I had no idea how to go on. Everything suddenly seemed hopeless. I realized I'd made all these plans for the future, and Logan was in every one. Why did this keep happening to me? First Tom, and now this. Once again, I was left with just the abyss.
"You focus on getting better."
"Why?" I asked. I really wanted him to come up with something, some tiny motivation for me to keep going.
"Because Logan would want you to."
I wasn't sure if that was enough.
Chapter Twenty Four
Logan
She was awake. She was actually awake. I couldn't fucking believe it. The last time I'd seen her, she'd been at death's door. Nobody should have survived that. Yet she had. She was expected to make a full recovery, and I wasn't there. It was the most bittersweet news I'd ever heard.
When Charlie had first told me she was conscious, all I could think about was going to her. I wanted to see her smile, to touch her face, to hold her and tell her how goddamn sorry I was. But with that urge came a crippling wave of shame. She wasn't going to welcome me with open arms, not after I'd abandoned her. I'd committed the ultimate crime, one from which there was no coming back. She may not have died, but that didn't matter. For me, she was as good as gone.
I seized my whiskey and took a long slug, polishing off the last fifth of the bottle. It burned so sweetly on its way down, and I felt my muscles relax. I hated that I was so weak. A year of fighting the booze, of fighting myself, and now it was all for nothing. I was back at square one. But what the fuck was the point in sobriety when everything had been stolen from you? My world had crumbled to dust around me. First I lost the ring, and then I lost Grace, too. Those were the only two things that kept me sane. Now, I had nothing left except an army of ghosts and regrets, clawing at me twenty-four hours a day.
Deep down, I'd always known this was going to happen. Things with Grace had been too good to be true. I'd thought maybe enough time had passed that I could be the man she needed, but it was clear now how much of a fucking joke that was. I was always going to ruin this. It was just a question of when.
I hated myself for hurting her. Nothing I'd seen on deployment compared to this. I'd betrayed the woman I loved. There was no getting over that. The only solace I could take from it was that, ultimately, she'd be better off. I'd torn myself from her life, and now she could start to rebuild without the weight of my past constantly bearing down on her. She had her family around her again. She had Joy and Charlie. She was strong, and she was going to get over it.
As for me, well, I deserved everything that had come to me.
Chapter Twenty Five
Grace
My parents visited every day. I went through the motions, catching them up on the first year of my life out here and being caught up on New York in return. It was empty chatter, but I think it made them feel better. Plus it offered something of a distraction.
At first, I avoided talking about Tom or anything that had happened since. It felt pointless to give them any more ammunition. But one day I opened my mouth and it all came spilling out. I think maybe I was challenging them, challenging the universe to shit on me one more time, but, to my surprise, I was greeted with sympathy and understanding. I don't know if they really got it, but they reacted exactly like parents should; no backhanded comments or judgmental looks, just hugs and kind words. I felt like I were eleven years old again, pouring my heart out to my mother after whatever pseudo-disaster had rocked my little childhood world, and it felt really good.
The only thing I didn't mention was Logan. I didn't know how to begin talking about that. Some days I was angry beyond belief. I had visions of tracking him down and yelling until my throat was raw, of releasing my rage through my fists, just like he'd taught me. Other days I spent staring mutely at the ceiling, overcome by fear and confusion.
Often, the urge to drink became so strong I contemplated dragging myself from my bed and crawling out the doors in search of booze, but my body was still too broken to even allow that. I had a morphine button, which let me pass some of the time in a blissful haze, but it wasn't enough. For most of my waking hours I was trapped in this hell I'd made for myself, with only my thoughts for company. I felt like nothing more than a passenger in my own life, being pulled along toward a future that loomed, dark and empty, ahead of me.
The healing process was agonizingly slow. Aside from my multitude of external injuries, I'd broken five bones, fractured seven more and torn two tendons. Apparently it was a miracle I hadn't damaged my spine, although most days I felt like a quadriplegic nonetheless. I could barely move for all of the plaster and bandages and stitches and, for the first few weeks, even the tiniest flexing of my muscles sent a lance of pain through my system. It was terrifying. You don't understand how much you take your body for granted until it's stolen from you. All I could do was lie there while the world rolled on around me.