Some Kind of Hell (17 page)

The first thing I did was picture what Logan had told me. Logan in the hospital, by himself. I never met his parents and I never met his grandfather, so my imagination had to work to make it all up. I saw his father as a tall and skinny guy, wearing a grey suit, black hair parted to the side, thin black glasses. He held a briefcase in one hand and a white coffee mug in the other. He drank, looked at his watch, and left. His mother... almost the same. She had a maroon dress on, her hair pulled back and up. She leaned down and kissed Logan’s head, then was gone.

Logan all alone in the hospital room.

As a kid.

How scary.

Then I pictured whistling. Shaky notes but happy notes. I saw Logan’s grandfather as an old man with a big mustache. Carrying an old guitar case, breaking out an old guitar, strumming chords, singing to his grandson.

Thinking about it made it hurt worse.

I called Logan again, the third time in the hour.

It went to voicemail.

I felt helpless and hopeless.

Maggie came into my room with a glass of ice water for me and put it on my desk. She turned and looked at my phone.

“Nothing?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

“Here, call Tatum,” Maggie said. “Talk to him.”

“How did he sound?” I asked. “When you talked to him.”

“Annie...”

“Just tell me.”

“He sounded numb.”

I bit my lip and shook my head harder. “And I ignored him. I should have answered it. He wanted to tell me. And I ignored him. Because of...” I looked down at my stomach. There was no visible physical signs I was pregnant, but the five tests in the trashcan would argue that.

“Okay, don’t start that game,” Maggie said. “Call Tatum.”

Maggie pressed a button on her phone and handed it to me.

It was dialing Tatum.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Tatum,” I said.

“Maggie?”

“No, it’s Annie.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

His voice was filled with sympathy already. Filled with that tone telling me that I was in store for a long and winding road. And that’s before anyone in DownCrash knew I was pregnant.

Fuck.

“Where is he?” I asked. “I’ve been calling...”

“He went to his apartment,” Tatum said. “To get some stuff. He’s coming back here within the hour. Annie, he really needs you.”

“I know. I should’ve answered the call,” I said. “I feel so guilty, Tatum.”

“Don’t. It happens. This is... this is bad.”

“What happened?”

“Hold up,” Tatum said.

We were silent and I listened to the sound of a door opening and shutting. Then the thuds of Tatum’s feet on wood and then on gravel. He was walking from Tripp’s house to the garage. Another door opened and shut.

“Okay,” he said, his voice carrying with a small echo telling me he was in the garage.

The practice garage.

Where DownCrash wrote music.

“He had a heart attack,” Tatum said.

“Heart attack? After beating cancer...”

“I know,” Tatum said. “That’s the fuck of it, right? The guy beats cancer, gets better, and then... it’s just over.”

“When did it happen?”

“Last night I guess. Logan stayed here at Tripp’s and got the call this morning. I wasn’t here but Tripp said he heard Logan screaming like he was dying. Found him in his room on the floor punching his cell phone.”

My heart ached. My body ached. My stomach felt different too.

“I need to see him,” I said. “If I can help him...”

“Nobody can help him, Annie,” Tatum said. “But you can at least be there. To keep him grounded a little so he doesn’t flip out.”

Flip out?

What would happen when I told him I was pregnant.

“I’m sorry, Tatum,” I said, not sure what I was apologizing for.

For Logan?

For the problem in the band?

For me getting pregnant?

For something I could sense in the future?

“I’m sorry too,” Tatum said. “This is bad timing. But I’d be an asshole if I focused on it that way, right?”

“No,” I said. “But I’ll be there. Even just to stand there, with him. Near him. I’ll be there, Tatum.”

“Okay, Annie.”

The call ended and I handed Maggie her phone back. We didn’t need to speak a word to leave the house. I left the glass of ice water on my desk, knowing it was going to sweat and leave a ring on the desk. It would ruin that part of the wood. Funny how something like that would have bothered me a couple months ago... but now... I was pregnant and Logan’s grandfather was dead.

There were bigger problems in life.

And something told me the problems were only going to get bigger.

