Caught Up in the Touch (28 page)

He tried to find a reassuring smile, but couldn’t control his cheek. Jesus, he hoped he wasn’t drooling. “I happen to love scars. You know, I like it when you boss people around. It’s sexy as hell.”

Jessica harrumphed. “Are you sure he doesn’t have a concussion, doctor?”

The doctor hummed, and Logan’s skin tugged with the pull of the needle. “No concussion, but he’ll probably have a headache later. Nothing much to do except rest.”

Another five minutes and the doctor was clipping the ends of the thread holding Logan’s skin together. After spreading cool antiseptic over Logan’s cheek, he covered it with an oversize Band-Aid. He cleaned up his instruments, then handed Logan another packet of pills. “Rest here for a few minutes. The numbing agent will be wearing off soon. You sure you don’t want something stronger?”

Shaking his head, Logan murmured his thanks, and the doctor left. He grabbed Jessica’s hand and brought it to his good cheek. “Will you kiss my boo-boo?”

She brushed lips across his torn cheek, above the bandage. “I thought Ben was going to kill you.” The words strung themselves together in a tense wave.

“He’s trying to protect his son.”

“But you didn’t do anything.”

“He obviously believes I did.”

A deep voice cleared itself from a gap in the curtains.

“Come on in, Dalt.”

“Security’s itching to call the police. You want to press charges against Ben?”

“Hell no. That would only make things worse. Tell me what you know.”

“Scott and his dad had a huge blowout after dinner. Neither one will say what about. A couple of hours later, his mom found him on the bathroom floor. As soon as he could talk, he asked for you and hasn’t said a word since.”

Logan swung his legs around and braced his hands on the edge of the table. His temple pounded with every heartbeat, and the room was a dizzying, blinding white. He gingerly stood, pulling Jessica to his side like a security blanket. “Let’s go.”

Dalt gave a quick shake of his head. “Just you, Logan. Sorry, Jessica.”

His hand tightened around hers. She stroked his chest and put her mouth close to his ear. “I’ll wait.”

His hand opened, his fingers fighting him. Jessica stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her strength was palpable, and he drew on the belief and confidence in her eyes. If they hadn’t been standing in the middle of an unnaturally cold, sterile hospital room with his best friend staring at them, he might tell her now.
I love you.

She’d probably blame it on a concussion. With one last look, he followed Dalt deeper into the hospital. Dalt stopped with his hands on a brown door, sent a bracing nod over his shoulder, and led the way into the private room.

Logan wiped damp palms on his jeans and tried to corral his heart, which felt like leaping out of his chest to splatter on the pristine white floor. The occasional click of the IV line accompanied a beeping heart monitor.

With fine wrinkles drawn over her makeup-free face, Scott’s mother sat in an armchair, her eyes closed and a tissue pressed against her lips. Ben stood by the window, his head resting against the plaster molding, staring through the faux wood blinds into the darkness. He fiddled with the giant championship ring on his finger.

Scott lay curled on his side, his hands tucked under his cheek. His eyes were squeezed too tight, obviously feigning sleep. Gone was the defensive suspicion of the past months. Gone was the anger. He reminded Logan of a child, lost and bewildered.

Dalt cleared his throat, and three sets of eyes landed on Logan. Scott raised the bed and propped himself to sitting on the pillows. Stephanie Larkin shifted forward, the chair vinyl creaking. Ben Larkin stood tall, his jaw tightening. Apparently, the fight hadn’t appeased his desire to dismember Logan.

Logan stepped to Scott’s side, putting the hospital bed between him and Ben.

With the promise of pain in the gaze he directed toward Logan, Ben said, “Well, here he is, Scott. What did you have to say to this sack of shit?”

Logan wrapped his hands around the cold metal frame of the bed and concentrated on what mattered—Scott. The boy clutched the sheet to his chest, making the bright-red hospital band on his wrist stand out like a gash. His chin wobbled.

Guilt rained down on Logan, knowing he had some part in the devastation. “Scott … I’m sorry.”

Scott shook his head, his lips moving, but only an unintelligible whisper emerged. He cleared his throat. Like having the volume too high, Scott’s voice echoed unnaturally. “No.”

“I hope you’re happy, Logan.” Ben Larkin rolled his bull shoulders forward and jabbed a finger toward Scott. “Look at what you’ve done to my son.”

