by Lori Ryan
Her mother hadn’t left, though. She sat and held Samantha’s hand while Sam cried and the doctor worked silently on her injuries, adding deep dermal sutures, followed by subcuticular sutures that would hold the wound closed without the need for external sutures.
Sam understood the mechanics of the process. She’d once been fascinated with watching surgical videos online. The deep dermal sutures reduced the tension of the pull at the edges of the wounds. The subcuticular sutures would hold the wound closed without external sutures or Dermabond being necessary. But knowing the technical details hadn’t lessened the trauma for her.
Knowing everyone she worked with would see the knife wounds either online or in the newspaper, and know what those men had done to her …. Well, that would suck.
But seeing Logan crucified for something that wasn’t his fault wasn’t something she could stand by and watch.
Tomorrow, she planned to return the call of the local newswoman who had contacted her. The woman had discovered Logan was a veteran and wanted to put out a piece about Westbrook’s attack on a veteran who had served his country.
Samantha had a feeling Logan would hate it, but she’d talk to the woman if it meant he didn’t have to stand trial. Maybe if there was enough pressure, Westbrook would back off and let the matter drop.
Sam watched as Logan grabbed a pillow and throw from the couch and jerked his head toward the sliding glass doors in the living room.
“You guys got those?”
Chad nodded his head slowly. “Sure.”
Logan didn’t say another word. He walked down the stairs to the basement.
Sam looked at Chad and Zach and felt tears prick at the back of her eyes and that stupid telltale burning at the sides of her nose that always seemed to precede a good cry. She shut that down and raised her chin, though.
When she got downstairs, she found Logan had propped himself up at the back of the basement, leaning against one wall. He had the throw over his legs and the pillow behind his head. He stared across the room, through the short hall, at the door to her house.
He hadn’t turned the lights on, and even though it was only six in the evening, very little light came in through the small window next to her front door. The basement room he sat in had no windows so darkness nearly engulfed him.
Samantha flicked the switch for the lights and stared at him. She debated briefly the wisdom of telling him she wouldn’t be able to sleep without him upstairs with her, but every cell in his body was clearly screaming at her to go away. From the clenched fists to the tick in his jaw as he ground his teeth together. Every muscle seemed tensed for battle.
Fine. She’d go away. But not before she’d gotten him some help. Because there was no way she was going to let him do this to himself.
He was shutting down, closing them all out. She had watched him start the battle back to life during the last few weeks, and she wasn’t about to let him throw that aside now.
She stalked over to where he’d tossed his phone down next to him and picked it up.
“Samantha,” he said, drawing it out with a note of warning.
His voice held the fierceness of anger, but there was more buried underneath that. There was anguish. His eyes told her she was playing with fire. Well, screw it. She could handle a few burns. She’d handled worse in the last few days.
He didn’t stop her as she brought up his contacts and sent a text to Ernie.
It’s Samantha Page. Logan is at my house. Please come.
She typed in her address, hit send, and tossed the phone back down, walking out of the room without a word.
She heard him curse behind her, so presumably he’d read the text, but he didn’t follow her. She just hoped he didn’t tell Ernie not to come. Logan needed a lifeline right now and she’d get it for him.
Sam took the stairs two at a time and went to cook dinner. Cooking relaxed her, and Chad and Zach had been happy to wolf down huge quantities of food over the last two days. Maybe if she cooked up a storm and got a little something in her stomach, she could sleep for just a few hours.
She laughed to herself, but there wasn’t any mirth in the gesture. Maybe she needed to talk to Ernie. Because every time she closed her eyes, she saw the man who’d held her down and cut her. She heard the sick laughter as he’d watched her struggle, listened to her cries, and saw her blood spill out of her breasts.
She smelled him, tasted the fear in her mouth and the bile that raced up her throat. She felt the helplessness all over again, and all she wanted was to curl up and make the images, the memories, go away.