When we got to the garage, I saw Logan’s car and my body went into full panic mode. I opened the door as Maggie still turned into the gravel driveway. She yelled for me and hurried to slam the brakes. I didn’t care. I was out of the car and running towards the garage. I opened the door and saw Tripp and Tatum standing there. Scarlett sat on the edge of the couch. The mood was quiet and somber. The silence of instruments though was perhaps the worst part of it all.

Tatum had his arms crossed and Tripp had his hands in his pockets.

They both looked at me, not smiling.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“In the house,” Tripp said.

I turned and Tatum called for me. I looked over my shoulder.

“He really needs you,” Tatum said. “I’ve never... I’ve never seen him like this.”

I blasted through the garage door and ran on the gravel. My mind took the opportunity to tease me that in a few months I wouldn’t be able to run. And that in about, oh, say seven months, I wouldn’t even fit through the door to the garage. That I’d have to open the actual big garage door to get inside.

Because I was pregnant.

Pregnant with Logan’s baby.

I ran through Tripp’s house, taking the steps two at a time. Logan’s door was open a little and when I crashed through it, I gasped.

It was trashed.

The nightstand was tipped over. The lamp was on the floor, turned on. The lampshade was at an awkward angle, shining the light like I was in the middle of a horror movie. To my right, the mirror on the large dresser was shattered. It was obvious Logan had punched it. The spider crack climbed all the way to the edges. When I looked in the broken mirror, I saw hundreds of broken reflections of myself.

How strangely ironic and purposeful.

I thought about Logan having bad luck for seven years. Wasn’t that the thing? With a broken mirror?

Like that mattered right then.

I turned and saw the top of Logan’s head on the other side of the bed. He was sitting on the floor, facing the window and wall.

I slowly walked around the bed.

Logan hadn’t moved and the worst possible thought came to me. I knew what had happened to Tripp’s brother. What he had done. I didn’t want to believe for a second that Logan could do something like that - suicide - but if everything had become too much...

When I saw Logan’s eyes open, then blink, I felt somewhat relived.

“Logan,” I said and collapsed to the floor next to him.

“Annie,” he said.

I saw his right hand, the blood leaking from his knuckles, streaming down his fingers to the carpet where it was quickly absorbed. It would leave a bitch of a stain but that could always be cleaned up. Just like the broken mirror, it could be replaced. And the lamp knocked over, it could be picked up.

But the pain and loss... my pregnancy... that was there, real, and not going away with a simple fix.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

I kissed his cheek and held my head to his. I touched his cheek and tried to turn his head. He refused and I backed away.

I saw his hand again and reached for the bed. I grabbed one of the pillows and took the pillow case off it. I crawled to the other side of Logan, moving slowly, like I was approaching a deadly animal. I took his hand and gently wiped at it, making sure there wasn’t any glass stuck in his knuckles. When I touched the open wound, Logan didn’t flinch. He just stared straight ahead. He was like a zombie, offering nothing. I wrapped his hand up in the pillow case the best I could and tied it tight. I crawled back to his other side and sat next to him.

“I should have answered your call,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Okay,” Logan said.

My heart broke to pieces.

I waited a few minutes and then let my head rest on his shoulder. He didn’t shoo me away and that was a good sign. With my right hand, I touched his left hand. His fingers were closed together and I watched as Logan opened his fingers for me. I let out a sigh and then the emotions came.

Thinking of Logan in pain.

His grandfather gone.

Me pregnant.

Logan not even knowing that part yet.

It all hit me.

So I cried.

And I didn’t care.

The tears poured from my eyes, over the bridge of my nose and down my face to Logan’s shirt.

“I can’t believe this,” Logan finally said. “I just can’t, Annie.”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

“He survived,” Logan said. “You know? He fought and he survived. Then he goes to sleep one night and that’s it. Gone.”

I thought about saying something...
Well, at least he didn’t suffer. Well, at least the cancer didn’t kill him. Well, at least it was in his sleep. Well, at least...

But what good would it do?

Would I have wanted someone to say something like to me?

No.

