Caught Up in the Touch: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

  Finally, he said, “We’re on our way,” and disconnected.

  She zipped up her jeans and hopped into the passenger seat. Logan looked worried and serious, yet he sat with his hands tight around the steering wheel not making a move to start the truck.

  She skimmed the back of his hand with her fingertips. “What’s happened?”

  “Scott Larkin tried to commit suicide.”

  Her hand automatically went to her throat. “He’s not . . . ?”

  “Took a handful of sleeping pills. His mother found him and called 911. He’ll live.” His hand clenched under hers, the skin pulled taut.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I went to see him tonight, but only to get the truth. I didn’t threaten him.” He turned to face her. “I swear.”

  “Of course, you didn’t.” He didn’t seem inclined to get them moving, so she tentatively scooted closer to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Scott has been making bad decisions on his own for a while now. You’ve only being trying to help him.”

  His eyes closed, and he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “Did you ever consider taking that razor blade and ending it all when you were cutting?”

  She took a sharp breath. It was a painfully intimate question. “The thought crossed my mind once, but it scared me so bad, I didn’t cut again for weeks. I never wanted to die. For me, cutting was a release valve for all the ugliness.”

  “Scott’s smart. He’s not a bad kid; he’s just lost his way. This steroid thing is a blip. It’s not worth dying over.”

  “You’ve had years to gain perspective. Your mistakes are a blip in your past. My cutting is a blip in mine. But at the time, didn’t it feel like the world was crashing down when our secrets came out? Scott has a long way to go to find his perspective, but you could help him see there’s a way to the other side that doesn’t involve pills. Help him through the darkness.”

  He lifted his head, the hint of a smile playing at his mouth. “Not only brilliant and beautiful, but wise?”

  She didn’t try to hide from his glib compliment. For the first time in years, she felt an ease with herself. She elbowed his side and tried on a Logan-inspired teasing smile. “And don’t you forget it.”

  He took her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. His warm lips left a brand on her heart. Too soon, he dropped her hand. “We need to roll.”

  The truck roared to life, the headlights illuminating a swath of grass and trees ahead of them. She snapped her seatbelt home. Once off the ridge, he hesitated before pulling out onto the blacktop.

  “Will you come to the hospital with me?” The soft glow from the instrument panel settled in the creases by his mouth.

  “Of course.”

  He sighed as if he’d been holding his breath and drove on. They pulled into the county hospital parking lot fifteen minutes later. A few teenagers milled around the ER doors, hugging and crying. She slipped her hand over his forearm, letting him know without words she was there for him.

  20

  A sense of urgency battled with a miasma of dread weighing Logan’s limbs. He had to face whatever his earlier visit to Scott had unleashed.

  Jessica’s fingers landed on his arm like a butterfly. Her eyes were huge, her lips still red from his kisses. He’d nearly told her he loved her. If the phone call hadn’t come in, no doubt, he would have blurted the three dangerous words out sometime before taking her home. The need to confess had grown into a compulsion.

  Now that he’d unlocked the door where he’d stuffed all his secrets and fears, they wanted to pour out of him. “What if he tried to kill himself because of me? What if his parents, Dalt, the town blame me?”

  “It’s not your fault. No one will blame you. And, if they do, then . . .” She shrugged with a small, not very reassuring smile. “We’ll disappear into the woods. Live in the meadow.”

  We. He knitted their fingers together and slid out of the truck, tugging her across the seat with him.

  A gauntlet of teenagers milled around the automatic doors. Two girls wailed melodramatically, holding on to each other. Logan’s hand rose to pull the brim of his cap down before realizing his hat was lost on the ridge. He kept his head down and led with one shoulder, Jessica at his hip. Several kids called out to him, asking for news, but he ignored them. The lobby was sterile and quiet. Darcy rose from a corner chair and gestured them over.

  “Hey, cuz.” He hugged Darcy close to his side while keeping Jessica’s hand securely in his.

  Darcy’s face was pale and drawn. “Robbie’s in the back. He wanted me to text him as soon as you got here.”

  Logan covered her phone with his hand. “First tell me what you know.”

