by BB Miller
“They just took him back. He needs surgery.” Tom runs a hand over his bald head. “I think they might be x-raying him first. I don’t know for sure. We don’t know how bad it is yet. No one can tell me.”
My tears finally spill over. “What happened?” I cling to his hands in my lap. I catch movement behind him, and it’s then I see Aaron sitting in a chair across from me. He looks ten years older than he did mere days ago.
“We were testing the bike.” Aaron leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “We always take a ride first to make sure they’re perfect before the kids get on. We took the coast road. There was a car in front of us.” I suck in a ragged breath, and Abby slips an arm around my shoulders.
Tom rises from his knee to sit on my other side as Aaron continues, “Matt wasn’t slowing down. I saw his bike dip, and then it went sideways. He slid into the guardrail and flipped over the side.”
“Oh my God,” Abby murmurs, as I stare at them, horrified. I want to scream, but no sound comes out.
“I called 911 and then tried to climb down to him, but the hillside was too steep for me. The emergency crews had to go down with ropes and haul him up on a stretcher,” Aaron explains, his voice weary. “Thank God he was wearing a helmet and his leathers.”
Tom scrubs his hand over his red-rimmed eyes. “I got there just as they were loading him into the rig. They said something about internal injuries, maybe a collapsed lung.”
The door opens and we all turn to see Kennedy and Tucker quickly striding toward us. Abby rises from her seat beside me, and Kennedy gives her a quick kiss before shaking Tom’s hand in greeting. “How is he?” Kennedy asks. “We got here as fast as we could.” I’m frozen to my seat as they stand and speak in hushed tones around me. My heart pounds, and I feel sick. He has to be all right. He has to be.
“Tess?” My eyes focus on Kennedy’s face as he bends down to look at me. “He’ll be fine. He’s tough. Okay? If these guys can’t fix him up, we’ll get someone who can. Don’t you worry.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze in support and I nod, but I can’t muster more than that. It’s like all the words in my head have flown and my tongue is a lead weight.
Just then, my phone rings and I answer it without thinking. It takes a second for my brain to compute that it’s my sister, jabbering excitedly at me.
“There you are! Has Conner called yet? Your newest nephew is on his way!” Rachel chirps. “And you owe me big time, by the way. Since you’re not here, I’m pulling babysitting duty while everyone else is at the hospital. When can you fly up?”
Tears spring anew, and I open and close my mouth a few times as my sister prattles on. Since I’ve avoided hospitals since Paula died, I’ve always volunteered to watch over my various nieces and nephews when my siblings have had their babies. “Tess? Tess, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here,” I manage, my voice thick, and my sister gasps on the other end, immediately picking up on my distress.
“Tess, are you okay? What’s going on?”
“Rach . . .” I take a deep breath, but I just can’t. I can’t say anything because if I start talking, all my worst fears are going to tumble out. Abby takes the phone from my shaking hand.
“Rachel? This is Abby Walker. Yes, nice to speak with you again, too. Tess is fine, but . . .” Her voice trails off as she walks toward the other end of the room. I close my eyes, silently thanking my boss yet again. Abby’s met all of my family over the years, so I know she’ll be able to explain what I can’t.
“Mr. Logan?” Tom and my heads shoot up to see someone with a hospital name tag holding a clipboard. “I need you to come complete the admittance paperwork for your son.”
“How is he?” I ask quickly, standing immediately.
She smiles with practiced empathy. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know. Someone should be able to give you an update soon.” She turns to Tom. “Mr. Logan?”
Tom nods and takes the offered clipboard and pen. Numbly, I watch as he begins to scratch in Matt’s name. Matthew T. Logan. “What’s the T for?” I ask suddenly, embarrassed that I don’t know this basic bit of information.
“Thomas,” he rumbles, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “He changed his middle name a few years after I adopted him. Shocked the hell out of me at the time.”
I give him a watery smile. That’s so like the Matt I know, fiercely loyal. “It doesn’t surprise me a bit.” Tom returns my smile and continues his writing.
“Rachel is calling your parents right now,” Abby says quietly, handing me my phone. “She says she’ll be down as soon as she can get a flight.”