So I just sat there, weeping in silence, letting Logan say what he had to say. That’s why I was there and why I needed to be there for him.

He turned his hand around so we could actually hold hands.

“I thought it was a fucking nightmare at first,” Logan said. “Hearing my mother’s fucking voice. Hearing those fucking words coming out of her mouth. And she said it... so calm. Right? So calm. Like...
he’s gone. He’s... gone.”

I heard Logan take a shaky breath.

Not shaking from emotion but shaking from anger.

I felt his shoulder tense up.

He seemed ready to jump up and break something.

I squeezed his hand and hoped it would keep him down and calm.... or at least somewhat calm.

“She made it seem like it was just going to happen eventually,” Logan said. “And maybe for her that was the case. She watched him suffer and beat cancer. Maybe it’s kind of built-in, I don’t know. But that’s my fucking grandpa, you know? That’s... the man. The strongest man in the world. He taught me music. He pushed me to follow my dream. He beat cancer... and now he’s...” Logan paused and I could hear him losing it. I didn’t want to look up and see him cry. It would kill me. But Logan finished his sentence. “...
dead
...”

I reached across Logan’s body with my left hand and tugged at his shirt. I wanted him to come to me, to be vulnerable. I wanted him to feel safe in my arms. I wanted him to know it was okay to show weakness to me. I would never judge him and push him away.

“How’s your grandfather?” he asked.

I froze at first then slowly lifted my head. I looked at Logan, tears slowly running down his cheeks. Rockstars were sexy, but a rockstar genuinely showing emotion... that was very sexy. Heartbreaking, but sexy.

I almost hated my attraction to Logan right then.

“My grandfather? He’s... okay...”

Logan looked at me. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

“Logan,” I said, but had nothing else.

He blinked and I touched his face, wiping his tears.

“It hurts, Annie.”

“I know it does.”

“No. It’s bad. I wanted him there. I wanted him to see DownCrash on a big stage. On television. On... a CD in a store. So he could pick it up and know he did that.”

“I’m sure he knows,” I said.

“Yeah, you’re right. Do you believe in heaven?”

I let out a breath as my lips quivered. There was something so painful and innocent about Logan’s questions.

Where the hell were they coming from?

“Are you asking me if your grandfather is in heaven?” I asked.

“I don’t know what I’m asking. I have to go, Annie.”

Logan pushed me away and stood up. I hurried to stand too. Logan looked around the room and then opened the closet and grabbed a bag that looked already full and packed.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A bag, what does it look like? I’m going back home.”

“I’ll come,” I said. “I’ll be there with you. Through this.”

“No.”

“Yes. I’ll sleep in my car if I have to. I don’t care.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

That’s nice of you to say?

It sounded nothing like Logan.

He moved around the room, collecting little things like cologne and deodorant, kicking the lamp out of the way. It hit the wall and light bulb shattered. When Logan got to the door, I hurried after him and managed to get the bottom of his t-shirt.

“Logan, you can’t just  leave,” I said.

“Says who? You?”

He looked at me with a certain hated in his eyes.

“Talk to me,” I said. “Let me help you.”

“Help me? What are you going to do? Bring him back? Rub my shoulders for a week while I go through this? Fuck that. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy right now.”

“That’s not fair to me,” I said. “I’m trying to...”

“Fair to you,” Logan. He nodded and smiled. “Fair to you. Yeah. Fair. Why don’t you take a fucking ride back to your hometown. Hug your grandfather. Kiss him. Ask him a question and see if he responds.”

I closed my eyes and refused to feel guilty about my grandfather being alive. I knew what Logan was doing. It was his way of showing pain and being hurt.

“I’m not leaving you,” I said. “I won’t. I can’t.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Logan said. He lifted his bag. “I am.”

“What about DownCrash?”

“Yeah? What about them?”

“Are you kidding me? You have to practice. The shows... the demo...”

“Are you in the fucking band?” Logan asked.

I should have taken the blow and shut my mouth. But I couldn’t. Looking at Logan was like looking at a million feelings at once. My urge to punch him, kiss him, hold him, hate him, love him... all at once.