Nick jerked his head away, pressing his face back against Logan’s shoulder. His whole body was shaking, and he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop any of this.
“You’re okay. Just stay with me,” Logan said quietly.
But Nick wasn’t okay. Something fundamental was breaking inside him, something that went deeper than the physical discomfort. His instincts were screaming at him to do things he didn’t understand, to want things that made no sense.
Then the pain hit again. A spike of it, sharp and brutal, and Nick’s body went rigid.
“Shh,” Logan whispered, rocking slightly. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
The sensation wasn’t fading. If anything, it was getting worse. Nick’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. Sweat soaked through his shirt, and his breathing had turned erratic, gasping.
“Nick?” Logan’s voice carried an edge of something that might have been panic, though he kept his tone even. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Hurts,” Nick managed between gasps. “Stomach. Everything.”
Logan adjusted him, trying to find a position that might ease whatever was happening. His hands kept moving, rubbing, soothing as he murmured things that Nick couldn’t quite process over the roaring in his ears.
The door swung open. Ash appeared, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern in half a second.
“What happened?” Ash moved closer, but he stopped short of touching Nick. “Should I call someone?”
“Ambulance,” Logan said, his voice hard despite the gentleness in his hands. “Call an ambulance.”
Nick wanted to protest. Wanted to say this would pass, that he just needed a few minutes, that an ambulance was overkill. But another wave of contractions rolled through him, and he couldn’t do anything but curl tighter against Logan.
“I’m calling,” Ash said, already pulling out his phone.
Logan kept rocking, kept murmuring things that sounded like promises. His hand cradled the back of Nick’s head, holding him in place, and Nick was too terrified and in too much pain to examine why that felt like exactly what he needed.
The gut-wrenching agony intensified once more, white-hot and all-consuming. Nick’s body went rigid then limp, and then the world tilted sideways into darkness.
The last thing he heard was Ash’s voice, tight and urgent. “Yeah, I need an ambulance. Someone’s collapsed, and they’re…they’re not conscious anymore. Frothy Pine Bar on Millbrook Road. Hurry.”
Chapter Three
Nick surfaced slowly, like his mind was packed in cotton. A steady beep tugged at his attention first then the cool drag of air against his nose. He blinked, vision swimming until the room settled into muted hospital colors—soft gray curtain, the pale wall, the stiff blanket pulled to his waist.
Feeling like he was in some bizarre dream, Nick glanced around the room. Then his gaze lowered. Logan was seated next to his bed, elbows resting on his knees, forehead pressed against his folded hands.
A weight settled in Nick’s chest at the sight of him. Logan shouldn’t be there. Had no reason to be there. Why is the looming thundercloud of a man keeping vigil at my bedside?
As if sensing Nick’s gaze, Logan slowly lifted his head. Something almost worried sat in his gaze, like he was anchored to his chair, refusing to move until Nick had woken up.
They just gazed at each other. Nick’s mind scrambled to catch up. His body felt heavy, limbs filled with sand. The faint hum of fluorescent lights pressed against his ears, and somewhere down the hall, a cart rattled over uneven tile. The smell of antiseptic threaded through the air, not overpowering, just there. Another reminder he wasn’t home, wasn’t anywhere he wanted to be.
Nick tried to speak but only managed a dry rasp. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Why are you here?”
They barely knew each other. One brief conversation at a bar didn’t warrant this level of concern from a virtual stranger.
Logan’s attention stayed locked on him, making Nick’s stomach clench. Not from pain this time but from uncertainty. He wanted to pull the blanket tighter, hide under it, but ended up just twisting a handful in his fist.
“Didn’t want you to wake up alone.” His voice had a rumble to it, in a tone that could melt steel.
That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. Nick wasn’t used to anyone caring. He studied the white sheet covering his legs and picked at the edge.
“How are you feeling?” Logan asked, leaning forward slightly.
Nick stared at the ceiling, avoiding those concerned eyes. Why had this man stayed? Most people ran for the hills when Nick had an episode. Even Myron, kind as he was, kept his distance during the worst of it. Yet here sat Logan, rumpled and tired, like he’d been keeping vigil for hours. It wasn’t like Logan owed him anything.