I hate to interrupt what should be a celebration for my family, but I’ll be grateful to have my sister with me. “Thanks. I appreciate you talking with her,” I begin, but she hushes me.
“Don’t even think about it.” She glances over her shoulder to where Kennedy is standing in a corner and talking on his phone. “He’s calling the rest of the guys. They will all want to be here. I think Tucker is going to arrange more security, too.”
“Oh my God, of course.” I run a hand over my eyes, the weight of Matt’s celebrity hitting me in the chest. Once word gets out, we’ll have to deal with the media, photographers. Hell, probably even some fans. “Should we call April? Oh—Nicole will need to know!” Nicole is the band’s publicity wunderkind we worked with during Parker’s concert. She’ll know what to do.
I start rummaging in my bag for . . . I’m not sure what. My head spins, and I can’t seem to keep my thoughts straight. I need to make a list of everything we need to do so I don’t forget. I must have Nicole’s number somewhere.
“Stop,” Abby says, her voice both soothing and firm, and gently takes my bag from me to stop my frantic movements. “Kennedy will handle everything. Don’t worry about it, Tess.”
I take a ragged breath and let it out in a whoosh, forcing myself to calm down. “Right. Sorry.” I rub my temples, trying to ease the throbbing in my head. “When do you think they’ll be able to tell us something?”
“I’ll go ask if someone can give us an update. Are you going to be okay for a few minutes?”
I nod and try to give her a reassuring smile as she returns my purse. “Yep. Sorry for freaking out.”
“Perfectly understandable.” She waves a hand. “And stop apologizing. I can’t even imagine how I’d be feeling if it were Kennedy.” Her eyes drift over to him for a moment, and then she shakes her head. “I’ll be right back.”
A couple of hours later, my nerves are at the breaking point. All they’ve been able to tell us is that Matt is in surgery and it shouldn’t be much longer. A television drones on in the corner. Two tall men dressed in black arrived a while ago and spoke with Tucker—security, obviously. One stayed with us and the other stepped back out in the hall. I’ve kicked my shoes off and I’m pacing along one of the walls. I can’t just sit anymore, or I’ll explode. Everyone keeps their distance, although I can feel their worried eyes on me. Tom is sitting and staring at his knees, nodding his head slightly as Aaron and Kennedy speak softly to him. Abby brought back some sandwiches from the cafeteria, but they remain on the tray, mostly uneaten.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I pause and stare at one of the mass-produced pieces of artwork that adorn the walls. The questions are piling up in my head, and my anxiety rises with them. What’s taking so long? What happened to the bike? Matt’s an experience rider. Did the brakes fail? That doesn’t make sense, either. There’s no way he would’ve taken it out for a ride if it hadn’t been ready.
A harsh snort from Tom catches my ear, and my attention is suddenly riveted. “It is my fault. I should’ve listened.” Tom’s voice is weary, full of regret. “You and Matt tried to tell me, but I just didn’t think, and now look at what’s happened.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Aaron argues softly, clapping his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “This isn’t your fault. And we don’t know, not for sure. Don’t go there, man. The truth will come out w
hen the cops find him.”
“Find who?” Startled, they turn to me; their guilty faces are almost as alarming as their words. “Did someone do something to cause this?” I demand, my voice shrill.
“Tess—” He cuts off when the door opens and a tired-looking man in scrubs enters. We all scramble to our feet.
“Mr. Logan?” Tom nods and takes my hand, bringing me to stand with him. I’m holding my breath, equally eager and fearful of what comes next.
The doctor introduces himself and rubs the back of his neck. “Firstly, Matt’s out of surgery and in post-op now. They’ll move him to the ICU in a while, and then you’ll be able to see him. He’s in rough shape, but he’s stable. Okay?” He looks at us directly to make sure we’ve absorbed his words, and then nods with a small smile. “Here’s what we know so far.” His voice holds a practiced confidence as he reads off a litany of ailments. “All the ribs on his left side are broken and he has a collapsed lung. There was some metal debris on the hillside that punctured his abdomen, but it avoided all the major organs. His left shoulder separated, and his arm and wrist are broken. It will be a while until we can tell if there’s been any nerve damage.”
