“Not too much,” she warns. Her eyes are filled with tears. “Are you really awake?” she asks again. She leans over and shakes Sam’s leg. It’s propped on the edge of my bed. He jumps in surprise and nearly falls out of the chair as he fumbles to right himself.
“Logan?” he asks, sitting forward.
Emily says something to him, and he rushes forward. He looks down at me and says on a huge exhale, “Thank you,” as he looks up at the ceiling.
“What happened?” I ask.
A tear rolls down Emily’s cheek, but I can tell underneath it, she’s pissed at me. “You did something so stupid. And I thought you were going to die.” She takes my face in her hands. “Are you really back?”
“Back from where?”
She laughs. “Wherever you’ve been for ten days.”
Ten days? What the fuck is she talking about?
“You got hit by a car.”
Memories crash into me like the car did that night. That’s why I hurt. That’s why I’m in this bed. “Your dad?” I ask.
“He’s fine, numbnuts,” Sam says.
I nod. “Good.”
“If you ever do something so stupid as try to get yourself killed again, Paul’s going to murder you,” Sam warns. But he reaches for my hand and grips it tightly, our thumbs crossing the way they do when people shake hands. “I’m glad you’re back,” he says. His blue eyes, so much like mine, stare into my face. “You broke your head. And your leg.” He leans forward like he wants to tell me a secret. “And I heard that you broke your dick, too. Emily’s all upset about that part. She doesn’t give a fuck about your leg.”
Immediately, I want to check my parts. He laughs, though.
“Emily can check it out for you later.”
“She really doesn’t spend a lot of time down there,” I say. My head is swimming from the pain meds.
Sam turns away so he can laugh. “He’s pretty fucked up,” he says. Emily’s face colors profusely.
“I can’t believe you said that.” She pokes her bottom lip out, and all I can think about is kissing her. But I can’t even lift my head, much less anything else.
“Sorry,” I grunt. “I hurt,” I say, moving my arm.
Emily kisses my cheek. “Let me see if the nurse can bring you anything,” she says. “They wanted to know when you woke up anyway. Be right back.”
She walks out of the room. “That’s the first time she’s left you since this happened,” Sam says. “Well, except for the funeral.”
“What funeral?”
His face is solemn. “The boy driving the car that hit you. He died. She’s been here every day except for the funeral.”
For ten days, she hasn’t left? “Why?”
“She wouldn’t leave. I don’t know. Matt had to make her take a shower,” he laughs. “She was pissed for hours.”
“I’d love to have seen that. I thought Matt could do no wrong when it comes to her.” I moan—I’m really hurting.
“The honeymoon period is over,” he says. “You can only get a pass for having cancer for so long,” Sam says, like what he’s saying is a fact. “Then the girls start to treat you like you’re a normal asshole again.”
“Where are Matt and Paul?” I ask.
“Paul has Hayley tonight, and Matt went home to sleep.”
I nod.
“Pete?”
Sam’s face falls. “Still locked up.”
My heart twists in my chest at his words. A nurse walks into the room, and she’s carrying a needle. Thank fucking God. She smiles but she doesn’t speak to me. Hearing people always worry about how much I can understand, so they avoid communicating with me unless they have to.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” she finally says. I feel a burn in my arm, and then the pain starts to ease.
My head swims, but there’s one thing I need to know. I look at Sam. “Did I really break my dick?”
The sight of Sam’s laughter rocks me back to sleep.
Emily
Logan drifts back to sleep within moments of waking, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be back. I’m not as worried as I was before he spoke to me.
“Where are his hearing aids?” I ask Sam.
He shrugs. “Did you check his belongings?” He points toward a cabinet across the room. In it there’s a bag with everything Logan had on him when the accident happened. I look through it but can’t find the hearing aids.
I pick up a small silver bar. “What’s this?” I ask.
Sam’s face flushes. “Piercing,” he mumbles, not looking me in the eyes.
