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“Might as well jump straight into the fire, I guess.”
I listen as he recounts my missed pickup of Rainey after school and how he came by my house to check if everything was okay, nearly missing my body on the floor between the dining room and first floor hallway. His talking becomes animated, drawing my eyes to the bandage on his right hand.
“What’d you do to your hand?”
“Your doors were locked and I couldn’t get to you. I busted your window with a rock while I was waiting for the ambulance. I cut myself pretty bad.”
“How bad is pretty bad?”
“Six stitches,” he says, puffing up his chest and wearing a slim smile.
I wince. “You going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. How areyoufeeling?”
I consider his question. “Well, everything hurts. Everything. How did I end up on my floor in the first place? Did I pass out?”
He shakes his head and shrugs. “I wasn’t there, so I can’t know for sure.” He stands, moving to the head of my bed, and rests his hand on my upper arm.
“Shit!” I throw myself forward and scream as pain cascades down my side. “Iknow.” I sob as it all comes to me. I know what happened; I know why I’m hospitalized, and I know who’s responsible.
Dunbar showed up at my front door about an hour before I planned to pick my niece up from school. Paul called a few days earlier to let me know he was being released on the charges from his break-in at my home. We’d had zero contact before my brother showed up on my doorstep that day. When I recognized it was him at the front door, I cracked it open just enough to tell him I was leaving and couldn’t talk.
As I shut the door, Dunbar stuck his foot into the crack I’d made, making it impossible for me to close the door. I begged him to go away and promised I’d call him later to talk—I really had an ‘appointment’ I had to leave to make. He laughed and forced his way inside, pretending like everything between us was perfectly normal, like he hadn’t spent his month out of jail terrorizing me and my home. He attempted small talk the entire time I continued urging him to leave.
He refused, and I threatened to call the police, which made him laugh in my face. He claimed to be there to see if we could work out an arrangement for him to stay with me for a few weeks. He alleged none of his friends would welcome him back, and he’d been living on the streets. The idea of my brother being homeless sickened me, but I knew I couldn’t allow him to move in with me. His recent violence would be enough cause to void my guardianship agreement if he moved in, so it was impossible if I even wanted to help him out.
He stood in place when I pleaded for the last time that he get out. Fed up, I marched to the dining room to grab my cell phone, ready to dial 911. I’d dropped my work bag and cell phone on the dining room table after coming home from the office. As I reached for the phone, a hard, unexpected force sent me flying backward and the room spun as darkness closed in. It’s the last thing I remember.
Lines of tears flow down both of Logan’s cheeks as I recount the event. His fat tears seem to hold much more than sorrow inside of them. He doesn’t hurry them away, but sits in the chair next to my bed, taking my hand in his, like he has a hundred times before.
“That’s what I’ve been afraid of.” He pushes his glasses back toward his face as his tears carry the frame to the end of his nose. “I need to call Paul and Georgia. I told them I would as soon as you came to.”
Came to? How long have I been in this hospital room? I slowly reach behind my head to adjust my pillow. Getting comfortable in this bed is impossible, but my current position hurts, so I try anyway. Stabbing pain bolts from my side, and I leave the pillow where it is. I don’t take my eyes off Logan once, afraid if I blink he’ll disappear. He’s holding onto my hand for dear life, causing me to question if he has a similar concern.
“I’m going to step into the hallway, but I’ll be right back.”
“No.”
“I’ll be right back, I promise. My reception isn’t good here. I’ll make it quick,” he assures me, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.
We say little as I anxiously await Georgia and Alexandria’s Chief of Police. I’m drained, unable to question why Logan called the two of them.
My niece’s face pops into my mind. “Oh my God, I haven’t even asked about Rainey!”
“She’s fine.” Logan leans over my bed, smoothing my hair back. “You’ve been a little busy, don’t stress about it. I hope you won’t be angry,” he adds, “but Chase signed off for me to keep her temporarily after you were hospitalized. I completed the background check and documentation to care for her last year and nothing else was required.”
“Why would I be mad you’re keeping Rae?”
“Well, I know we’re not on the bes—“
“Knock, knock,” Paul calls out, pushing the hospital room door open.
Logan straightens and pulls Paul in for a dude hug. “I’ll give you time to talk,” he says, exiting before I can ask him to stay.
“I’m glad to see you awake. The doctor’s been saying all your tests are coming back fine, but damn if it wasn’t scary seeing you lay here completely out of it.”
The way I turn to look at Paul causes the stabbing pain to cut through my side again, robbing me of my breath. In agony like this, I don’t even realize how loudly I yell the word ‘fuck’ until an older gentleman passes my room at the most inopportune moment and cranes his neck to see inside.
