Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(81)

Then she left. And the general buzzing in my head faded. Sounds began to filter in from the partitioned rooms beside us.

Off in a distant part of the floor, a woman wailed. Her agonizing howls continued, making the layers of other sounds—metal clanging, wheels squeaking, automatic doors whooshing, phones ringing, dozens of conversations—background noise.

The woman’s pain was unnerving. And familiar. My mind flashed to a time when I’d been in a hospital just like this with Logan. Only then, Logan was the one crying out her pain, inconsolable. I’d held her through it. Heart shredded too at the loss of our mom, I’d stuffed down my suffering and had become the rock that Logan needed.

It all rushed back to me now. The shock of it hit me like a ton of bricks, crushing my chest, making it difficult to suck in air.

In a sudden panic, I launched up from the chair and went to her bedside. I clasped her limp hand into mine. A cord prevented me from pulling it too far from the bed.

“What is this?” I snarled, angry at the f*cking world.

Kiki appeared at my side and followed my gaze to Logan’s hand. “It’s an oxygen sensor, I think.”

Looked like a white plastic clothes pin had been clipped to her finger. “How does it work?” Didn’t really give a damn, but it distracted me out of my head. And I needed out of my head.

Kiki shrugged. “Not sure.”

I stared at the red light glowing faintly around Logan’s finger and began to hate it a little less. The tubes, the monitors, they were there to keep her safe. Keep her alive.

I’d failed her. Failed Logan. I was supposed to protect one person—and hadn’t.

My breaths grew shallow. One caught, but I forced past it, sucking in a heaving lungful of air as I stared at my baby sister’s sleeping face. I failed Mom and now Logan.

What if she doesn’t wake up? What if she can’t live a normal life? What if she’s never happy? What if she tries again? And succeeds?

“Darren.” Kiki roped an arm into the crook of my elbow.

It took several seconds for me to come back out of my head again.

“Sit.” She tugged gently on my arm. “Help me fill out this form.”

On a hard swallow, I nodded. Then I realized my face was wet. I wiped my cheeks and licked my lips. Salty.

“Fuck.” It pissed me off that I’d been crying. And in front of Kiki. “Sorry.” I sat and buried my head into my hands.

I felt her hair brush over my arms as she squatted in front of me. I didn’t move.

“It’s okay, Darren. You’re human. You love her.”

All I could manage was a weak nod.

“Now,” she continued, “Logan’s full name.”

I exhaled a long breath. “Logan Amelia Cole.”

“Date of birth.”

I rattled it off.

“Social security number.”

I leaned forward, digging my wallet out of my pocket, grateful for the mind-numbing task. And thankful as f*ck Kiki was here to steer me toward it.

After we finished the forms, me answering Kiki’s questions as she jotted down answers, I signed the handful of pages and Kiki disappeared down the hall. For about ten minutes, I stayed alone with Logan, machine beeping, me breathing, our curtained room’s stable sounds what I willed myself to focus on.

When Kiki returned, she handed me a paper coffee cup while dragging in a second blue chair. Without a word, she positioned the chair beside mine, then sat with me, shoulder to shoulder.

After a while, she broke the silence, “It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

She laced her fingers together with mine, then squeezed.

Odd what a powerful effect that action had. Her tiny hand. A reassuring grip with hardly any physical force. But I felt it to my bones.

After she relaxed her grip, but kept her hand securely clasped with mine, she nudged my shoulder. “You didn’t give her any of it.”

“Didn’t I?” I glanced down at her. “Isn’t my absence in her life acceptance of it?”

“You don’t know why she did it.”

“Sure I do.” I growled and stared up at the ceiling. “Life sucks. Why my mom ended hers. Maybe if Logan’s didn’t suck so bad, she’d have a reason to live it.”

Kiki made a frustrated noise and yanked hard on my arm.

I blinked and turned toward her.

Anger sparked in her eyes. “No. You don’t get to take blame for what someone else does. Not your mom. Not your sister. You can’t control the world. All you can do is survive in it.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I muttered.

Guess everyone had a different definition of survival.



Hours later, Logan was admitted and moved to a private room. At her new nurse’s insistence, with visiting hours not until 8:00 a.m. and her only willing to bend the rules for one of us, I stayed behind and Kiki went home.

After she left, I dimmed the room lights and pulled out my phone. It was just past midnight.

Planting my ass on a pleather recliner in the corner, a huge improvement over the rigid plastic thing in the ER, I leaned back and closed my eyes. Exhaustion sucked me down into the cushions, and I let it pull me under.

A light knock startled me awake, and I jolted upright. The recliner’s footrest snapped down with a click.