I’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospital, checking on Logan. It’s been tiring and starting to wear me down.
I’ve tried my best to stay strong and not let anyone notice my pregnancy, but sometimes I feel like I’m not doing a good job of hiding it.
Logan’s recovery has been slow because the bullet hit an important part of his arm.
Most of the time, I avoid looking him in the eye because I’m afraid of what I might see.
We haven’t talked much about where we stand or our agreement. I don’t know if I’m ready to let go of the contract like I said I would before the incident or if I should stay a little longer to see how things turn out between us.
I keep replaying everything in my mind, trying to figure out what I want. Part of me feels like I should walk away and stick to what I planned, but another part of me isn’t so sure anymore.
The way Logan looks at me sometimes makes me wonder if there’s something more between us, something worth holding on to.
But then I’m scared. I’m scared that if I stay, I’ll get hurt or that I’ll end up in a situation I can’t handle, especially with the baby on the way. I don’t want to make a decision I’ll regret later.
A voice in my head keeps taunting me, asking, “Why are you still sticking around? Samantha is still in the picture. If you’re ready to give Logan a chance, do you think Samantha will let it work between you two?”
I watched as the nurse disconnected the machines and other equipment from Logan.
They helped him into a wheelchair so we could get ready to go home.
He was carefully carried into the car, and I could see that he wasn’t happy about having to rely on others for help.
The drive home was tense and silent. I kept trying to think of a way to start a conversation with him so it wouldn’t feel awkward.
“Hope you’re feeling better now,” I asked, glancing at him.
He smiled, but I could tell it was forced.
“Yeah, I’m better,” he replied, reaching out to take my hand.
“I can’t believe you stayed after everything that happened,” he said, with a look I couldn’t quite describe.
I looked into his eyes and saw both love and regret-regret for everything he had put me through, both before and after the incident.
I held his hand a little tighter, trying to find the right words. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I couldn’t let them fall. I couldn’t let him see that he was about to make me cry, so I just nodded.
I remembered the last words he said before he gave in to the pain from the gunshot: “I love you.”
We haven’t even really talked about how we feel about each other. But deep down, I knew without a doubt that I felt something for Logan.
It hurts so much that I can’t explain it like it’s both right and wrong at the same time.
But even with all my doubts, I couldn’t deny the connection between us. It was there, even if it was tangled up with so much confusion and pain.
And that’s what made it hurt the most-the feeling that, no matter what, I couldn’t just walk away. Not yet, at least.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked, bringing his hand to my face. I leaned into his touch, noticing how he tensed up.
“Nothing,” I said, not wanting to burden him with the uncertainty swirling in my mind.
Soon, we pulled into the driveway. A nurse had been assigned to take care of Logan, and she quickly got out of the car to grab the wheelchair.
In no time, she had it ready and helped Logan into it. I could see the pain in his eyes, but he was Logan West for a reason-strong and determined, even when it hurt.
As the nurse carefully wheeled Logan toward the house, I followed closely behind, trying to stay out of the way but also ready to help if needed.
Once we were inside, the nurse began setting up his things and making sure everything was in order.
I watched as Logan settled into a chair, trying to make himself comfortable despite the pain.
Florence rushed to welcome us. I could see tears forming in her eyes as she saw her son in the wheelchair.
“Logan, dear, it’s good to have you back,”
Logan nodded and gave a weak smile.
Kayla had made sure the house was arranged for easy access, so Logan was surrounded by people who cared for him.
Once we reached his room, he was carefully helped into bed. I was about to leave so he could rest, but he reached out for my hand and said, “Stay.”
I turned my face to look at him, and suddenly, all the things he had done to me came flooding back-how he had manipulated me and how Samantha was still in the house. I wanted to protest, but when I looked at him, I saw the longing in his eyes.
“Forget it,” he said finally.
“Oh, shut up, Logan. It’s clear you need me,” I replied, and I climbed into bed with him.
He looked both stunned and happy as I settled next to him. He pulled me closer with his good hand. The touch made me feel alive, sending tingles all over.
His hand moved to my stomach, and I stiffened, not wanting him to feel anything.
He noticed my reaction and turned to face him. He searched my eyes for any sign of fear and asked, “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
I laughed nervously and asked, “Tell you what?”
“Why did you react when I touched your stomach? Are you okay, or do you need to see a doctor?” he asked calmly, choosing his words carefully, probably to avoid making things worse.
“I’m fine, Logan. If I needed to see a doctor, I would have done that during my visits,” I replied.
He nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t completely convinced.
“Thank you, Nadine. I hope I’ll be able to repay your kindness,” he said, placing a lingering kiss on my face.
He then looked into my eyes, searching for something I couldn’t quite understand.
I tried to meet his gaze, but it was hard to read what he was searching for. “Logan, you don’t need to repay me,” I said softly.
“I’m here because I want to be.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I just wish I could do more to show how much I appreciate you being here.”
He drew me closer, and my eyelids were getting heavy. Just before I fell asleep, a thought crossed my mind: Did he hear when I said that my baby and I needed him to stay alive after the surgery?