How is this happening? It can’t be happening. Oh my God was I in the car that hit her? That killed her husband?
“I don’t feel well.”
She walks closer, reaches up, and places a hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel like you have a fever.”
“I don’t,” I say. The tenderness of her touch fills me with guilt so strong I feel bile rise up my throat and I have to step away from her.
Chloe takes the movement as a rejection, and now she looks as pained as I feel. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. I never should have avoided telling you about it. It’s just…I didn’t want you to look at me the way you’re looking at me now. With pity.”
“I don’t. I’m not pitying you,” I argue and I think I might actually be sick. “Is Hale your married name?”
“No. I never took Jackson’s last name, which was Turner,” she replies and her brow furrows a little. “Why?”
Because my family never told me the name of the person we killed.
“I just…I was wondering if maybe Jake worked the call,” I lie, and it feels like I’m sinking in quicksand. I’m being swallowed whole by my past. By mistakes I can’t take back, by guilt I can’t outrun. I managed to get ahead of it for a second there and saw my future, and now it’s submerging me again.
“He wouldn’t have. It was in Wells,” she says, confused. “Logan, you look really pale.”
“I should take you home,” I say suddenly and turn to the kitchen. “I’m going to box up the cake for you so you don’t miss out, and then I’ll drive you home. Can you blow out the candles for me, please?”
I disappear into the kitchen before she can answer. There’s a tightness in my chest. I can barely take a breath. My palms are sweaty. I feel like every organ in my body is failing. I’m light-headed. Honestly, I don’t even think I can drive her home. I lean on the steel counter and take my phone out of my back pocket. With trembling fingers I text Finn.
I need your help. Now. Come in the back door of the restaurant. 9-1-1.
Chloe pushes on the swinging door and comes into the kitchen. “Logan, talk to me. What is going on? Is it everything I just dumped on you?”
“I swear Chloe it’s not you.” I try to swallow but my mouth is desert dry. “I don’t feel well. I just…I—”
The back door opens, and Finn walks in smiling. It’s an innocent, slightly excited smile. He thinks nothing is really wrong. Probably thinks I used 9-1-1 for some kind of dessert emergency like I can’t find the whipped cream. “Hey bro what’s so urgent you’d invite me back down here to eff up your date?”
His eyes lock with mine and the smile on his face collapses. I put a hand to my stomach to sell it. “I don’t feel well at all. Can you drive Chloe home for me?”
“But you live where I live,” Chloe says and her voice is a blend of confusion and concern.
“I’m going to stay here until I feel better.” I am nothing but lies. “I promise I’ll be fine.”
I won’t. I haven’t been fine since that crash, and this revelation from her is the universe reminding me of that. Finn is laser focused on me. His gaze boring into me, begging me to explain somehow without words. I can’t, so I just give him a pleading look back.Don’t question me. Just help me.
“He gets stomach issues sometimes,” Finn lies casually and shrugs. “He probably just needs some of those prescription antacids the doc gives him. It’s not a big deal.”
Chloe looks from him to me and back again. “Logan?”
I nod. “It’s true. I’ll be fine. But I know you came here with Aspen because I was supposed to drive you home, so it would be great if you could let Finn do it.”
I walk to the prep station and grab a paper container and quickly cut a big piece of cake and drop it in. I close it and hand it to her, and then, with every nerve-ending in my body screaming and every organ feeling like it’s splintering into a thousand pieces, I force myself to smile and pull her into a hug. It’s a fierce hug, filled with words I can’t say yet and goodbyes that feel imminent. I hold her tight, inhale the scent of her shampoo, let my lips skim her cheek before finding hers in a fleeting kiss.
“I’ll come see you tomorrow,” I say, and I’m gritting my teeth between each word so my voice doesn’t warble. I have medical training. I know what’s happening. I’m in the throes of an intense panic attack. She looks at me with wide eyes filled with disbelief and confusion.
“I’ll grab a forkful of cake while you get your jacket,” Finn tells Chloe, who very reluctantly nods and walks through the swinging door back into the restaurant.
As soon as she’s gone Finn turns to me, his face dark with worry. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s the name of the guy I killed?” I choke out in a rough whisper.
“You didn’t—”
“Finn. Fuck. His name,” I bark, my voice still low but hard and thick with frustration. “Chloe’s husband died when he was hit by a drunk driver on October tenth, five years ago.October.Tenth.”