  “Not much. Stephanie found him on her bathroom floor, incoherent. Doctors pumped his stomach. He refuses to talk to anyone. But you.”

  Logan eyes widened at her pronouncement. He had no idea what Scott’s state of mind might be. Darcy’s sympathetic blue eyes were so much like their grandmother’s, a sliver of the comfort Ada always gave him lessened his anxiety.

  While Darcy texted Dalt, Logan rocked on his feet, wanting to pace but unable to let go of Jessica’s hand.

  Instead of Dalt, Ben Larkin barreled out of the security doors. Logan recognized the zealous determination in the other man’s eyes. He had seen the same on Taliban faces in the middle of firefights.

  Logan pushed Jessica toward Darcy. Ben had thirty pounds on Logan. The man had been an athlete, but the weight he’d put on had settled as mass not muscle. Ben swung wildly with his left hand. Logan ducked, then blocked the next swing. He shoved Ben backward and retreated a few steps. The last thing he wanted was to hurt a man who was already hurting.

  Ben came at him again, low like a bulldozer, notching a shoulder into Logan’s stomach and driving him backward over a vinyl couch. With his arms trapped between the man and the leg of the couch, Logan couldn’t defend himself against the fist that crashed into his cheekbone.

  Pain exploded in his head. His vision receded. He worked an arm free and tossed it in front of his face. Another blow glanced off his chin. Instinctively seeking freedom from the weight pressing on him, he kicked his legs out. Consciousness flickered.

  The weight lifted, and Logan blinked, but his vision remained blurred. Trickling warmth on his temple and the too-familiar tang of blood in the air turned his stomach.

  He flinched at the touch of another pair of hands, but these were gentle and soft, coasting over his forehead. “You’re bleeding.” Jessica’s voice echoed in his head, but he still couldn’t see clearly.

  The haze of pain muffled the synapses in his brain. He pushed to sitting and wiped a surprising amount of blood out of his eye. “I’m fine.”

  From her crouch next to him, Jessica snapped her fingers, her voice cutting through the room. “Nurse. This cut needs attention immediately. It might need stitches. Coach Dalton, help me get him up.”

  Stitches?

  Hands slipped under his arms, and he was pulled to his feet. Dalt’s voice came from behind him. “Can you walk?”

  He looked over his shoulder at his best friend. He’d hauled Dalt out the rubble of a suicide bomber and asked him the same question, dragging him to safety before returning for Avery, his service dog.

  “What happened? Why is there so much blood?” Logan’s mind moved at the speed of a snail, the words sounding just as slow.

  “Ben rung your bell with a couple of punches, but the real problem lies with the University of Alabama football program.”

  “What?”

  “Ben was wearing his Alabama championship ring. It gashed your forehead.” Dalt pulled Logan’s arm around his shoulders. Ben was in the opposite corner with two security guards, too far away for Logan to hear their conversation.

  The nurse waved them back into a curtained exam room where a doctor waited. He pushed Logan to lay on the table and shined a bright light in each of his eyes. In a distant, economical voice, the doctor asked, “What
kind of pain meds would you prefer? Narcotic or analgesic?”

  “No narcotics.”

  The doctor opened a packet of pills into Logan’s hand and handed him a cup of water. Logan tossed them back.

  “Where’s Jessica?” he murmured.

  The doctor swabbed his face, red soaking the thin, white gauze.

  “I’m here.” Her voice did more than the medicine to ease the pain. She slipped to his other side and took his hand. He kept his gaze on her and not on the blood-soaked gauze.

  “You’ll need a half dozen stitches,” the doctor said. “I can’t guarantee no scar, but I’ll do my best. If you’d prefer we can call in a plastic surgeon.”

  “You’ll do. Make it quick.”

  The doctor shot numbing agent into his forehead. The pinch made him clutch her hand tighter.

  He tried to find solid ground with a joke. “Will you still want a scarred, monstrous beast?”

  She held his eyes. “I don’t mind scars, if you don’t.”

  He tried to find a reassuring smile, but the numbing agent made his cheek feel funny. Jesus, he hoped he wasn’t drooling. “By the way, I like it when you boss people around. It’s sexy as hell.”

