.His service dog hardly ever left his side. Logan reached for Morpheus and placed his trembling hand carefully over his head and gave him one slow stroke, eliciting a heavy tail tap on the bed and more affectionate nuzzling and low whining sounds. During the day, he could keep the memories of the horrific car crash at bay, but at night, they were back in his dreams with a vicious punch and there was nothing he could do to stop reliving the horror of the worst day of his life.
The day had begun as chaotic as it was expected - just a family of three trying to get their shit together and leave the house in time for Christmas lunch with his parents while wrangling an overly excited six-year-old. Sophy had been fussing with Jordan’s hair, ever the wild tangle of dark curls. Her own hair was still damp and her makeup was halfway done. His wife could spend hours braiding and re-braiding Jordan’s hair, playing dress-up and throwing impromptu fashion shows, forgetting about the time altogether.
Hence why they were going to be late once again, but Logan hadn’t cared. Hearing them laugh and talk excitedly put him in a blissful state of mind. At the time, he felt a bit guilty for thinking he didn’t want to leave the house at all. He would have rather stayed at home all day in their tiny bubble, enjoying each other’s company, opening Christmas gifts, watching movies, and lounging in their pajamas.
They ended up leaving the house in a rush, and he remembered this silly little thing Sophy always did, fixing the collar of his shirt so it would sit tucked at the corners in his ridiculous Christmas sweater. Her delicate fingers hooked over the fabric in a careful but sure way, making him shiver when her warm fingers brushed the skin on his neck briefly. He gave her a crooked smile when her eyes focused on his face, taking him in and appraising his appearance. Her eyes had widened just a bit at the implication, and she smacked his arm, shaking her head grinning. Jordan groaned impatiently from the back seat. “C’mon! Dad! We’re going to be late!”
Morpheus whined softly and snapped him out of the painful memory. They lay like this for a good hour before Logan was able to shake off the remnants of his nightmare and move his body without stiffness, halting his every move. Morpheus followed him around everywhere during his morning routine wagging his tail.
Once he was dressed and had poured freshly made green tea into his thermos, he was ready to head out for their first walk of the day. He clicked with his tongue twice. Morpheus lined up by the door waiting, barely containing his excitement. He was definitely a morning… dog.
Logan got his thick coat and winter boots, then pulled them on as he was making his way out the door stumbling. Once on the porch, he took a deep breath, a rush of cold air filling his lungs and jolting him wide awake. It hadn't snowed yet, but the unmistakable chill in the air told him it wouldn't be long before the weather turned, and the real winter began. He made a mental note to organize his supplies soon.
His stomach dropped remembering he also needed to see his psychiatrist for a new prescription refill for his anxiety medication. They never gave him more than a month's worth of pills, and it was a struggle. He hated going back, regurgitating his awful story and talking about his feelings about the accident and how he was dealing with the aftermath of the worst day of his life. It seemed to him, that he was doing a song and a dance for the pills just so he could live another miserable month alone in the crypt his home had become.
He had tried to ration his pills just so he could avoid going back so soon. Being forced to talk about his feelings or discuss his mental and physical recovery made him feel inadequate.
All those things seemed to happen agonizingly slow for him.
He could swear, that every time his ass hit the comfortable leather chair in his doctor’s office, he suddenly transformed into this stunned mess of a human, who had no idea how to even begin rebuilding his life.
At first, in his discomfort and desperation, he had tried to take his medication every other day, or only when he feltoff, but that little stint had gotten him an ER visit and a seventy-two hour hold in the suicide ward.
He stuck to his story.It was an accident.Taking too many after taking none at all for nearly two weeks. His stomach was pumped, and his mother practically held him hostage in her home for nearly a month after that. Debbie refused to let him go back to his house alone unless he swore to her, that he would never try and kill himself again.Sure, Mom, whatever makes you feel better.
What the fuck did she know about his pain? But she loved him and so he lied to her. He told her he would never do this to her again. It had been an accident. He had forgotten to take his pills, then had taken too many in his panic, then had had some alcohol. It would have all been over by now had he not called her to say goodbye. He didn’t even remember that part and had cursed himself for being a coward.
He hadn't tried again as the tear-stained face of his mother begging him to please live was still in front of his eyes.It was the first thing he saw after he came to in the hospital. He had been so humiliated he couldn’t even defend himself or tell her to stop coming to visit him every single day. Every time Debbie came to spend time with him in the hospital, she just sat in the great old recliner by the window and stared at the foot of his bed, refusing to look him in the eyes for too long, quietly wiping tears for hours. This ritual made him even more depressed, and the guilt and discomfort he felt only kept growing.
