All he could see was her soot-stained face and the blood. He looked down at his hands. His cuticles were still stained with it.
With her.
He paced into the darkened corner of the waiting room. He pushed chairs out of his way just to touch something, to do something. He dug his phone out of his pocket, the crystal completely shattered.
He dropped it onto the table.
“Logan, you gotta sit down, man. Do you need to see one of the doctors?”
Logan looked at his shaking hands. “Not mine.”
Zeke grasped his shoulders, bringing him to a stop. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? We got time to ki—to waste. So we’re going to hit the little boy’s room, all right?”
“Stop talking to me like I’m fucking two, man.”
Zeke’s head bobbed. His extra fluffy curls singed along the ends. “Well, you look like a ten-year-old that went down a chimney with Santa. So let’s get that taken care of. Call in the troops. We have kickass assistants for a reason, right?”
Logan nodded.
Zeke took out his phone and pointed him in the direction of the men’s room, pushing him through the door and following him inside. “Hey, Charlie. Yeah, he’s fine. No, not hurt. Bella’s in surgery.”
Logan tuned out the conversation and pushed through the swinging door. He froze in the middle of the tiled room. No wonder Zeke was talking to him like he was touched in the head. He looked like he was the one that had been in the middle of the explosion. His face was streaked with soot and sweat and blood. His hair was matted with it. His eyes were bright red from smoke, worry, and exhaustion.
He’d been riding on adrenaline and nerves for what felt like days.
It had been so quiet. So blessedly quiet for so long.
He’d wanted to believe that Aimee had moved on to her next sap. That she’d finally lost interest in him. That the news reports were right. That she’d started up with some Russian hockey player.
But that had been her plan. This had Aimee Collen all over it.
She wanted him to think she’d been gone. To let him get complacent.
And it had worked. He hadn’t protected Izzy.
“I need your phone.”
Zeke stopped pacing. “Charlie. I’m going to call you back. You have the list of what I need?” Zeke held up a finger when Logan held out his hand for the phone. “Right. That’s perfect. See you in a bit.” He clicked off and tucked the phone in his pocket. “Who are you calling?”
“Roth.”
“Already did.”
“Don’t care. Give me the fucking phone, Zeke.”
Zeke backed up a step. “Marcus is on his way. They’ll be here in…well, probably almost here. For Sarah. Remember, fuckhead? Bella isn’t the only one that got hurt.”
Logan pivoted to the sink and held onto the cold porcelain. “I gotta do something.”
“Get cleaned up. The guys are on their way over.”
He scrubbed his palms over his eyes. “I don’t want them here.”
“You will. You’re just being a bitch right now.”
Logan looked at him through the mirror. “Thanks.”
Zeke shrugged. “Am I lying?”