Yeah. Maybe she needed Ernie as much as Logan did.
Logan could have texted Ernie and told him not to come, but he didn’t. He knew Sam and she wouldn’t give up, so he might as well appease her, for now. He’d let Ernie come, talk to him a bit, then they’d make sure Sam was safe and he’d move on. Out of her life.
He would go upstairs later and find out what she’d meant when she’d said she had figured out who was after her. Right now, he needed a minute to get his shit together. He needed to spackle his fucked-up walls back together. That woman just kept knocking away at them and if he stayed up there with her, she’d have them down before he knew what happened.
She looked so fragile, it scared the crap out of him. Sam wasn’t a fragile woman. She was tough as hell. She had her insecurities. Who didn’t? But, right now, she looked worn out at the seams. He wanted to reach out and pull her in tight, wrap her up in his arms and not let another soul near her until … well, until ever.
And that scared the crap out of him. So, he shoved her away. She said she couldn’t sleep without him in the house? Fine, he’d be in the house. But, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—be with her.
Logan ran his thumb over the grip of his gun, letting the familiar feel of it soothe him. How messed up was he that his gun had a calming effect on him? His body tensed when a knock sounded on the front door. He drew himself up, gun in hand at his side, coming out into the front hall and glancing up the staircase to see that Chad stood guard, watching his back.
“It’s Ernie,” Chad called down and Logan figured Chad had seen him approach through the kitchen window upstairs.
He still used caution when opening the door, checking behind Ernie to be sure no one else lingered. The reporters seemed to have given up, at least for the day.
Logan looked down to see a leashed dog by Ernie’s side. Some kind of lab mix, by the look of it. The yellow dog stared calmly back at Logan. Leave it to Ernie to have the world’s calmest dog.
“Here.” Ernie thrust the leash into Logan’s hand. “Hold him for me.”
Logan looked down at the leash and took a few steps back. The dog followed him. He supposed that made sense since he was holding its leash, but his steps had been more of an attempt to get away than an attempt to get the dog to follow him.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs. He did, actually. He just wasn’t at all interested in engaging with anything or anyone right now. And that included Ernie and his dog. Sam invited him over. She could hang out with him.
“Sam’s upstairs,” Logan said.
Ernie didn’t answer him. He called up to Chad. “Will you grab the bag from the back of my truck and bring it in. Parked outside, white Ford.”
Logan watched as Chad went out and lifted something from the back of Ernie’s truck. A heavy bag for boxing.
What the hell was Ernie up to now?
“What are you doing?” Logan asked as he stepped further back.
Ernie stepped in and locked the door behind Chad, and then made a motioning movement with his head. “Move, that thing’s freaking heavy. You gonna make your buddy carry this shit around all night or get out of his way?”
Logan stepped aside, the dog coming with him, but he turned to glare at Ernie.
Ernie ignored him and walked into the basement room Logan had intended to take over as his own while he needed to be here. By now, Sam and Zach had come down the stai
rs.
Zach introduced Sam to Ernie, who greeted her like they were long-lost friends.
Ernie looked up at the ceiling. “You got a drill, Sam?”
Adding to Logan’s annoyance, she nodded and walked into the utility room that housed the hot water heater and furnace and came back with a large drill case in one hand and a tool box in another.
“Take whatever you need.” She put the cases down and came over to pet the dog, who greedily pushed into her arms for more. “What’s your dog’s name?”
Ernie didn’t bat an eye as he opened the drill case, sorting through bits for the right size. “His name is Billy, but he’s not my dog.”
“Whose dog is he?”
Logan got a weird twisty feeling in his gut at Sam’s question.
Oh, hell no. He wouldn’t.
“He’s Logan’s.”
He did.
“No, he’s not,” Logan said, dropping the leash and taking a step away from both Sam and the dog.
The dog followed Logan, pressing to Logan’s left side and shoving his head up under his hand.
