Trust (Temptation #3)

by Ella Frank

  He walked up to the main desk and waited for someone to see him standing there. After several minutes, a young brunette came over to find out what he needed.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  Logan nodded and licked his parched lips. “I’d like an update on…” He tried to say Tate’s name but couldn’t get the words out.

  “On who, sir?”

  He was about to try again when Cole stepped up beside him and said, “On Tate Morrison. He was brought in a little while ago. They took him back into surgery.”

  The brunette sat down, and Logan turned to Cole with silent thanks in his eyes. Cole gave a nod of his head, and then their attention was drawn back to the woman in front of them.

  “And who are you in relation to the patient?”

  The question was so simple, yet at the same time, as it echoed around inside his brain, Logan knew that it was about to become extremely complicated.

  “I’m his partner. My name’s Logan Mitchell.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes and then lowered them to the forms in front of her. She ran her finger down several lines and then returned her gaze to him.

  “I’m sorry, sir. You aren’t listed as an emergency contact on the paperwork. You’ll have to wait out here until you’re further notified.”

  Logan shut his eyes and willed himself to be patient. He felt a hand on his arm and knew that it was Cole, and when he opened his eyes and faced him, Cole mouthed, “Let’s sit down.”

  Yeah, not going to happen.

  “Excuse me,” Logan said as he turned back to the receptionist. “I don’t think you understand. The man you have back there? He’s with me, and I just want to know how he is.”

  She nodded and gave him a sympathetic smile that made Logan want to strangle her. “I understand perfectly, sir. But hospital policy states immediate family only, and until then, I can’t give out any information.”

  Logan clenched his fists on top of the counter as a red haze clouded his vision. He was quickly losing any semblance of politeness he had, and as his temper started to boil, he reminded himself that losing it wasn’t going to get him very far.

  “I just want to know how he is,” he tried again, hating the tremble he could hear in his voice. “Mr. Tate Morrison. Can’t you take a look and let us know—”

  “Sir,” she interrupted. “I’m not allowed to tell you anything more. A member of his family has arrived, and when she is ready, I’m sure she’ll come and tell you what you wish to know. Those are the hospital rules.”

  “Fuck the rules,” Logan shouted.

  Cole pulled him away from the desk. “Would you cool it? You aren’t going to get any answers like that.”

  Logan glared at Cole like he wanted to murder him. “I’m not getting answers anyway.” Then he realized exactly what the woman had just said. Marching back to the desk, he said, “You said when she is ready. Is his emergency contact Diana Cline?”

  The pinched look on the receptionist’s face made Logan think he wasn’t going to get an answer. But she must have had an inner moment of compassion, because she glanced back down to the paper and frowned.

  That was when it occurred to him— “I’m sorry. Diana Morrison.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Mrs. Morrison was taken back around thirty minutes ago.”

  The temper that had been the reason for the blood pounding in his head drained in an instant.

  As Logan took a step away from the desk, he heard Cole say his name, but he couldn’t respond because his heart had finally shattered.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and somewhere around three in the morning, Logan found himself in the exact same chair he’d fallen into earlier. He hadn’t spoken a word since his conversation with the receptionist.

  Cole had taken the seat to his left, and sitting beside him was Rachel, who had her head on her husband’s shoulder. They both had their eyes closed. Logan envied the peace they must have felt in that moment because he would’ve done anything to be able to escape the all-consuming need to know what was going on behind the white double doors only steps away from him.

  People had come and gone from the waiting room. Been seen, healed, and told to go home with a few pills—they would live to see another day. As for him, he was waiting in a room with his eyes fixated on a door in the hopes that the one person he’d thought he would never want to see again would walk through.

  Diana. She was the only one who could get him access, and he’d gone over every kind of conversation imaginable so he was prepared when—or if—she decided to come out.

  Logan squeezed his eyes shut and brought a hand to his face. He rubbed his gritty eyes and then looked at the clock on the wall. Hours. It had literally been hours, and he knew nothing more than what he’d originally been told.

  And really, what are the odds she’ll come out here and tell me anything more?

  If he was honest, she was the last person he’d want to engage with if the situation was reversed, and as that hard truth settled in the pit of his stomach, he felt bile rise in his throat.

  “Logan?”

  Not willing to take his eyes away from the locked doors leading to the inner halls of the hospital, he didn’t bother turning his head. He remained silent and focused.

  That was when a woman in a white lab coat and a black dress stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the door. He raised his head, ready to tell her to get out of the way, but when his vision cleared, the doctor turned out to be someone he knew. He was almost shocked out of his grief by who was standing in front of him.

  “Logan?” she said again, bending at the waist to touch his shoulder.

  “Shelly?”

  She gave him a tight smile as he tried to work out what was going on. “Hi.”

  He blinked a couple of times, and when he couldn’t think of anything to say, she offered a hand.

  “Want to come for a walk with me?”

  The bold blonde he’d met only weeks ago at game night was nowhere to be found. In her place was a sophisticated doctor. But Logan wasn’t budging. He shook his head and turned away from her.

