Page 56 of Consuming Logan

The sepia colored before and after snapshots of his hand materialized. Regarding his pre-surgical x-rays with an experienced eye, he examined each one of his fingers going from the outside moving in with the image. Taking a slow perusal, he made sure to capture the minuscule details. When he got to the lateral or side-angle view of his fingers prior to the repair, he froze. The dislocated joints looked like a candy cane broken in several places. Beyond the examination of bony structures, radiographic studies were limited. A magnetic resonance image or MRI would come later. Logan was well aware the tendon in question allowed him to close his grip on a scalpel.

“The area that runs on the palm side of your hand has been sliced through with surgical precision,” Franklin’s voice boomed in the silence.

“The surgery repaired it?” Logan scrolled through his memory of anatomy and physiology, deconstructing the complexities of dexterity and coordination required to grip a scalpel. The flexion required through the palm and thumb to grab and hold an object.

“Correct, and your hand has improved, but the injury. Wow,” he scratched his head, “if I didn’t know it was a freak attack, I’d think the cut was deliberately inflicted. Either way, six weeks of protected immobility to the area will allow extra time for tissue repair. Then, we will have to reevaluate.”

Logan scoffed. “Six weeks? I have a new endowment that will require some actual work if I want a renewal. I have a patient that I’m monitoring in my wound care clinical trials. Should she require another surgery, I want to be the surgeon holding the blade.”

“Monique Faulkner, right?”

Logan nodded. “Correct.”

“I’ve been told that your prognosis is excellent. But…” Franklin didn’t meet Logan’s gaze. “A complete recovery will take time.”

“You’ve been told?” Logan muttered. “You don’t know?”

Logan could feel the fear building, churning in his gut. “You’ve worked with me. I don’t suffer uncertainty. Is this your best answer, Dr. Xavier?” he snapped.

“Dr. Masters,” Franklin said in a steadier voice. “You have received the best care available. As I’ve said you’ve made remarkable progress. If you’d like, Dr. Pierre will be available tomorrow to review the options I’ll present today. Please have a seat so that I can explain the plan of care moving forward.”

Logan’s head jerked back. “Don’t tell me what to do, Franklin. I’m still a damn good surgeon. I know what has to happen.”

He heard Ava suck in a breath. He felt before he saw disapproval glimmering in her eyes. Anger swelled inside him. This was his livelihood. More importantly, he’d spent more than half his life preparing and training his hands to save.

“Logan…baby, have a seat. It’s two additional weeks. We have plenty to do in the meantime.”

Franklin removed his glasses and wiped perspiration from the bridge of his nose. “Excuse me for a minute.”

The moment the doctor exited the room, Logan focused on Ava.

“Ava, enough about the wedding,” he groused. And babies. A tightness took up residence in his chest. Logan cautioned himself not to unleash his pain on Ava. Somehow, he’d lost control of his life. Powerlessness to stop the derailment, he stated the one constant in his world. “You’re mine.”

Ava wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his beating heart.

“Logan, I know this changes your plan.” She fell quiet for a second. “Your hand will heal. I have faith you will use all that locked away talent to save lives again. You still have your research.”

He breathed in her conviction. Applying it like a sealant to all the cracks in his foundation. He appreciated his research, but he felt real power with his blade in hand. “You’re the best part of me, Ava.”

She tilted her head back, giving him a clear view of her golden-brown peepers. Her unshakable faith that he would make the best decisions for them, led him to offer her everything he had. He would give her the heart from his chest if she needed it. And she wanted the fairytale.

“The ceremony isn’t a huge deal, but it’s important. For me and my family, a church wedding is a dream come true.” She squeezed his mid-section. “This is important to me. My mother listens toevery bridal podcast. My father has somehow forgotten how to ambulate. He’s actually practicing how to walk me down the aisle. I’ve reminded Granny Lou a half dozen times the reception is catered, but she’s taste-testing recipes.”

She gave a ragged exhale. “I know you’re brilliant. Franklin knows you’re brilliant. But,” she added with a touch of attitude, “I need you to listen and comply. We have a wonderful life ahead of us.”

Logan struggled to muster up the same enthusiasm.

“Sweetheart, I’m listening.” He wasn’t. How could he? Strategy, plans, that’s how he stayed in the winner’s circle. The doubts about his ability to be a good father quadrupled.

“It’s just… who am I if I can’t operate? I had my life mapped out. Now, every road is murky and boobytrapped.” She’d have to forgive the lack of elation for a ceremony. In reality, it didn’t add or subtract one ounce of his love or commitment to Ava.

“Did you know I can tell when you’re lying to me?”

He bent, placing a kiss to her forehead. “Would I do that?”

She laughed. “Yes, if you thought it would protect me and the babies.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Ava held up one hand.