Logan’s hand brushed my elbow as the medics took over, his touch fleeting but electric.“Go with him,” he said, low enough that only I could hear.“I’ll handle the rest.”
For once, I didn’t argue.
The medics transferred Marshall to the mobile unit with practiced efficiency, their movements smooth and synchronized.I fell into step beside them, my clinical instincts overriding my shock.One of the medics handed me a tablet displaying real-time vitals.“We’ve got him, Doctor,” she assured me.
Inside the unit, the hum of high-tech equipment surrounded us—monitors, scanners, machines I would only have access to in urban hospitals.I worked alongside the team, my fingers flying over the touchscreen as I ran diagnostics.The results flashed onto the screen, and my stomach dropped.“His liver enzymes are off the charts,” I muttered.Logan’s presence loomed in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame.His eyes were locked on Marshall’s still form, the tension in his body palpable.“Poisoning,” he repeated, the word a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine.“From the mine?”
I nodded, my fingers tightening around the tablet.“The poison is in his system.It’s aggressive, fast-acting.If we hadn’t gotten him stabilized…” I trailed off, the unspoken implication hanging heavy in the air.“First, we need to flush the poison from his system.The medics are prepping the treatment now.”
His gaze flicked to Marshall, his expression softening for the briefest moment.“He’s strong.He’ll pull through.”
“He has to,” I said quietly, more to myself than to Logan.
The medics moved with precision, administering the treatment under my watchful eye.The hum of the machines filled the silence, a constant reminder of the stakes.Logan stayed close.I could feel his eyes on me, the intensity of his gaze almost a physical touch.
Logan stood silhouetted against the monitors, his profile carved from shadow and flickering blue light.When he turned, his eyes weren’t the cold obsidian I expected.They burned fiercely in a face usually carved from ice.
“You’re incredible.”
The rawness in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.Not admiration.Not gratitude.Something far more dangerous.Reverence.
I fumbled for sarcasm like armor.“Says the man who teleported a hospital to us.”
His thumb brushed my wrist.The contact lasted less than a heartbeat, but my skin burned where he’d touched.“It’s just money.”
“No,” I countered, holding his gaze.“It’s you caring enough to use it.”
Logan looked away first, clearing his throat.The muscles in his jaw twitched like he was chewing on words he couldn’t quite spit out.
After hours of touch and go, Marshall’s breathing had evened, his color returning in slow increments.Logan dragged a hand down his face, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.“Get some rest, Doctor.”His voice was gruff, but the edge had softened.“I’ll watch him.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but my body betrayed me with a yawn so wide my jaw cracked.The adrenaline crash hit like a freight train.My knees buckled, and I braced a hand against the cot to keep upright.Logan was there in an instant, his arm a solid bar across my back.
“Whoa.”His breath stirred the hair at my temple.“Easy, Doc.”
I wanted to protest, but my body betrayed me.I sagged into his embrace.His chest was a wall of heat against my shoulders.Closing my eyes, I let his masculine scent wrap around me.
“Stubborn woman,” he muttered, but his hands were gentle as he steadied me.Still, I hesitated, my gaze flicking to Marshall’s monitors.
Logan stepped closer, his warmth seeping into the space between us.“He’s stable.And you’re no good to anyone if you collapse.”His fingers brushed my elbow, just a fleeting touch, but it sent a current up my arm.“Go.”
For once, I didn’t fight him.I nodded, swaying slightly as I turned toward the unit’s cramped cot.The last thing I saw before sleep dragged me under was Logan’s broad back silhouetted against the monitors, his shoulders squared like he could single-handedly hold the world at bay.
And for the first time in years, I let someone else carry the weight.
Sleep came in fitful waves, my doctor’s brain still half-alert for the sound of alarms or changes in Marshall’s breathing.Sometime in the gray hours between night and morning, I surfaced briefly from dreams filled with beeping monitors and rushing water.
Through half-lidded eyes, I saw Logan still standing guard.He’d pulled a chair close to Marshall’s bed, his powerful frame somehow fitting into the uncomfortable portable furniture.His head was bowed, not in sleep but in what looked like prayer or deep thought, his large hand wrapped around Marshall’s wrist.The gesture was so achingly tender from such a formidable man that I felt my throat tighten.
When he sensed my gaze, he didn’t startle or pull away.Instead, he met my eyes across the dim room, a silent understanding passing between us.Neither of us spoke.We didn’t need to.
I drifted back to sleep with the realization that I’d glimpsed something precious and rare.Logan Song with his walls completely down.And what I’d seen behind those walls made my heart ache in ways I wasn’t ready to examine.