  “No. I’m waiting.”

  She stepped in front of him again and crouched down so they were eye to eye, and as she gave a slight nod, she told him, “I know.” She placed a hand on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know if Cole told you, but I’m a pulmonologist here at the hospital.” When it was clear he wasn’t about to say anything, she said, “Come for a walk,” and straightened to her full height.

  When he looked up at her, the expression in her eyes finally had him getting to his feet quietly. Cole and Rachel were still resting, and he didn’t want to wake them.

  Shelly glanced at the two of them and smiled. “I’ll tell one of the girls over there to let them know you’re with me if they wake.”

  After Logan agreed, she approached the front desk, chatted with one of the women behind it, and then turned back to face him. He looked to the double doors one last time and then to Shelly, deciding that five minutes talking to her couldn’t hurt, right?

  He walked over to where she was standing and then followed her lead as she wandered with him down the hall toward the vending machines.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about Tate. I hope you don’t mind, but Cole called me this evening after you arrived here at the ER and were refused any information on his condition.”

  Logan still didn’t have anything to say, so he remained silent until she stopped walking. Then he too halted his steps.

  “I’m not supposed to do this, but”—she grabbed his arm and pulled him into a small alcove where there were two water fountains—“I know how much you care about him, and if I were you, I’d be going out of my ever-lovin’ mind.”

  The slight Southern inflection that entered her feisty tone was the first thing that slipped through Logan’s numb state, but still, it wasn’t enough to get a verbal response.

&nb
sp; “I spoke to the surgeon who worked on Tate when he was brought in and found out as much as I could. The first thing you need to know is that his condition is serious. They’ve listed it as guarded.”

  Logan took a step back and used the wall as a prop to hold him up just in case his knees gave out from what she was about to tell him.

  “He suffered a broken clavicle and two broken ribs, one which punctured his right lung, causing it to collapse. Also known as a pneumothorax.”

  “Oh, God,” Logan muttered, the words escaping without any conscious thought, as he ran a hand through his hair. Gripping the back of his neck, he sucked his top lip behind his lower teeth, trying to keep the shout that was bubbling up inside him from slipping free.

  “I know this is hard to hear. Do you want me to stop?” Shelly reached for his arm, a physical show of support.

  Logan shook his head and tried to stave off the tears—he needed to hold it together.

  “Okay. After they inserted a drain and relieved the air in the lung, his condition deteriorated and they had to place him on a ventilator. They thought that would be enough, that it would get him through the safety window and on the road to healing, but around thirty minutes ago, one of my colleagues was called to his room. Tate’s condition…” She paused, and Logan didn’t dare look away from her. “It’s continued to deteriorate, and they’ve started differential lung ventilation.”

  He’d tried to keep up with all of the medical jargon she’d been throwing his way, and he’d understood most, but the last part… “What’s that mean? Differential?” His voice was scratchy, and he knew it was from fighting back the emotional lump in his throat all day and his lack of actually speaking.

  When Shelly stepped in beside him and ran her hand down his arm to take his hand, he looked at her sympathetic eyes and felt his entire body shudder.

  Obviously, it meant nothing good.

  “It means he’s on two ventilators, one going into each lung. They’re doing additional x-rays now, and we’ll know more soon.”

  “Fucking hell,” Logan cursed, unable to think of anything else that even remotely relayed every feeling he was having in that moment.

  Tate was somewhere in here, with God knows how many tubes and needles going in and out of him, and he wasn’t able to do a fucking thing. He was useless. Helpless. And the more he thought about it, the more enraged he became.

  “Did you see anyone back there with him?” he grit out. “He shouldn’t be alone through all of this, and since the guard dogs at your front desk won’t let me back…”

  Shelly winced, appearing uncomfortable, but then she said softly, “His parents are in there. And so is another woman.”

  Logan let the rage inside him boil over, welcoming the emotion, as he pushed off the wall and stalked away from Shelly.

  Best to be nowhere close—he felt homicidal.

  “His parents are in there? Jesus, no wonder his condition is deteriorating. I thought you were supposed to be around people who love you to heal, and he’s stuck with his ex-wife and the parents who disowned him? Awesome job. This hospital is really on top of their shit.”

  “Logan?” Shelly said.

  “What?” he snapped, rounding on her. He knew that it wasn’t her fault, but at this stage, she was the only one around to let his anger out on. “The man I love is somewhere in this fucking building, surrounded by people who practically threw him out on the road like a piece of garbage. I’m not even allowed back there to see him. What a goddamn joke.”

  “I know this is frustrating.”

  “Frustrating?” he mocked. “No, you know what’s frustrating? When you see someone you really want to fuck and can’t because they keep saying no. I’ve been frustrated. This…this is agony. Torment beyond anything I’ve ever felt before.” He paused and closed his eyes before whispering, “This is hell.”

  Shelly came over to him and clasped his hands. “Let me see what I can do about getting you in there, okay? Until then, I’ll keep an eye on his progress. Hey?”