“Sure he is,” Ernie said, “just look at him.” Ernie waved a hand at Logan and the dog, and damned if that dog didn’t press even further into Logan’s leg.
“No. He’s not.”
Sam started to laugh and Logan’s scowl only made her laugh harder.
Ernie was knocking on the low basement ceiling with his fist, and Chad joined in, searching for a beam to hang the bag on. They nodded at each other a few times, and Ernie marked a spot with a pencil. As Ernie turned the chuck to fix the bit into place on the drill, he glanced up at Logan.
“Yeah, he’s your new service dog. You got lucky. He was working with another veteran nearby but for a number of reasons, the match wasn’t the right fit. The guy’s kid is allergic to him. The service dog organization I work with is going to get him a poodle instead. There’s usually a one year or longer wait for a dog. I talked them into letting you have Billy since you’re in the area. That way, they don’t need to ship him back to Massachusetts. You will need to attend training with him, but that can wait for a while.”
Chad manned the drill and began setting up the heavy bag, and Logan remembered Ernie and Chad had been friends. Maybe he shouldn’t have chosen Ernie as his counselor after all.
Logan yelled over the noise. “I don’t need a service dog. I don’t need any of this. I need you all to get the hell out and leave me alone.”
He saw Sam flinch, but he just kept going. He started to pace along one wall of the room, turning when he hit the end to go back to the other wall. Back and forth, walking to nowhere and getting there fast. He needed to get out of here. He needed gone. Now.
“I don’t need pity jobs or—” He stopped and looked down. The dog had moved himself in front of Logan’s legs and pressed up against him. He rubbed his head up and down Logan’s leg.
“What the hell is your dog doing?” Logan yelled, but the whine of the drill stopped halfway through his question and the room went silent as his too loud words met the emptiness.
“Your dog,” said Ernie calmly. “You’re getting upset. He’s responding to it.”
The dog placed his mouth gently on Logan’s hand. Not biting or clamping down. Just holding his hand.
Logan stared at the dog.
“If you’re having a nightmare,” Ernie continued, “he’ll place his paws on your shoulders and lick your face to wake you. If you need him to, he’ll crawl right up in your lap and just let you hold him for hours. Some of it’s trained and some just comes naturally to him. He’s really quite good at his job.”
Despite Logan’s dumbfounded expression, Ernie smiled down at the dog. “He’s got a natural aptitude for this work.”
“He’s fantastic,” Sam said, beaming at the dog. “Is he a rescue?”
Sam hadn’t batted an eye at Logan’s sour mood, and he wondered how many times he’d have to kick her before she’d give up and leave him alone. He couldn’t stomach much more of it, so he hoped she’d give up soon. It wasn’t in him to be cruel to her, but he needed her to stay away from him.
“Yup,” Ernie answered. “The organization works with shelters. The shelter calls if they think a dog will pass the screening. If they take them into the program, they train them and place them with someone needing their skills.”
While Sam and Ernie talked, Chad lifted the heavy bag up and Zach affixed the chain to the ceiling.
Ernie turned to Sam. “What’s for dinner? It smells fantastic.”
“Paella,” she said with a smile as the group walked upstairs, leaving Logan and the dog watching after them.
He looked at their retreating backs, then up at the heavy bag, and down at the dog.
Billy looked up at him with open, brown eyes. Logan grunted at him and picked up the gloves Ernie had left against the wall. Slipping them on, he chose a position that allowed him to watch the door and beat on the bag at the same time, and started up a rhythm, letting the steady sound of the punches roll over him.
Billy watched for a minute, then chose a spot in the corner and laid down. He rolled over on one hip, but his shoulders and head remained upright and alert. A sentry, Logan thought, and kept on pounding on the bag.
Chapter 19
“Billy!”
Sam watched with interest as Ernie called the dog the following morning. Ernie had slept on one couch while Chad and Zach had taken turns on the other, swapping out halfway through the night. Logan hadn’t come upstairs.
