Page 21 of Consuming Logan

“You.” He ran his left hand over her hair, pushing the tangled strands away from her face. Swallowing around the soreness in his throat, he tried again to get the words out. “You…okay?” God, let her say yes. If he’d failed her, Logan didn’t think he could look at himself in the mirror.

With trembling fingers Ava caressed his cheek then his chest. Lingering over the bandage there, she shut her lids tight as if barricading her mind from a horrific memory.

He felt her grip his hand. “Yes, Logan,” she said releasing a shaky exhale. “A few bruises that’s all. You saved me.”

Logan smiled, feeling the planes of his face relax. When the room cleared, he’d soothe her every ache with his kiss. He gritted his teeth as he made room for her to join him on the bed.

“Who…was it?”

She climbed in bed, settling against him, seeking comfort. His body instantly responded. Even broken and with narcotics pumping through his veins, he recognized this woman as his.

Ava fell silent for moment before she answered, “He got away.”

Cradling her head until it rested on his chest, he continued to touch her everywhere he could reach, assuring himself she was unharmed. Slowly, a pleasurable sensation shoved the pain aside.

“What did you see?” Fury threatened to overtake Logan. Someone had tried to take Ava from him. That truth pained him more than his physical injuries.

“I didn’t see his face. I’m sorry. It all happened so fast,” she sniffled.

Why was she apologizing? He was the one who’d almost been too late. He’d been so fixed on getting her home and beneath him, that he’d missed the threat. They’d been ambushed outside of Shell Cove’s most prestigious establishment. He assumed that an invitation-only event at one of the most, if not premiere establishments in the city precluded criminal activity. And wasn’t that the rub, that wealth somehow exempted them from one of man’s most primal instincts... to hunt. And he had been easy prey. Logan’s gut tightened. Ava could have been hurt — killed. The suspect was still at large. Ava was still in danger.

“Shh,” he said trying to lift his hand. Wait. He couldn’t move his right hand. Logan’s heart started to jackhammer behind his ribcage. Licking his dry lips, he inhaled a deep breath, trying to quell the panic. The blaring alarm of an attached heart monitor told him his attempt had failed. He took stock of his torso, his limbs. Bandages covered his chest. A bag of blood hung from a stainless-steel IV pole. The attached plastic tubing formed to wide loops before connecting to a catheter to his left forearm. A large, bulky navy-blue splint was on his right hand with Velcro strips securing it in place. His dominant hand, his primary tool for surgery had been injured. Don’t panic. Slipping his arm from around Ava, he palpated his bandages and sucked in a breath when he touched his palm. He felt his jaw unhinge, slack with shock. Assessing each face in the room, he pleaded, wordlessly for answers.

“What happened to my hand?” he asked everyone and no one.

Logan felt the tremor in Ava’s fingers. One look at her downcast eyes and he knew it was bad.

“Ava,” he said adjusting his head to better see her face. Though impossible, the sour taste of fear swirling in the room flooded his throat.

Instead of answering the question, she said, “Let me get one of the doctors to explain.”

He clamped down his grip on her fingers, ignoring the large bore IV needle shifting beneath his flesh. Even the small inconsequential puncture added to his physical irritation. “You explain it to me, sweetheart.”

She was a nurse. Ava understood orthopedic injuries, especially after working with his team and Monique before she joined the Navy. If the news was as bad as he suspected, he would rather hear it first from his woman.

“What the hell happened, Ava?” Could his ability to perform surgery be affected? Ava’s tears ran freely over her ashen cheeks.

“You have a cu…cut to your hand.” Logan thought back to their departure, trying to picture his defense against the attacker. He’d tried to shield Ava with his body, unconcerned with where the blows rained down. “And another...”

At first his mind was fuzzy. Images ran through his memory, but none of them connected to why his body hurt and his hand felt like a lead weight.

“In my chest, right?”

Ava hesitated, and Logan felt unease roil inside him.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

“Yes. The blade entered below your right clavicle. Thank God, it missed your lungs.”

She tried to look away, but he captured her chin. “And?”

A long sigh escaped on the tail end of a sob. “The doctors think you used your hand to block the blows. There are defensive wounds to your right hand and forearm.”

“Oh,” he breathed. Superficial wounds shouldn’t interfere with his ability to return to the operating room. “Then, I will be fine.”

The room fell unnaturally silent. Why hadn’t Ava agreed with him? “What else?”

“Logan, please.” He heard the pleading in her voice. “Let me call for one of your surgeons.”