  Logan looked at her. “Yeah?”

  “He’s lucky to have you.”

  Logan nodded as she stepped around him.

  “Will you be okay getting back to the waiting room?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, his anger having drained from him.

  “Okay. I have rounds, but I’ll be back before I go home. If anything changes, I’ll let you know. Hang in there. He’s going to need you when he wakes.”

  As she walked away from him, Logan was left with the one thought he’d been trying to avoid. “If” he wakes.

  * * *

  The sun had risen a little over two hours ago, and as the clock in the waiting room hit eight, Logan stretched his neck from side to side. He’d just finished telling Cole and Rachel what Shelly had said, and after getting over the initial shock of the severity of Tate’s condition, Cole had volunteered to get them some real coffee.

  As Logan bent over and rested his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his hands over his weary face. The day-old stubble scratched against his palms, and he realized just how unkempt he was. His jacket was a crumpled mess beside him, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. They all looked like hell, which was understandable considering the day and night they’d had.

  Cole had tried to convince him to go home and take a shower, but there was no force on Earth strong enough to make him leave that hospital.

  He wanted to see Tate. He needed to see for himself that he was still there—still here with me. And until he got that, he was going nowhere.

  Trying to occupy himself, he undid the buttons at his wrists and started to roll the sleeves up his arms. When he was halfway done with the second, the double doors pushed open and the woman he’d ironically been hoping would walk out…did.

  Diana Cline—or should he say, Diana Morrison—stopped just outside the doors and scanned the waiting room. Her eyes hadn’t found him yet, and as Logan got to his feet, he noted that Tate’s ex looked terrible.

  Her hair was in a mess of a bun on top of her head, she was dressed in baggy sweatpants, and the sweater she had on looked three sizes too big. She looked like a woman who’d been sitting at home and had to suddenly drop everything and go somewhere.

  Diana looked as bad as he felt.

  When her eyes finally skidded to a stop and latched on to his, his palms started sweating and he had to move them to his pants to wipe them. This was it. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. The moment where, if he needed to, he’d grovel at her feet to see Tate—even if it was only for a second.

  He took a step toward her, and when her eyes widened, Logan raised a hand, trying to convey he was…what? Coming in peace?

  Diana’s chin started to quiver as he continued to approach her. Her red-rimmed eyes blinked frantically, and Logan’s pulse picked up. He was so close, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, she clutched her handbag across her body, turned, and ran out the automatic doors.

  Fuck. “Diana!” he called out. No. Damn it, he thought as he watched her go.

  He was two seconds away from chasing after her when the doors opened again and there, standing directly in front of him, was Tate’s father.

  “Mr. Mitchell, isn’t it?”

  Logan dropped his hand to his side and tried to get his mouth to work. But as he stood before Mr. Morrison, all he could think about was the last time he’d seen this man and that he had Tate’s eyes.

  Then he said something Logan had never expected to hear. “We need to talk.”

  Logan followed Tate’s father over to an empty area in the waiting room. Rachel’s eyes were on them, and Logan gave a small nod of his head, indicating that he was okay, before he took a seat opposite the exhausted-looking man.

  “Is he okay?” Logan rushed out, not knowing what he was there to say but needing to ask someone who’d seen him.

  “He’s in rough shape.”

  “If you’re here to tell me to leave, you can forget it,” he said
. “I’m not going until I see him. If I have to wait two days, two weeks, two fucking months—I’m not leaving.”

  Tate’s father held his hand up and nodded grimly. “I’m not here to tell you to leave.”

  Logan swallowed back his next argument and instead asked, “You’re not?”

  Mr. Morrison met his gaze head on, reminding Logan so much of his son. There was no argument Tate would back down from, and Logan could see where he’d gotten his determination.

  “No, I’m not. I’m here to tell you that we’re leaving.”

  Logan narrowed his eyes and sat back. “I don’t understand.”

  “In a couple of hours, I’m going to take Tate’s mother and his sister home to get some food and get cleaned up. Then I’ll bring them back this afternoon around four.”

  As what he was telling him sank in, Logan was at a complete loss for words. This was the last person he’d expected to show compassion. Never in a million years would he have guessed that Tate’s father would be the one to let him in to see his son—yet that was exactly what he was doing. Isn’t it?

  Just to make certain, Logan said cautiously, “I can’t get back without—”

  “They have your name,” Mr. Morrison said, and then he stood.

  Logan looked up at the tall man towering over him, and in that moment, he felt the tears he’d been holding back since the moment he’d answered Cole’s call slide down over his cheeks. The gift this man had just extended to him was…was…

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m still not on board with all of this, but Diana mentioned that, just before his surgery, Tate regained consciousness for a few seconds. The last thing he said before they put him under was, ‘Tell Logan yes.’”

  Logan brought a hand to his mouth and clamped it over his lips, trying to hold back the overwhelming heartache those words had caused. Even while lying on an operating table, in and out of consciousness, Tate had reached for him.