Page 66 of Man Flu

Cora’s looking at me from across the room with big eyes. I know she doesn’t like when Tiana does her hair. She said she tugs too tight. “Sweetie, I need you to go back to Daddy’s house so I can take care of Logan for a bit. I’ll come get you as soon as I can, okay?”

Cora folds her arms over her chest and juts her bottom lip out. “Fine, but I’m not getting dressed. Today was supposed to be a pajama day.”

Rick moans as he stands from the bed. “Come on, princess. It’s still a pajama day. I’ll even give you a ride to my house.” Cora runs and leaps onto the bed, gaining height before making the next jump onto Rick’s back.

This is the part that kills me. He’s a good dad when he’s around and not working. He loves that little girl, but he screwed everything up, and that makes me hate him.

Rick leans down beside me so Cora can give me a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Mommy.”

“Bye, baby. Have fun,” I tell her.

“I hope you feel better, Logan,” Cora says.

“Thanks, kiddo.” Logan whimpers, falling backward into a pile of pillows and wrapping his arms around his stomach like he’s in pain.

Tiana smiles at me as if she’s broken down one of my barriers. I’ll let her think that for now, but I don’t forget that easily.

The house is empty except for Logan and me, and I’m watching him for a moment, gauging his level of discomfort. “You really want to go to the hospital?” I ask.

“I think so. I don’t know. Everything hurts.”

“What does everything consist of?”

“My head, stomach, back, neck, legs, and arms.” Yup, I guess that’s everything.

He’s on his side, so I make my way around the bed and climb in so I can rub his shoulders. Maybe if he relaxes a bit, some of the pain will subside. I didn’t have any pain when I was sick, so I’m not sure if he has the same thing.

I press my fingers into the muscle of his shoulders, then knead the areas with my fists. Almost instantly, I feel some of the tension in his body subside, and his head falls deeper into the pillow. “That feels nice,” he mumbles.

I continue massaging his shoulders and back until my hands become weak. As I pull away, I hear his breaths lingering softly. He’s asleep.

I want to curl up and join him, but I’m wide awake and focused on the TV replaying parts of a baseball game from last night.

The sight of baseball reminds me of this little secret Logan has been hiding inside his pants. What kind of injury would be so traumatic it caused him to both retire, and fear taking his pants off?

I look down at his legs that are tangled up in the sheets, suddenly wondering where he got those sweatpants from. Before I think too much, though, my lip snarls because I know exactly where they came from. Logan is wearing Rick’s sweatpants.

Please, make this stop.

Rick is a bit larger in the waist than Logan, which means the sweatpants must be loose on him.

I shouldn’t do this.

I should know what I’m getting into, though.

But, he’s asleep, and this might be considered some kind of necrophilia crap.

Though, I’d just be taking a look.

Then I could tell him I saw it, and it’s no big deal, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore. It sounds like the perfect solution to this problem. Whatever the problem is.

Logan’s quiet breaths are a bit heavier now, verging on a slight snore. He’s out cold. I roll off the other side of the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements or shake the mattress. I crawl around the side of the pull-out where I’m face to face with the lower half of Logan’s body. He’s curled up on his side, so I’m hoping it will make it easier for me to get a good look.

I slip my fingers gently beneath the waistband of his pants and pull them away. There isn’t much restriction since the pants are, in fact, loose. I create just enough of a gap for me to see what’s going on.

Okay, so first … why wouldn’t you be wearing boxers or briefs when wearing another man’s pants? I’m not complaining because it’s making things easier at the moment, but really, what would make a person want to do that?

I’ve already familiarized myself with his impressive ballpark sausage, but I haven’t met the ballpark itself. I reach down carefully to push his fella to the side, and as soon as I touch it, it pops up like a watchdog protecting its bones. I guess that’s one way of revealing what’s beneath the curtain. My gaze trails down the length of his leg, finding no scars or any other obvious disfigurement. So, what is the big deal?