LOGAN CARTER
With my hands hanging limply at my sides, I slumped against the tower of pillows at my back and kept my eyes, the only fucking decent part of my anatomy these days, trained on her.
Brooke Kennedy.
Black hair, pulled tight in a functional bun.
Doe brown eyes shielded behind the thickest lashes I’d ever seen.
Baggy blue scrubs, hiding silken skin the color of the sweetest chocolate.
She kept her chin tucked close to her neck, her gaze cast downwards, as she readjusted the ugly-ass stockings on my legs, the ones to prevent clots, and then spent an ornate amount of time fussing with my blankets.
She didn’t speak today.
I didn’t mind.
I wasn’t much of a talker myself.
I was even less interested in mindless, fill-in-the-gaps chitchat.
In a weird way, I almost preferred when she had days like these.
I could read her better.
On her good days, her smile could light up the whole hospital wing. It wasn’t real.
On her bad days, like this morning, she tried to hide the sadness in her eyes by keeping her head down and her bruises concealed, but I could see it all.
Every shuddering breath.
The change in her posture.
The way her shoulders slumped.
How she flinched.
The look of desolation in her eyes when she dared a glance at me.
She was never more real than she was on days like today.
Or more beautiful.
‘Logan, stop,’ Brooke whispered, speaking for the first time today. ‘Please don’t do that.’
‘Don’t do what?’ I replied, already knowing the answer. See? Being a cripple had its advantages. From a young child, when I realized that my body wasn’t going to work the same as my identical brothers, I learned how to strengthen my mind. I learned how to read everything. I developed my own version of armor.
Knowing that I could never strike with a punch without risking a relapse, I taught myself how to strike with my mind. ‘What am I doing, Brooke?’
‘You’re trying to crawl into my head.’ Satisfied with her unnecessary straightening of my blankets, she moved for my chart, snatching it off the foot of my bed. ‘There’s nothing in there that’ll interest you.’
‘We both know that’s a lie.’
She flicked her big brown eyes my way and a shiver ran up my spine.
Maybe I imagined it.
Maybe it was purely a memory.
But I felt it.
She made me feel things.
Physically.
‘I’ll leave,’ she warned, snapping my chart back into place.
‘I’m glad you remember you still can,’ I replied, keeping my eyes on hers. ‘Leave, that is.’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
If I could have, I would have folded my arms across my chest, but since my limbs had given up on me, I settled for arching a brow. ‘Another lie.’
‘How are you feeling tonight?’ she changed the subject by asking. ‘Any muscle movement?’
‘I’m just back from a 10k run,’ I shot back. ‘Feeling great.’
Her lips twitched as she tried her best to smother her smile.
‘Do it,’ I teased, smirking. ‘Smile, Brooke. I dare you.’
Her armor slipped and she released a labored breath. ‘I’m sorry.’ Sinking down on the edge of my bed, she placed her small hand on top of mine. ‘I’m being mean.’
Now I felt that.
Her touch.
I felt it down to the deepest part of my discombobulated nerve endings.
‘Any feeling?’
Age old habit had me trying to shake my head. Quickly adapting to the lack of movement, I used my words. ‘I can feel you, Brooke.’
Her brows furrowed. ‘In general, or just me?’
‘There’s nothing general about you,’ I replied.
‘Logan –’
‘Just you.’
She sighed heavily and it sounded like a great weight had settled on her chest.
I knew the feeling well.
‘I wish this wasn’t your life,’ she whispered then and I watched the way her fingers traced my wrist, working my brain to both memorize the visual and remember the old sensation. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘Great pep talk,’ I mused, trying and failing to turn my hand over and entwine our fingers.
Using every ounce of mental strength inside of me, I willed my hand to move.
Nothing.
I tried again, sweating from the sheer fucking effort.
My finger twitched.
One finger.
It was something.
‘I love you,’ I told her then, knowing that it was the worst possible thing to say in this moment, but committing to it just the same.
There was a method to my madness. One of these days, she was going to break down. That didn’t mean to say that she would confess her undying love for me or anything so romantic.
No, I just wanted the woman to know that she was desirable. I gave her my words, my truth, for no other reason than she deserved to hear someone tell her. She deserved to know that she was loved.
I was under no illusions of where I stood – lay – in the grand scheme of things. I wasn’t exactly the catch of the day. The woman had washed my dick more times in the last three years than I cared to remember.
Degrading?
Perhaps.
But I wasn’t in the position to be pitiful.
Feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t fix my body. It wouldn’t get me out of this bed any quicker. If anything, it would delay my progress.
I needed out.
I wanted back up.
In order to do that, I needed to keep my head, control my outlook, and work on my progress.
This relapse had been more testing than the others. Five months in and I was still crippled. It was the longest I’d spent in hospital since I was nineteen.
‘You can’t say things like that to me,’ she whispered, and I didn’t miss the shudder that rolled through her.
‘Come here, Brooke,’ was all I replied, keeping my grey eyes locked on her face.
‘I can’t.’ The words were barely more than a torn whisper.
‘Come here,’ I repeated, willing her with everything I had in me to just come to me. ‘Please.’
A tremor racked through her small frame, and then she was moving.
Twisting onto her side, she curled into my side, body trembling all over. ‘What am I doing?’
‘You’re letting me love you,’ I whispered, wishing I could comfort the broken woman who had stolen my heart. ‘And that’s okay.’ Breathing in the smell of her coconut scented shampoo, I nuzzled my face in her hair and absorbed the sensations rushing through my body.
‘No, it’s not,’ she croaked out, lifting her face to mine. ‘There’s so much that you don’t know –’ A pained sob tore from her chest and she crushed her lips against mine. ‘Oh god,’ she cried against my lips, her kiss laced with desperation and need.
‘I know he hurts you,’ I replied, breaking the kiss, and rubbing my nose against hers. ‘I know he puts his hands on you.’ I kissed her softly. ‘Treats you badly.’
A tear trickled down her cheek and she sagged against me. ‘Logan…’
‘I know you’re terrified and I know that you stay for the kids.’ Pressing a featherlight kiss to her lips, I breathed her in before pulling back to look at her. ‘And I know that I’m going to save you.’
You can find Logan Carter in the Carter Kids