Kennedy swears softly behind us. The doctor gives us a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “He also has a concussion. He’s still unconscious, but I don’t want you to panic. It’s not unusual for head traumas to take a while to wake up. His helmet saved him from more serious injury. It could’ve been much, much worse. He’s one of the lucky ones.”
I choke back a gasp. He could’ve died.
The thought makes my knees buckle and I sink into a chair as the doctor says a few more things to Tom, pats him on the shoulder, and then leaves. He could’ve died. He could’ve died and then he would never know that I love him because I’ve been too chickenshit to say anything.
I make it to the bathroom just in time to lose what little I have in my stomach.
Another interminable hour or so later, a nurse finally comes to say we can see him. Her eyes go between Tom and me. “Only family is allowed in ICU.”
“Tess is family,” Tom says firmly. I squeeze his hand in gratitude.
The nurse purses her lips, but doesn’t argue. “Fine, but only one of you can be in the room at a time, and only for fifteen minutes.” She looks at us expectantly, and I rest my hand on Tom’s bicep.
“You’re his father,” I whisper. He nods and immediately follows the nurse from the room. I look after them, hugging myself tightly so I don’t fly apart. I start to resume my pacing, but the door opens again and I gasp.
Standing in the doorway with Abby is my father.
“Daddy!” I bolt into his arms and immediately burst into tears as I feel his strong arms enfold me.
“There, there, Tessa-bug,” he rumbles softly. “It’s going to be okay.” I cling to his jacket, my tears wetting his shirt, as he lets me cry.
“What are you doing here?” I manage through my hiccupping sobs. “I thought Rachel was coming. What about the baby?”
“Vi and the baby are going to be fine. Your mother is staying there to help them. I wanted to come.” I look up at him through watery eyes and return his smile. “Now, tell me what happened.” I recount Matt’s injuries, taking comfort in my father’s quiet strength. He doesn’t interrupt. He just takes it all in, handing me tissues as needed.
When I finally take a breath, he kisses my forehead and then fixes me with a look I know well: the serious look of a commander overlaid with the compassion of a father. He gives me the same look whenever I’ve faced a challenge, whether it was learning to ski, a test at school, or a job interview. It grounds me and helps me find the courage I need. And I need it now.
“He’s going to need your help to get through this, Tessa,” he says quietly. “It’s not going to be easy. But you’re strong enough. Based on what I saw at Christmas, I think you both are. You can do it together.”
I take a deep breath just as Tom returns. He looks shaken, and his eyes are redder. He looks at my dad and me warily, and I quickly introduce them. They shake hands, a look of understanding passing between them. One father who fears losing his child, and another who knows what that pain is like.
An aide leads me through a maze of hallways. My heart is in my throat. Finally, she slaps a panel and a door swings open to the ICU. I follow her example and take a squirt of the hand sanitizer mounted on the wall. A ring of patient rooms surrounds the nursing station in the center of the unit. She leads me to one of the rooms and slides the glass door open a little further. Taking a deep breath, I move the privacy curtain aside and freeze. Matt’s large frame seems dwarfed by all the machines surrounding his bed. His face is pale, and I have to hold back a gasp at the sight of the tube inserted in his mouth. His left shoulder is swathed in wrappings, and his left arm is immobilized in a brace and more bandages. A nurse in scrubs fiddles with an IV hanging beside the bed, and she gives us a quick smile before her eyes return to her task.
“I know the tube looks scary,” the aide comments. “We’ll be able to remove it soon as his vitals improve. We’ll also put a hard cast on his arm and wrist. After he’s been transferred to one of the med-surg floors, the visiting rules won’t be so restrictive.”
Bruises cover every inch of his exposed skin other than his face. His leather clothing may have saved him from road rash, but it couldn’t stop his body from being battered in the fall. I sink into the chair by the bed and take his hand. It feels clammy, and my heart clenches when he can’t return my squeeze.