Logan was so fed up with this silent torture, he all but had apologized to her for losing his will to live, for not knowing how to cope with his heartbreak. His words clearly made no impact and Debbie had continued acting like he had let her down with his actions. She kept repeating he needed help and company and to have someone around to help him keep track of his day and medication. She was obviously referring to herself.
This was why he got Morpheus – originally to get his mother off his back and to free himself from her “imprisonment”. There had been a program for support animals that was being streamlined in conjunction with the local police and fire department. One of the nurses had mentioned it in passing while she was taking his vitals during a check-up. It wasn’t lost to him, the way his mom had perked up, clearly interested in the idea.
Logan had jumped at the opportunity simply to appease her and had successfully made his case. He convinced her that getting into a new routine and having the additional emotional support would stimulate his mind. At the very least, the change would be something positive to focus on. He had won that small victory, effectively relieving her from the burden of caring for him. Little did he know at the time, that the service dog would become his most cherished companion.
Morpheus had a few favorite spots in the woods behind his house, where he liked to chase after birds when they were out on one of their walks. Logan was sitting on a stump near a little meadow, watching him sipping on his tea. Morpheus was stalking after a crow and yapping happily. He startled the big black bird, and it flew away hastily only to perch on a near branch, far out of reach, but low enough to taunt him with its cry.
Bringing the large chocolate-brown bullmastiff home had been a true saving grace for Logan, when it had become clear that his PTSD was definitely here to stay, and he needed a gentle reminder to take his medication regularly. The giant dog had seemed like a nuisance at first, but they had quickly fallen into a pleasant routine, and now he couldn’t imagine going a day without him. Even the thought of facing the world alone seemed to put him on edge. Logan relaxed his hands. He had been holding them in tight fists this whole time. The stiff fabric of his gloves digging painfully into his skin. He took another sip from his tea. He had to cut down on anything that might get him overstimulated – energy drinks, coffee, alcohol, weed, soda, fucking chocolate and even bananas of all things.
He shook his head, thinking about it, and chuckled to himself. Logan Fucking Steward, living like a goddamn monk out in the woods, sober as a judge. He was only thirty-five,but he felt drained from life and old as fucking Father Time. He was stuck and couldn’t break free from being sealed in time and in this helpless fragile state of mind, where everything had to be quiet, and people were just too much to be around.
It hadn’t always been this way. Logan used to be just a typical local Mr. Popular-liked-by-all kind of guy. He was very much a happy-go-lucky, well-respected, hardworking blue-collar dude. Besides working his ass off at his family’s construction business, he honestly couldn’t say he had a single thing to pick out to complain about in his life. He had many friends, and in his spare time he loved building custom motorcycles with his buddy Dave.
He married his high school sweetheart right after she finished college. He hadn’t gone himself, but that didn’t matter to her. Yep, Sophy was his ride or die and he patiently waited for her to come back from college so they could begin their happily ever after. He had proposed to her right after their high school graduation, but the only way her parents had agreed, very begrudgingly, to support them with the engagement was if Sophy went to college first and Logan had to show he could provide for her. It was obvious they hoped that Sophy would meet someone else while completing her higher education away from home, or that Logan would mess up and the relationship would fizzle and die, but they underestimated just how dedicated to each other Sophy and Logan really were.
His father had helped him build their dream house by the lake in secret, and eventually he and Sophy ended up getting married in the front yard of the property, overlooking the gorgeous lake that they both had fallen in love with. The wedding was simple and beautiful. Everyone they loved and cared about was there to cheer them on their special day. Sophy and Logan had been one of those couples who were just “it” for each other. Two perfectly intertwined souls.
Sophy was his best friend, and as she often joked, they had been going steady pretty much since kindergarten. The silly, overly romantic statement made him chuckle every single time. He loved the way she always made him feel special and valued. She was easy like Sunday morning, sweet like honey, and the most patient and kind person he had ever known.
When their little girl, Jordan, was born, Logan could swear he was the happiest man on earth. He was with the love of his life. She had given him the greatest gift making him a father. He had a wonderful home, filled with laughter and light. He had great friends and even Sophy’s family had come around after they proved they were doing just fine even if they had gotten married at only twenty-three.
