“It would be better if I came over—”
“For fuck’s sake, just tell me! Is he dead? Is Callan dead?”
There was a pause, and Daisy froze, her heart thudding in her ears. She could feel every sensation: the way the light breeze filtering in through the window hit her skin, the dampened sound of TheVervefrom her neighbour’s flat, and the faint smell of freesias from her garden.
“Please,” she managed to whisper, “I need to know.”
“He’s not dead,” the woman finally answered, her voice flat and careful. “But Mrs Thomas, Callan has been injured. There was an IED incident, and he’s going to require surgery. He’s currently in Bastian and will be en route to Birmingham in the coming hours. He’s in an induced coma for now, but he’s stable.Unfortunately, at this time, we don’t know the full extent of his injuries.” Another pause. “I understand this is a lot to take in, but can I come to you and explain everything and what support we can offer to you both?”
She closed her eyes. Logan had once told her how the brain was a miraculous machine.“It has its way of protecting you,”he’d told her.“I’ve heard of people being told their significant other has passed, only to show up at work hours later. Sometimes, it makes things inconceivable and diverts your attention from the here and now so it can build the foundations to deal with what’s to come.” Perhaps that was why she did what she did next.
“No,” Daisy said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You can’t.” Then, without a single ounce of rational thought, she hung up.
XVIII
LOGAN
Life had been hectic, and Logan hadn't seen any of his friends in months when Tad invited him to lunch. When he arrived at Tad's office, he expected him to be ready, but instead found him buried in a mountain of paperwork that seemed one gust of wind away from toppling over.
“You're early,” Tad remarked, glancing up as Logan walked in.
“Actually,” Logan replied, “I'm right on time.”
Tad paused, looked at the clock, and muttered, “Shit. Can you give me a few minutes? Have a seat.”
Logan pulled out a chair and sat down, watching as Tad continued to focus on his screen. Suddenly, a phone started ringing, interrupting the silence.
“That’s not mine,” Logan said, gesturing to Tad’s iPhone vibrating from a pile of manilla folders next to them.
“I never get a break,” Tad said with a sigh. He reached for it, and in an instant, his face changed. “How many?” Logan heard him say.
He tried not to pry as Tad started firing off questions. “What is the ETA? Have the next of kin been notified?” There was a pause, and Tad glanced at Logan, his eyes widening in a way he hadn’t seen before.
“Who is on duty?” A pause. “What about Simon?”
After hanging up, he sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Multiple casualties are en route from Bastian,” he said, shaking his head. He was tired; it didn’t take a fool to know that. After thirteen straight days, the whites of his eyes were reddened, and the grey around them had deepened to near black.
“How many?”
“Six.”
“What happened?”
“Two separate IED attacks. Two of the guys are really messed up. One has burns to over thirty percent of his body.” He paused again, lowering his gaze to the floor. “Do you remember Callan Thomas? From Highgate? He’s one of them.”
Logan swallowed hard. “I think I remember.”
“His wife is pregnant, too, I think.”
Logan swallowed again, trying to claw back his emotions. He’d never told Tad about Daisy, knowing full well his advice would serve no good. Tad was, and always had been, one to drive his life on impulse. Life is short, as he put it—too short for regrets and too long for unspent chances.
“I should go,” Tad continued. “Sounds like they might need extras. Next week?”
Logan nodded, a knot tightening in his stomach. There would be no next week. Whether it was fate, instinct, or just a lucky guess, Logan could already sense what was ahead and whatever it was, it didn’t feel good.
The afternoon dragged like a Friday afternoon, and Logan couldn’t think of anything else but Daisy. He’d seen enough veterans at the clinic to know that coming home with the mental scars was challenging enough, but physical injuries can be catastrophic.
He stared at the screen, his mind jumping each time a phone rang. Then, by the time he knew it, five o'clock had rolled around, and when he lifted his head, there wasn’t a soul left to be seen.