“I’ll come get you in fifteen minutes,” the aide says, and then she and the nurse leave. My eyes can’t leave his face. His eyelids quiver, and I wonder if he’s reliving the accident.
“Oh, Matt,” I gasp, trying to hold back a sob. Now is not the time to break down. I gulp a breath and start over. “Okay. Here’s the thing. I love you.” I pause but, of course, there’s no response, so I ignore my sniffles and plow on. “I hope you can hear me because I love you, Matthew Thomas Logan, and it’s about time you knew. I should’ve told you earlier. I’m sorry I waited until now . . . until you’re lying here broken and beaten and unable to answer. I was afraid to tell you. I was afraid that you didn’t feel the same. Or that it’d be too much for you and you’d go running for the hills, and that would’ve broken my heart.”
The muted hum and swoosh of the machines are simultaneously reassuring and ominous. I swipe away my tears and try to calm my stuttering breaths. “But don’t worry. I’m going to tell you how I feel about you every day . . . you’ll probably get sick of hearing it, but I’m going to tell you anyway. You won’t be able to get me to shut up. I promise.” I lift his limp hand to my lips and kiss his scraped knuckles as the words pour out of me. “And I promise I won’t give up. I won’t give up even after you’re walking and talking and the casts come off. As far as I’m concerned, you’re stuck with me until you say otherwise. Maybe even after that.”
I reach out with my free hand and brush it over his short hair, before leaning over and placing a soft kiss on his forehead. “So do me a favor,” I whisper, one of my tears falling onto his cheek. “Come back to me so I can start telling you.”
Matt
“I TOLD YOU to stay in your fucking room.” It’s my mother’s standard greeting.
“It’s time for school.”
“You’re never going to learn shit there. I don’t know why you bother.”
I can feel my heart race; the constant steady beep falters and stutters beside me. A door bursts open; intermittent voices shout around me. It’s too confusing to try to figure out. At least it drowns out my mother’s voice.
“I know you’re not much of a talker, but this is ridiculous.” Kennedy’s voice reaches in and tries to pull me from a steady sleep. I’m bone tired. “Should I talk about the Tonga Room? They said talking might help, and if anything can pull you out of this, it’s that night.”
I feel like I could sleep forever, just keep drifting in this cl
oud of calm. So, that’s what I do.
“Enough of this shit, Grasshopper.” An uncharacteristic sniffle, and then the Brit’s voice is back, booming and invading the darkness again. “I’m pulling out the big guns and going all Steel Magnolias on you. I know, I know. It’s a chick flick, but Syd made me watch all of them when we were growing up. Some of them aren’t bad. Others confirm my belief that woman are impossible creatures to figure out.” I can make out rustling, maybe a magazine? A newspaper? I think I let out a groan.
“Anyway, in case you haven’t seen it, Julia Roberts, circa the Pretty Woman era so you can get an idea of the hotness, is in a coma, and Sally Field plays her mom. She reads magazines to her.” His voice fades and I struggle to open my eyes. “Actually, Julia’s character dies in the film, but let’s not focus on that. The idea is a good one. I’ve got the latest copy of Burnt magazine, and guess whose pretty mug is on the cover? Now that I think about it, it’s probably a good thing you’re unconscious for this particular portion of your life. You’d hate the attention. We’re going to need another room for all the bloody fan mail and flowers.”
I try to turn my head in the direction of his voice, but it hurts too much. “Here we go. Page fifteen. Matt Logan, legendary bassist. See? I’ve always said you were legendary, but now that it’s printed here in black and white in one of the finest market magazines, it has to be true, right?” My lungs complain as I try to take a deep breath, so I miss most of what he’s saying for a bit until his voice filters back in. “The accident is still under investigation. As it fucking should be.”
A tire iron to the head would hurt less than his voice right now. I focus on the white noise, the steady hum of machines that won’t leave me alone, and I welcome it pulling me under again.
I wake to a relentless buzz. Opening my eyes is a chore, and things are hazy, floating. It hurts to turn my head. Why are there tubes up my nose? My neck and shoulder feel braced in some contraption that makes it hard to move.