“I’m wondering if Billy can get Logan to come up,” Ernie said quietly to Sam. “Either way, the dog needs to go out to the bathroom and eat something.”
“Billy!” Ernie called out to the dog again. Chad came down from the third floor, where he’d been taking his turn in the shower. Zach was in the living room with the eggs, sausage, and toast Sam had made for him. She piled a plate up for Ernie and one for Chad, while trying not to look too expectantly at the stairs.
The sound of Logan’s voice came up the stairs, but it sounded like he was arguing with Billy, maybe trying to send him up alone. Would the dog dig in its heels and refuse to come up without his companion? Sam didn’t even know if it was possible to train a dog to do that, but it had seemed like Billy saw something in Logan—a need, maybe? He’d seemed to respond to it last night, and Sam held her breath as she listened to the one-sided argument with the dog coming from downstairs.
Apparently, Billy won out because Logan and the dog came up the stairs, heading toward the living room rather than the kitchen. Sam tried not to stare as Logan opened the sliding doors and let Billy outside to relieve himself, but she couldn’t help it.
She wanted to drink him in. To somehow assess how he was, if there were holes in his armor and how she might get through them. She wanted to see him back on the mend the way he had been only last week. Because right now, he seemed lost to her. So lost and far away, despite their proximity.
She knew he wasn’t here voluntarily. She knew he was doing all he could to keep the walls up between them. That he’d leave as soon as they stopped the threat to her. And the thought of that crushed her. She didn’t know how he could believe there was anything wrong with him, anything wrong with what he’d done.
When Logan shut the door after Billy came back in the house, Sam spun and turned back to the kitchen. She could hear his steps coming closer, so she put a plate of food together for him and poured a cup of coffee. He nodded and gave a small grunt when she passed them over to him. Nobody said much as Logan began shoveling food into his mouth and Ernie poured food into a bowl for Billy.
“Sam,” said Zach quietly, handing her his iPad. “It’s hit the newspapers.”
Sam took the tablet from him and swallowed hard when her eyes scanned the photos of her wounds on the screen in front of her. She had known they’d hit the internet. Had prepared herself for it. Or so she thought. It turned out, seeing them there on the screen was a lot harder to handle.
She
hit the arrows for the slideshow and saw a picture of Eric Westbrook, of Logan in his uniform looking much younger than he did now. She scanned the article. This reporter interviewed several people who were coming out on Logan’s side and were irate about Westbrook’s treatment of a veteran, just as she’d hoped.
She wondered, though, if there were others who saw this as vigilante justice. Others who would have Logan see the inside of a jail cell before this was over.
Ernie and Chad kept talking while she read, but Sam slowly became aware that Logan sat frozen over his food, watching her intently. She locked the screen of the iPad and set it aside, then turned to pet Billy. Logan rose slowly and came toward her in the too-small kitchen. He reached around to the counter behind her and picked up the iPad, swiping the screen with his finger.
Sam stood stock still as he looked through the pictures and scanned the article. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she raised her eyes to find his gaze angry and hard on her. She gasped and moved backward and then Zach was there, tugging her out from between the counter and Logan, placing his body between Logan and hers.
The growl from Logan’s chest was feral and dark, almost primal in its pain and anguish and Sam had no idea how to respond. She didn’t know if he was angry with her, angry with the reporter, or Westbrook, or simply all of it.
But the look on his face had scared her. And that wasn’t a feeling she liked.
Logan spun and stalked from the room. Billy stuck to his leg like the Velcro dog he appeared to be as they made their way back to the basement. Moments later, they heard the pounding of Logan’s fist on the heavy bag and Sam was glad Ernie had brought it. She didn’t know how Logan would have vented if his counselor hadn’t given him the outlet.
That didn’t stop the burning in her eyes and she blinked several times, wrapping her arms around her waist. As though she could guard herself from all the feelings hitting her so harshly without seeming to care if she buckled under them.