“Oh,” I say, and I bite back a snicker. All of Logan’s jewelry is in the bag. They removed all of his piercings and stored them for him. Even the one from the base of his johnson. Goodness.
I open his wallet, just because I’m nosy. There’s a charcoal drawing of me that he has in his driver’s-license window, and there are a few dollars in cash in the bill compartment. There’s a folded-up note, and I open it. I can’t help it—the curiosity is killing me. I realize immediately that it’s the note I wrote to him when I finally told him my name. Tears burn my eyes. He saved it. He had it tattooed on his butt, too, but he carries my note around like it’s important to him. “There are no hearing aids in here.”
“They may have been lost in the crash.”
“We’ll have to see about getting new ones before he needs them.”
Sam blows. “Do you know how much those things cost?”
I look up. I have no idea what they cost. “A lot?”
“Like way more than we have.” He growls low in his throat. “I’m tired of being fucking poor. It blows.”
“Your family is rich in all the ways that my family is not,” I remind him. I look at him as he swipes a frustrated hand through his hair. “Is that why Pete did what he did?”
He nods. “I think so.”
“I told him not to get involved with Bone. That it would only get him in trouble.” I told him that months ago, when he first started talking with the man. I hate to say I told you so, but when I do…
“I was there that night,” Sam blurts out. He rubs the back of his closely shaved head.
“What night?”
“The night Pete was arrested. I was there. We were unloading the truck together.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what more to say. “How did Pete get arrested and you didn’t?”
“Pete looked up at me and told me to run. So, I ran, and Pete got caught. I’ll never forgive myself.” He bites his lower lip, idly tonguing his piercing. “He told me if I confess, he’d deny that I was there. Fucking moron.”
“Did you tell Paul and Matt?” I don’t know why that matters, but it does.
He nods. “They know.” He shakes his head. “I thought Paul was going to kill me.”
“What did he do?”
He kicks at a piece of imaginary dirt on the floor. “He hugged me.” He shrugs. “That’s all.”
“Why were you messing with Bone at all?” I ask. I can’t help it. Everyone knows who Bone is and what he does.
He sighs. “We wanted to be sure that we had enough money saved to pay for Matt’s treatment, if he needed one again. So, we started doing odd jobs. None of it was illegal.” He holds up one hand like he’s testifying. “I swear it. We wouldn’t have gotten involved if it was illegal.”
“What kind of jobs?”
He doesn’t look at me. “Delivering packages, letters. Collecting on accounts. Unloading trucks. That kind of stuff.”
The stuff that was illegal as hell, and he knew it.
“Pete’s paying the price.” He growls and runs a hand through his hair again. “I’ll never forgive myself.”
“My dad is working on it,” I remind him.
“Your dad’s a miracle worker now?” he asks, his brow shooting up.
I laugh. “Not the last time I checked.”
He gets quiet for a minute. “Hey, Em,” he says. I look up at him. “I never did th
ank you for saving Matt’s life.”
I wave a breezy hand at him. “It was nothing.”
His eyes narrow. “You love my brother, right?”
I look down at Logan’s sleeping form. “More than anything.”
“You’re going to have to marry him.”
I pretend to pout. “Well, if I have to…”
Sam laughs. “I’m glad he has you. I’m glad we all do.”
Tears prick at the backs of my lashes, but I blink them back. Sam pulls me into a tight hug, and I don’t know what do for a minute. I get this from Matt all the time but never Sam.
Sam turns away from me, and I see the tattoo on the back of his neck. I don’t know why I never noticed it before. It says “Pete” in big, chunky, gothic-looking letters.
“Why do you have Pete’s name tattooed on your neck?” I ask.
He grins widely. “When we were twelve, our dad still couldn’t tell us apart. So, he decided to tattoo our names on our necks.” He smiles even more broadly. “When he sat us down in the chair, he asked which one I was, and I said Pete. And then he put my name on Pete’s neck. Our mom was so angry. You have no idea.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “I kind of like it.”
