Logan exhaled sharply, staggered by the sheer force of relief. His knees nearly gave beneath him.
“It’s a bit complicated,” Alon added, tone careful. “I’m on base. I’ll have to talk to my commanders, get approval... see the medic here.”
Logan nodded, even though Alon couldn’t see him, already anticipating every barrier, every potential delay.
“You won’t have to fly out here,” he rushed to say. “Not unless you want to. They can do the test where you are—just a quick swab or blood draw—and they’ll send the results here. If you’re a match...” He trailed off for a moment, the weight of hope catching in his throat. “We’ll figure it out,” he finished quietly.
The call ended.
His hands trembled as he shoved the phone into his pocket, his breath shallow, disjointed, as if his lungs no longer knew how to hold air. He didn’t think. He didn’t listen. He just moved; turned down the hall, and walked toward Adrian’s room.
He didn’t care what Dr. Tierney had said.
Adrian needed him. And Logan needed Adrian like lungs need oxygen, like waves need the shore.
When he pushed open the door, the quiet hit him like a wall.
The stillness inside was louder than noise. The soft beeping of monitors, the rhythmic hum of machines, those were the only signs of life. Adrian lay motionless beneath sterile white sheets, the IV lines coiled like delicate threads around his arms. His skin was pale, nearly translucent. The strong body Logan had once known—tanned, vibrant, powerful in the surf—was reduced now to something breakable. His face was hollowed, shadowed, but still impossibly beautiful.
Still Adrian.
Still the man who had pulled Logan from the ocean and into love. Still the man who had given him something sacred to believe in. Still the man who carried the soul of Logan’s life in the beat of his heart.
Logan leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on him. Watching. Counting each rise and fall of Adrian’s chest like a prayer, as if his gaze alone could keep him tethered to this world.
Each breath was a victory.
Each breath was a battle won.
Tears slipped down Logan’s face, silent and relentless. He didn’t try to stop them. He just stood there, feeling the quiet ache of inevitability creeping in like a shadow on the floor.
He wasn’t ready.
He would never be ready.
“Son.”
The voice came from behind; it was gentle, but threaded with the kind of command that never had to raise its volume to be obeyed. Logan turned, startled out of his spiral, and saw his father standing in the doorway.
But something had shifted. There was a softness in the set of his shoulders, in the line of his brow. The unshakable man who had run boardrooms like battlefields now stood in a hospital hallway, smaller somehow. More human.
“I’ll go back to the meeting later,” Logan said quickly, his voice rough with tears, trying to wipe his face with the back of his hand, as if erasing the evidence of his unraveling could make it less real. “We’ll reschedule everything and I—”
“Come, Logan.” His father interrupted quietly. “I want to talk to you.”
Logan hesitated, eyes flicking back toward Adrian’s bed.
He didn’t want to leave. Not even for a moment. Not when it felt like death was circling, waiting for an opening.
But his father’s gaze was steady—rooted. And in it, Logan saw something he had never seen before.
So he followed.
They walked in silence, down the pale hallway, shoes echoing softly on tile. They stopped only when Logan did, still stiff, fists clenched, shoulders braced for another kind of battle.
“I know you’ve taken over some of the bills,” Robert began. His voice was quieter now, measured. “I just spoke to the nurse. She said you’ve been covering expenses behind my back.”
Logan exhaled sharply, looking away.