“No. Daddy, I lied.”

Confusion flashed over Ben’s face. “What are you talking about?” He glared in Logan’s direction. “Did Logan put you up to this?”

Scott fingered the red band, his gaze downcast. “He’s only ever tried to help me, to force me to tell the truth. I bought the drugs and gave myself the injections.”

Aggression seeped out of Ben as if his son’s words had cracked his foundation. He took several shuffling steps backward. Stephanie rose and tottered closer on her black heels. She mimicked Logan’s position, but on the opposite side of the bed, leaning heavily on the rail, her fingers gaunt and knobby. The woman had aged a decade in one short evening.

“Why, honey? Why would you do something like that?”

Although, Logan had pegged Stephanie as a self-absorbed social climber, her trembling hand brushed back her son’s hair with a mother’s touch.

“I’m sorry, Mama.” Scott swiped a tear away with the heel of his hand. “Daddy’s always wanted me to go to Alabama. Be a star. A couple of the other guys on the team got recruitment letters last spring. I didn’t get anything.”

“You had time to develop, son,” Ben said.

“No, Daddy. I wasn’t big enough, not strong enough. Not for Alabama.” He chuffed a laugh full of tears. “Not even for Falcon. My starting position was on the line. I thought if I could get a couple more inches, a few pounds of muscle.… I was going to try HgH over the summer, see what happened. I got stronger, faster. Everyone noticed. So, I kept taking it and tried some other stuff too.”

Logan rubbed a hand over his jaw and silently cursed. He had noticed the stretch marks, the aggression. If only he’d said something sooner.

Ben Larkin’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came. Stephanie filled the space. “You didn’t have to play at Alabama, honey. You could have played at Ole Miss or Arkansas.”

Scott pushed his mother’s arm away. “You don’t get it. I’m not as good as Daddy was. I would never make an S-E-C team without help. Would you come watch me play at some podunk college? What if I didn’t play at all? What would you brag to your friends about then? My grades? Please, spare me.”

Ben joined his wife. “You took steroids thinking you’d somehow make us proud?”

“It’s all I hear about, day in, day out.” Scott mimicked the low tones of his father. “‘Roll Tide. Only program worth playing for in the country.’” He fell into his own voice again. “You flash that damn ring around like the Holy Grail. If I didn’t get recruited by Bama, I would have been a failure the rest of my life in your eyes.”

Logan willed Ben to deny it, to reassure his son. Ben did not. Instead, he attacked Scott. “You cheated. Did I not at least teach you about honor?”

The beeps of the monitor came faster, and Scott pushed up on the bed. “Honor? You laugh about how you paid other students to write your papers, take your tests. It’s okay to cheat at school but not football?”

Ben and Scott stared each other down. Finally, Ben broke away and headed for the door, slamming it open. The hinges jangled but held. Stephanie seemed incapable of offering words of comfort through her tears. Logan reached over Scott’s legs and laid a hand over hers. “Why don’t you go check on your husband? Let me talk to Scott for a minute.”

She nodded and wandered out like a sheep needing herding. Logan met Dalt’s gaze. They reverted to Army habits, speaking in gestures. Logan waved two fingers toward the door. Dalt nudged his chin toward Scott and slipped out before the door closed behind Stephanie.

Scott had fallen back onto the mass of pillows, averting his face. His teeth clamped his bottom lip, but nothing could stop the wobble in his chin. Logan pulled over the chair Scott’s mother had occupied and sat, giving the boy time to gather himself.

Jessica’s words floated through him.
Help Scott through the darkness.
He didn’t want to fuck this up. Normally, words weren’t hard to find, but now, twice in one night, they stuck in his throat.

“You must hate me,” Scott said.

Emotion roughed Logan’s voice. “Of course I don’t. Never did.”

“You should. I ruined your life.”

At this, Logan couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “Getting banned from football sucked, but believe it or not, I do have an existence outside of coaching you turds.”

Maybe his joke was inappropriate, but his words had the intended effect. Scott whipped his head around. “But … but everyone thought you were dealing drugs.”

“Not everybody. Not the people who matter.

“Did you see my daddy’s face? He’ll never forgive me for this.” Scott stared up at the pocked ceiling tiles. In a little-boy voice at odds with his 220-pound frame, he said, “I didn’t really want to die.”