  Jessica harrumphed. “Are you sure he doesn’t have a concussion, doctor?”

  The doctor hummed, and Logan’s skin tugged with the pull of the needle. “No concussion, but he’ll have a hell of a headache later. Nothing much to do except rest.”

  Another five minutes and the doctor was clipping the ends of the thread holding Logan’s skin together. After spreading cool antiseptic over Logan’s forehead, he covered it with an oversize Band-Aid. He cleaned up his instruments, then handed Logan another packet of pills. “Rest here for a few minutes. The numbing agent will be wearing off soon. You sure you don’t want something stronger?”

  Shaking his head, Logan murmured his thanks, and the doctor left. He grabbed Jessica’s hand and brought it to his cheek. “Will you kiss my boo-boo?”

  She brushed lips across his forehead, next to the bandage. “I thought Ben was going to kill you.” The words strung themselves together in a tense wave.

  “He’s trying to protect his son.”

  “But you didn’t do anything.”

  “He obviously believes I did.”

  A deep voice cleared itself from a gap in the curtains.

  “Come on in, Dalt.” Logan waved him in.

  “Security’s itching to call the police. You want to press charges against Ben?”

  “Hell no. That would only make things worse. Do you know more about what happened?”

  “Scott and his dad had a huge blowout after dinner. Neither one will say what about. A couple of hours later, his mom found him on the bathroom floor. As soon as he could talk, he asked for you and hasn’t said a word since.”

  Logan swung his legs around and braced his hands on the edge of the table. His temple pounded with every heartbeat, and the room was a dizzying, blinding white. He gingerly stood, pulling Jessica to his side like a security blanket. “Let’s go.”

  Dalt gave a quick shake of his head. “Just you, Logan. Sorry, Miss Montgomery.”

  His hand tightened around hers, but she patted him on the chest. “You can do this. I’ll wait with Darcy.”

  He opened his hand, his fingers fighting him. Jessica stepped back and gave him a reassuring nod. Her strength was palpable, and he drew on the belief and confidence in her eyes. If they hadn’t been standing in the middle of an unnaturally cold, sterile hospital room with his best friend staring at them, he might tell her now.

  I love you.

  She’d probably blame it on a concussion. With one last look, he followed Dalt deeper into the hospital. Dalt stopped with his hands on a brown door, let out a long sigh, and led the way into the private room.

  Logan wiped damp palms on his jeans and tried to corral his heart, which felt like leaping out of his chest to splatter on the pristine white floor. The click of the IV line accompanied a beeping heart monitor.

  With fine wrinkles drawn over her makeup-free face, Scott’s mother sat in an armchair, her eyes closed and a tissue pressed against her lips. Ben stood by the window, his head resting against the plaster molding, staring through the faux wood blinds into the darkness. He fiddled with the giant championship ring on his finger.

  Facing away from his parents, Scott lay curled on his side, his hands tucked under his cheek. His eyes were squeezed too tight, obviously feigning sleep. Gone was the defensiveness of the past months. Gone was the anger. He reminded Logan of a child, lost and bewildered.

  Dalt cleared his throat, and three sets of eyes landed on Logan. Scott raised the bed and propped himself to sitting on the pillows. Stephanie Larkin shifted forward, the chair vinyl creaking. Ben Larkin stood tall, his jaw tightening. Apparently, the fight hadn’t appeased his desire to dismember Logan.

  Logan stepped to Scott’s side, putting the hospital bed between him and Ben.

  With the promise of another beating in the gaze he directed toward Logan, Ben said, “Well, here he is, Scott. What did you have to say to this sack of shit?”

  Logan wrapped his hands around the cold metal frame of the bed and concentrated on what mattered—Scott. The boy clutched the sheet to his chest, making the bright-red hospital band on his wrist stand out like a gash. His chin wobbled.

  Guilt rained down on Logan, knowing he had some part in the devastation. “Scott, I’m sorry.”

  Scott shook his head, his lips moving, but only an unintelligible whisper emerged. He cleared his throat. Like having the volume too high, Scott’s voice echoed unnaturally. “No.”

