“Oh good. Abandoning me already?”
“Well we figured you wouldn’t want us around anyway,” Kat continues. “Just getting in the way. Won’t Logan be back soon?”
“No.”
They exchange a worried glance. “What do you mean?”
“He’s gone. Left earlier after we had a shouting match. I sort of took things too far, I’m afraid.”
Kat nearly jumps on me in a panic, grabbing her mobile to shove at me. “Call him! Apologize!”
“I can’t. I mean…I don’t know if I want to. He really made me mad.”
“Who cares?! Swallow your pride and apologize anyway. That man loves you! He was about to fight a paramedic to get to you, I swear it.”
“Fine. I’ll call when you two clear out.”
“Okay, then we’re off.”
“Already?”
“Like I said, we’ll just get in the way.”
“Hospitals sort of give me the willies, to be honest,” Yasmine says, giving the room a quick look of disgust.
“Whatever. Go on. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Love you! Heal up!”
When they’re gone, I’m left with my mobile taunting me to have some courage and ring Logan. I hesitate at first, worrying about what I’ll say, but then finally, I give in.
It rings and my heart thunders in my chest like it never has before. I worry I’m overdoing it. My poor body has been through a lot in one day, and now I’m putting it through even more emotional upheaval. The call rings again and again, but I don’t hang up. I will him to answer with a silent plea.
It continues on like that four more times before his voicemail kicks on.
The preprogrammed robotic voice fills the air, and because I’m a total chicken, I hang up right when it beeps for me to leave a message.
Well then…at least I’ve tried. No sense in crying. Much.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Candace
“Could someone refill my tea?” I ask, wagging my empty mug from my comfy spot on the couch.
“You’ve got legs,” Kat says, without looking up from her mobile.
“Yasmine?”
Her inaudible gibberish tells me she’s not getting up either.
“Oh lovely! Where was this attitude when you two came rushing into my room at the hospital, worried sick?”
Yasmine yawns and stretches out on the other side of the sofa. We’re sharing, though she’s taking up way too much room. I try to steal a bit more blanket and she yanks it back.
“Yes, well that was before you started milking our sympathy for all it’s worth. Kat, could you please stop shouting on the phone? Kat, could you please put your dish away instead of just letting it collect mold in the sink? I mean, truly, when will it end?”
“You’re right,” I drawl, monotone. “I’m practically Mussolini.”
“Glad you can see it from our side.”
When I stand, prepared to make my own tea even though I’ve got a head wound (!), Kat holds up her mug. “Oh, grab me some while you’re up, will you?”
I snatch it out of her hand and call her a wanker, but she pretends she can’t hear me.
“Thanks love.”
It’s Tuesday. I know because I’ve looked at the calendar on the fridge one thousand times since waking up. I haven’t spoken to Logan since Sunday, since he left my room at the hospital. He didn’t phone me yesterday, though I did a good bit of staring down at my mobile, willing it to ring. It got so bad that I locked it in my room for the afternoon, though even then, my gaze kept pinging to the door. I’d hear a phantom vibration and shoot to my feet, dashing into my bedroom, only to be disappointed by the fact that he hadn’t phoned me back. Once, Mum phoned, and I nearly chewed her head off for not being Logan. Then I felt bad and relented and had to sit and chat with her for ages to make up for my meanness. She walked me through the entire spring garden she’s planting, down to the type of soil she’s using to fertilize her delphiniums. You see, I’ve put a good bit of eggshells down in the dirt. Oh good Lord.
I put the kettle on and drum the fingers of my uninjured hand on the edge of the counter.
What is Logan up to anyway? Leaving me high and dry like this? I’d ask Yasmine and Kat, but they’ve banned any talk having to do with him. I suppose it’s fair. I did do a good bit of whinging yesterday, but can’t they understand? I lov—
No!
I cut off the tail end of that thought with a sharp axe.
Then I have a brilliant idea to circumvent their rules about discussing Logan.
“I read this interesting article today in the newspaper,” I muse aloud.
Yasmine frowns in disbelief. “No, you haven’t. You’ve been sitting on the sofa all day, watching horrible daytime telly like a sad sack.”
“Yes, well, this was earlier. Uh, when I was in the loo. The article was an advice column, actually. Very interesting.”
“I suppose you’ll tell us even if we don’t want to hear it?”
I ignore Kat and continue on. “In the article, this girl…Candy, she um, asked the columnist how she should go about winning her boyfriend—er, girlfriend back after she royally mucked up.”
I think I’ve done a brilliant job disguising my true intent, but Kat only rolls her eyes at me.
“I’ll bet the columnist told Candy exactly what we’ve been telling you: either call him again or move on. You’re the one who went off the deep end. Logan probably thinks you’re not worth all the trouble.”
“No!” I hiss. “She actually told Candy to go out and find better mates, the kind who will let her complain for as long as she wants about the guy who’s broken her heart!”
“Right, well, bring me my tea before you go find these new wonderful mates of yours.”
It’s utterly hopeless. I’m on my own. Neither of them seems to understand how desperate I’ve become. Logan and I can’t be over. We just can’t be. Had I known, I would have really savored the last time we were together, Sunday morning in his bed. When we had sex, it was quick and hard and we kissed like we were trying to bruise each other, but now I wish it’d been longer, sweeter…
I feel sick.
Wednesday is no better than Tuesday, but at least I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in the late morning to keep me distracted. When I arrive downstairs, prepared to head out onto the sidewalk toward my subway stop, a huge man steps away from his post against the brick and introduces himself to me.
“Candace Williams, I’m Ryan Kline. Mr. Matthews has employed me as part of your security team.”
“Security team?” I nearly bark out a laugh. “What are you on about?”
He tugs a wallet out of his black suit jacket to reveal a small certificate. I have no idea what it means, but I nod like I do. It’s got a gold seal, so that must count for something.
“So you’re…what?” I ask, peering up at him. I’ve got a long way to go before I meet his gaze. He’s quite a large bloke. “My bodyguard?”
“Yes ma’am.”
I nearly laugh. Me? With a bodyguard? It’s got to be a joke.