The admission cut the tension pulling at Logan’s shoulder blades. He closed his eyes for a second and thanked God, even though he wasn’t normally the praying sort. “I hoped that was the case, but I’m glad to hear you say it. There’s life beyond football and life beyond college and even life beyond Falcon.”

“You don’t understand how much Daddy wants me to follow in his footsteps. He gets this gleam like he can almost smell the turf. And Mother keeps on and on about sitting with the other parents in premium seats. I want to make them proud, but I’ve only ever been a disappointment.”

Logan braced his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging limply, his gaze down. “After my mom died, my dad abandoned me with Ada. You want to hear about being a disappointment? I got caught with drugs, knowing how much it would hurt Ada. Hated myself for it. But I craved attention from my father, even the bad sort. Then, after I straightened my life out, I joined the army, nearly got myself killed, all looking for some weird validation from him. Never got it.”

Logan slid his gaze up. Scott stared at him with huge eyes, the sheet clutched to his chest. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I shouldn’t join the army?”

Logan didn’t acknowledge Scott’s attempt at humor. This was too important. “If you’re looking for someone else to give you a sense of self-worth, you’ll never be happy. You have to find it yourself. Ask yourself why you play football. Is it for you or for your parents?”

Scott shifted and picked at a zit on his chin. “I love music. I had to give up piano when I hit high school and football practices took up too much time.” His voice turned defensive. “I was good.”

“Let’s be honest. You’re not going to be suiting up for Falcon, so you’ll have some free time to practice something you actually love. And you still have your job at Adaline’s.” Logan studied Scott’s face to judge the devastation. But only relief flashed, and the boy’s shoulders drooped.

“After everything … I still have my job?”

“I believe in second chances. I got one. You deserve one too. Now, if you start shooting up PEDs because Beethoven’s Ninth is too damn difficult, we’ll have problems.” Logan winked, and the boy tried on a tentative smile.

“Thanks, Coach.” His smile disappeared when he looked to the window. “What about my parents?”

“I know it’s hard to see from your end, but they love you, Scott. They just got a little mixed up about what their dreams are and what’s best for you. They’ll come around.”

A soft knock sounded on the door. Dalt stuck his head through. “I’m headed out, Logan. Everything okay?” His gaze shifted to Scott and back.

Logan turned to Scott. “Is everything okay?”

Scott took a deep breath. “Yeah. I think everything will be fine … eventually.”

Dalt nodded crisply. “Ben and Stephanie are coming back in.”

Scott grabbed onto the metal bed rail and pulled to sitting. “Coach Wilde, will you stay? Please.”

Logan wanted to find Jessica, but Scott needed a temporary buffer and maybe a mediator. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. “Of course.”

Holding hands, Ben and Stephanie walked straight to Scott’s bedside. Logan slid back against the wall, planning to intervene only if necessary.

In a gravelly, tear-stained voice, Ben said, “Son, we’re going to get you whatever help you need to feel better. And, if you don’t want to play football, then … no more. If my ambition for you was wrong, then I’m sorry.”

Dalt must have had a come-to-Jesus talk with them in the waiting room.

Stephanie leaned over and kissed Scott on the forehead. “I don’t even like football that much, honey. I’d be perfectly happy if you went to college and became a doctor or practiced law.”

Logan rolled his eyes to the ceiling, clamping his lips together. They were trying.

Scott threw his arms around his mother, and she returned the hug full force. Her tiny, kittenlike cries joined Scott’s childlike sobs. Ben wrapped his arms around both of them. Love could be misguided and destructive, but it could also heal the worst of wounds.

Scott was right. Everything would be fine—eventually. No one noticed when he slipped out. Logan was weary body and soul.

Jessie.
Her name scrolled like a mantra. He burst through the doors and into the hospital lobby. It was empty.

She had been bored and exhausted and had probably caught a ride with Darcy and Dalt. It was past midnight, after all. As practical as those excuses sounded, an overwhelming loneliness weakened his knees and hollowed his heart. Dammit, he’d been counting on her.

He stuck his hands into his pockets and walked out the automatic door into the cool night. He’d get to his truck, get home, and crawl into bed. Maybe he’d hug a pillow close and pretend it was her, like a pathetic teenager. No one would witness his weakness, so what did it matter?