  “I hope you’re happy, Logan.” Ben Larkin rolled his bull shoulders forward and jabbed a finger toward Scott. “Look at what you’ve done to my son.”

  “Dad, I lied.”

  Confusion flashed over Ben’s face. “What are you talking about?” He glared in Logan’s direction. “Did he put you up to this?”

  Scott fingered the red band, his gaze downcast. “He tried to help me. The truth is I bought the drugs and gave myself the injections.”

  Aggression seeped out of Ben as if his son’s words had cracked his foundation. He took several shuffling steps backward. Stephanie rose and tottered closer on her black heels. She mimicked Logan’s position, but on the opposite side of the bed, leaning heavily on the rail, her fingers gaunt and knobby. The woman had aged a decade in one short evening.

  “Why, honey? Why would you do something like that?”

  Although, Logan had pegged Stephanie as a self-absorbed social climber, her trembling hand brushed back her son’s hair with a mother’s touch.

  “I’m sorry, Mama.” Scott swiped a tear away with the heel of his hand. “Dad’s always wanted me to go to Alabama and be a star. A couple of the other guys on the team got recruitment letters last spring. I didn’t get anything.”

  “You had time to develop, son,” Ben said.

  “I wasn’t big enough or strong enough. Not for Alabama.” He chuffed a laugh full of tears. “Not even for Falcon. My starting position was on the line. I thought if I could get a couple more inches, a few pounds of muscle. . . . I tried HgH over the summer. It was only going to be a few times, but I got stronger and faster. Everyone noticed. I kept taking it and tried some other stuff too.”

  Logan rubbed a hand over his jaw and silently cursed. He had noticed the stretch marks. If only he’d said something sooner.

  Ben Larkin’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came. Stephanie filled the space. “You didn’t have to play at Alabama, honey. You could have played at Ole Miss or Arkansas.”

  Scott pushed his mother’s arm away. “You don’t get it. I’m not as good as Dad was. I’ll never make a SEC team without help. Would you come watch me play at some podunk college? What if I didn’t play at all? What would you brag to your friends about then? My grades? Please, spare me.”

  Ben joined his wife. “You took steroids thinking you’d somehow make us proud
?”

  “It’s all I hear about, day in, day out.” Scott mimicked the low tones of his father. “‘Roll Tide. Only program worth playing for in the country.’” He fell into his own voice again. “You flash that damn ring around like the Holy Grail. If I didn’t get recruited by ’Bama, I would have been a failure the rest of my life in your eyes.”

  Logan willed Ben to deny it and reassure his son. Ben did not. Instead, he attacked Scott. “You cheated. Did I not at least teach you about honor?”

  The beeps of the monitor came faster, and Scott pushed up on the bed. “Honor? You laugh about how you paid other students to write your papers and take your tests. It’s okay to cheat at school but not football?”

  Ben and Scott stared each other down. Finally, Ben broke away and headed for the door, slamming it open. The hinges jangled but held. Stephanie seemed incapable of offering words of comfort through her tears. Logan reached over Scott’s legs and laid a hand over hers. “Why don’t you go check on your husband? Let me talk to Scott for a minute.”

  She nodded and wandered out like a sheep needing herding. Logan met Dalt’s gaze. They reverted to Army habits, speaking in gestures. Logan waved two fingers toward the door. Dalt nudged his chin toward Scott and slipped out before the door closed behind Stephanie.

  Scott had fallen back onto the mass of pillows, averting his face. His teeth clamped his bottom lip, but nothing could stop the wobble in his chin. Logan pulled over the chair Scott’s mother had occupied and sat, giving the boy time to gather himself.

  Jessica’s words floated through him. Help Scott through the darkness. He didn’t want to fuck this up. Normally, words weren’t hard to find, but now, twice in one night, they stuck in his throat.

  “You must hate me,” Scott said.

  Emotion roughed Logan’s voice. “Of course I don’t. Never did.”

  “You should. I ruined your life.”

  At this, Logan couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “Getting banned from football sucks, but believe it or not, I do have a life outside of coaching you turds.”