“I do, too.”
Logan
It has been a week since I woke up. I hurt like a motherfucker for days, but it’s getting better. Today, I get to go home. Emily is on the way to pick me up, and we’re going to her apartment, since she has an elevator and I can’t take the stairs. My leg is in a cast from the middle of my thigh to my toes. It itches like crazy, but they keep telling me not to scratch it.
The nurse helps me settle into a wheelchair. They say I can’t walk out of here. I want to go home so badly. Or at least go somewhere that I can sleep in a bed with Emily. Somewhere that I can hold her close and keep her next to me. I never, ever want to let her go.
She comes out of the elevator just as we’re heading toward it. She smiles, and my heart tries to take a flying leap out of my chest. I fucking love her so much. She holds the elevator door open, and the nurse pushes me past her.
Ready to go home? she asks.
I nod. It’s rude to sign in front of hearing people; I know this, but I have to tell her. I can’t wait to go home and take you to bed. I waggle my eyebrows at her.
She giggles. Are you well enough for that?
You might have to get on top.
Shit. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.
The nurse in the elevator with us bumps into my chair, and then I see her cough into her closed fist. Emily pats her on the back. “You okay?” she asks.
The woman nods. I think she’s really laughing, but I can’t tell.
A black sedan pulls up to the curb, and I see Emily’s dad driving it. My gaze shoots to hers, and she smiles.
He wanted to do it, she signs.
Why?
She shrugs. Ask him.
“Logan,” her dad says in greeting. His eyes meet mine, and he sticks out his hand to shake. I take it, and his grip is firm and strong. “How are you feeling?”
“Ready to go home, Mr. Madison.”
“Please, call me Ralph,” he says. My gut clenches, and I look toward Emily but she’s stowing my belongings in the trunk. I stand up tentatively, holding onto the edge of the door. I get into the front seat because there’s more room. I hop on one foot until I’m in position and then drop down into the car.
After the door is shut, the nurse who pushed me turns to me and signs, Hope you feel better soon. Shit. She can sign. I scrub a hand down my face in embarrassment, but she’s laughing. Take it easy, and don’t overdo it, she instructs.
I nod as heat creeps up my face. Emily just smiles and shakes her head. Busted. This is why you don’t sign in front of hearing people. Aside from the fact that it’s just rude.
Her dad is quiet the whole way to her house. He doesn’t say a word and neither does she.
When the car stops outside Emily’s apartment, he gets out and opens the door for me. I stick my hand out again. “Thank you for the ride, sir,” I say.
He brushes my hand away and helps me get settled on my crutches. “I’d like to come upstairs so we can talk.”
I look for Emily again, but she is in the driver’s seat of the car, and she waves to me as she pulls away.
“Where is she going?” I ask.
“To run some errands and to pick up your medicine,” he says.
“One of my brothers could have done that.”
He waves a hand at me. “No need.”
Henry, the doorman, rushes forward and helps me turn to get through the door. “So glad you’re back, Logan,” he says.
“Me, too,” I say with a laugh.
Emily’s dad smiles, and I still don’t know what to do with his unexpected friendship. He’s quiet in the elevator, and he doesn’t speak when I take out a key and let myself into Emily’s apartment. I should probably explain why I have a key, but I really don’t want to.
I drop onto the couch. I’m exhausted, and I really didn’t walk very far.
“Are you hurting?” he asks.
“No.” I look around the room. “Where’s Trip?” I expected to find him in his boxers on Emily’s couch.
“He has gone back to LA,” Mr. Madison admits.
He sits down opposite me on the couch and looks uncomfortable. But it’s not the I-don’t-know-what-to-say-to-you uncomfortable. It’s more like the I’m-emotional kind of uncomfortable, which makes me not know what to do for him.
“For good?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Oh, wow.” I didn’t see that one coming.
