When Love Breaks (11 page)

LOGAN

“T
hat was…” I can’t even find a word in the English language that would describe that kiss adequately.

“Logan—”

“My God, Elora, you’re so—”

“Logan.”

I look up to see tears streaking down her face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned. She bows her head, shaking it ever so slightly.

“We shouldn’t have—”

“No. Don’t say it.” I lift her chin and wipe a tear away with my thumb, desperate to make this okay for her. “Please…just don’t.”

“This was wrong,” she whispers, and it almost sounds like a sob.

“
No
. How can you say that?” I push off the counter, effectively releasing her from the corner. “This was not wrong.”

“But—”

“No! I felt something—
we
felt something. I know you did. How can that be wrong?” I turn to face the counter next to her when I hear my fist pound onto the top. She startles, so I quickly recover my composure. Reaching for her hand, I try desperately to convince her. “It’s going to be fine. This wasn’t a mistake. Please don’t regret this.”

Her head is bowed again, as she takes in a deep breath.

“I work for you. You’re technically my boss. How is this right?”

“Who cares if I’m your boss? It doesn’t matter!”

“It’s unethical,” she says, as she peeks up at me.

“Fine then, you’re fired. I’ll call the company and tell them I don’t need you, or anyone else, to come over anymore.”

She chuckles slightly at the absurdity, then looks back down at her hands.

“It’s not that simple. I signed a contract.”

“Stating?”

She goes on to disclose the binding nature of the contract she signed, then she looks up at me. “I can’t take the risk.”

I push my hands through my hair as I lean with my back to the kitchen counter. There’s got to be something we can do about this.

“What if I call the company? I could tell them…I don’t know…that this is what I want, and not to hold it against you.” I’m desperately grasping at straws now. I take both of her hands in mine, turning her to face me. “Please. You’ve brought me back to life. Don’t make this about anything but us.” I’m pleading with her not to leave. I’ve become one of those poor, desperate saps that no one wants to be around.

“My shift is almost over. I have paperwork to do.” She drops my hands, passing me, and heads for her bag near the front door. I watch helplessly as she scribbles something down, gathers her belongings, and reaches for her jacket. She then stands with her head bowed. “I guess I better go,” she says, in an eerily quiet voice.

“Will you be back on Monday?”

Please say yes.

“Goodbye, Logan.”

Shit! She’s dodged the question.

Too stunned to move, I watch in horror as she exits, closing the door softly behind her. I turn my head to follow her figure as it walks past the kitchen windows. I witness her shoulders shudder. Is she crying? I think she’s crying. What the hell am I doing?

She’s
leaving
.

Walking as fast as I can, in my wobbly state, I chase after her.

“Elora!” I shout as I open the door. I haven’t got my crutches, and I’m moving faster than I ever have without them. I almost fall while trying to step over the threshold, but manage to stay on my feet. “Elora, wait!” I get to the edge of the porch, just as she’s getting in her car, and look down at the challenge before me. Two innocent looking steps. I haven’t tried going down them without holding onto anything or anyone yet, but I need to get to her. Carefully, but as swiftly as I can, I reach down for the first one. I hear her car start, so I look up. “Wait!” As I do, I lose my footing, and I hear the sound of the wind as it comes whooshing past my ears, and I come crashing down, knees first, onto the unforgiving sidewalk. “Agh!” I cry out, as a sharp pain lances through my legs, and I’m forced onto my hands and knees. Her car, which was already backing out of the driveway, halts momentarily, and I pray that she stays. Raising up, I try to stand before she can move again, but my hopes are dashed when I watch her pained expression as she resumes her mission, and she pulls all the way out. My heart drops completely out of my chest, as I watch her taillights get farther and farther from me, until she’s completely out of sight.

The world is still. As I lie here in my bed, I can hear nothing but the tick, tick, tick of the wall clock that tells me it’s time to get up. I don’t want to get up. I’ve got nothing to get up for. My alarm goes off. Several seconds go by before I smack it. I then resume my focus on the ceiling. Parts of the texture look like familiar shapes. It’s sort of like looking for pictures in the clouds. I spot a man’s face. It’s distorted. He has eyes that are uneven and an odd-shaped head. I’ve been staring at him for days now. Days and days. Since she left. I can’t unsee him now. Every time I look up, there he is. He stares back. I think he’s laughing at me. I turn my head away. I can’t watch his amused expression anymore.

Michael comes in frequently. He says he’s worried about me. I haven’t been out of this bed for days. Days and days. Since she left. He’s threatened to call our mother, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore.

“Well, can you get someone else? He needs help, and if she refuses to come back, then send us someone new.”

He listens as the person on the other end of the line talks. I can hear him sigh and mumble under his breath.

She’s not coming back.

“Logan, you have to get up and eat. I know it’s fast food, but at least it’s something. Please. Eat
something.
”

I’m not hungry.

“Here,” he says, trying to hand me the phone. “It’s mom. She wants to know what’s going on. Do
you
want to explain it to her?”

I turn my head away and close my eyes. I don’t need this right now.

“Dude, she’s threatening to come here and see you. Do you really want that? Because I don’t. So, please, just talk to her.”

I know he’s bluffing. He wouldn’t say things like that when she could be listening.

Nice try though.

“Can I just talk to her? She should know what she’s done to him. He’s a wreck. She needs to fix this,” he says angrily, then listens again. “Fine, my number is 216-555-6405. Thank you. I’ll be waiting for her call.”

I’m alarmed at his words. She’s done nothing wrong. He’s saying bad things to the people at her work. He’s going to get her fired. I feel a fire starting to build, and I sit up.

“Michael!” I shout. He walks in, frustration, then relief, written on his face. He exhales forcefully.

“You’re up.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I ask, ignoring his observation.

“What are you talking about?”

“Who were you just talking to?” I say, even though I already know.

“Elora’s home health agency.”

“Are you trying to get her fired?”

He smirks. He actually has the nerve to smirk.

“I’ll do whatever it takes. She did this to you. They should know.”

I rip the comforter off my legs and pivot to the edge of the bed.

“Are you fucking stupid? Why would you do that to her? She’s done nothing wrong. Call them back right now and tell them that!”

“I’m not doing a damn thing. If you want it done,
you
do it.” He leans against the doorway and crosses his arms and legs—legs I wish I could take out from under him.

“Fine.” I reach for my cell phone, but it’s dead. Then, I see
his
phone in his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Fuck off. I’m not your servant.”

I’m furious now, so I maneuver myself near my wheelchair. I grab onto it, swing my ass over, and sit. Then, I follow Michael into the kitchen.

“Give it to me,” I say, ready for a fight.

“Come and get it, asshole.” He’s leaning against the counter, dangling the phone just out of my reach. I stretch up and touch it, but he pulls it away before I can grab it. I try again, to no avail.

“What the fuck, Michael? Give me the damn phone!”

“If you were wearing your legs, you could reach it.”

“Don’t fuck with me. I’m serious. Give it to me,
now!”

“It’s such a shame Elora screwed you up so much. Hey, maybe she’d date me. What do you think? Should I call her?” He wiggles the phone in his hand and smiles.