“Logan, I need to apologize to you,” he says. His cheeks are rosy, and he’s obviously anxious.
“It’s really not necessary, Mr. Madison,” I begin.
He cuts me off by holding up a hand. “Ralph,” he corrects. “I need to thank you,” he says again. “What you did took amazing courage.”
“Really,” I say, trying to cut him off.
“Let me fucking finish, will you?” he asks, still smiling.
Did he just drop the f-bomb? “Have you been hanging out with my brothers?” I ask.
He chuckles. “No, but I’m from the same fucking area as you. I just forgot somewhere along the way where I came from.”
I don’t know what to say. I had no idea Mr. Madison had poor roots.
“I grew up dirt-poor. In a worse neighborhood than yours.” He blows out a breath. “Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of what’s important,” he says. “My family means the world to me. Without them, I am nothing.”
He grimaces as though he doesn’t know what to say next.
“I’m proud that you’re in my daughter’s life. I couldn’t be more pleased with her choice in someone to love.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say. I’ve been blindsided, and I feel like someone has flipped my world around. I didn’t see this coming at all.
“I know you have plans to be with my daughter forever.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jewelry box. He presses it into my hands. I open it up, and there’s a small diamond engagement ring inside. You would probably need a microscope to see the diamond, but that’s okay. The ring is beautiful, with a lot of detailed etching around the band. It looks like an antique. “If you decide to ask her to marry you at some point, I’d like you to know you have my blessing. And you can use her grandmother’s ring.” He suddenly looks uncomfortable again. “Or you can use your own. I don’t particularly care.”
I remember what he said to me once, about buying my wife a tiny diamond and living with her in a shitty apartment. He shrugs. He remembers it, too.
“Thank you, sir.” I feel like someone has stolen all my wits. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not implying that you have to ask her anytime soon.”
“I plan to ask her as soon as possible,” I admit. I’ve been planning it since I woke up in the hospital. I don’t want to be away f
rom her for a single second. Ever.
“When you do, you have my blessing, and her mother’s.” He points a finger at me in warning. “I feel like you’re a good man. But if you do anything that will ever break her heart, I’ll have to do terrible things to you.” He glares down his nose at me. “I know people.” He smiles, though.
I look down at my broken leg. “Losing Emily would be punishment enough,” I say. I need to tell him something. I take a deep breath. “I feel like I need to come clean on something.”
His arches his eyebrows and sits forward. “Please do.”
“I didn’t try to push you out of the way that night. Emily was coming up behind you, and I wanted to get to her. So, I shoved you, hoping you would fall into her like dominoes.” I shrug. “It worked.”
He laughs, his chest filling with chuckles. “I know.”
“You did?” How the hell did he know that?
“Yes, I saw the look on your face. No one is that scared over a man who has treated him like a piece of shit.” He sits back and regards me, his eyes narrowing. “When you saw that car coming, you had this look that told me that you were completely in love with my daughter and that you would sacrifice yourself for her.” He nods toward the ring. “That’s why I gave you my blessing. Not because you saved my life.”
“Oh.” I probably sound like an idiot, but I don’t know what to say.
“Two more things before Emily gets back.” He looks anxiously toward the door. “One—when you’re ready, there’s an internship waiting for you at Madison Avenue in the advertising department. You’re a talented artist, Logan, and I could use someone like you.” He holds up a hand to stay me when my mouth falls open. “Trip admitted to me that you designed that advertising campaign. And you’re very talented.” He smiles, and it actually reaches his eyes. Maybe I’ve had too many pain meds. “You won’t start at the top just because you’re marrying my daughter.”
I peer at him, wondering who this man is who is sitting here giving me praise. “I wouldn’t expect any special treatment.” Or accept any for that matter.
He looks toward the door again. “The second thing,” he says. He licks his lips and then his eyes meet mine. “Do you think you could design a tattoo for me? I want something that represents my life. A tattoo that means something to me.”
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