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He’s hurt! My brain screamed at me and I bolted forward, throwing myself into the bedroom and looking around, my eyes finally landing on the messy king sized bed and the man in it.
Logan was leaned halfway off the bed and reaching for an open bottle of pills that was scattered across the hardwood. But that wasn’t what threw me off.
It was the pained expression on his face, the fingers that were so swollen they looked almost mutated and the multiple other pill bottles on his nightstand that had me gasping in surprise.
“What the hell is going on?”
Chapter 6
“I don’t understand why you keep coming into my house uninvited,” he grumbled as he propped himself back against the pillows with the gray duvet pulled halfway up his stomach.
I tried not to get distracted by the sight of Logan’s naked chest but failed miserably. The dark ink of his tree tattoo went across the left part of his chest and onto his shoulder, branches reaching out and curving across the smooth skin of his bicep. It was intricate and the artist must have paid close attention to detail because even from across the room I could see the different shades of gray and black, where branch transformed to tree trunk. It was beautiful, delicate, and masculine all at once.
Just like the body it was placed permanently on.
“J?” he said again and I finally looked up at his face.
Something was wrong with him and I didn’t know what it was, but I wasn’t leaving until I found out. His hair was a mess and his eyes were glassy. Dark purple circles were prominent against his pale skin and he looked as though he could barely move. His chest, smooth and hard looking, heaved as he took in a deep breath.
“I ran into your sister.” was my response as I dropped the hockey stick on the edge of the bed. I was about to ask where Mac was when I saw a small lump moving under the blanket. Soon enough, his little head and floppy ears appeared next to Logan’s side and he blinked sleepily at me. I’d clearly interrupted his nap time and his owner’s… whatever. “Logan, what the hell is this?” I gestured to the floor where scattered white pills lay and the nightstand where capped bottles waited for attention.
It wasn’t any of my business. I shouldn’t have even been there but I was because…
Because I care about him. Because I care if he’s okay. The realization made me uncomfortable and I shifted from one foot to the other before bending down and picking up the open bottle and reading the label.
“What do you mean you ran into my sister? Did she- hey, put that down!” he pointed at me as I straightened with the bottle still in my hand.
Wanting to test him, I put my hand on my hip. “Why don’t you get up and make me?”
Logan clenched his jaw and leaned back against the pillows knowing that he was caught between a rock and a hard place. There was a reason why he couldn’t actually get out of bed and take the bottle from me and there was a reason why he winced every time his knuckles cracked or when he favored one leg over the other.
“What did you tell my sister?” he asked me, exhaustion evident.
I took my phone out of my pocket and started typing “Meloxicam” into the search engine before answering him. “I told her the truth, that I haven’t seen or heard from you in a few days. She’s worried about you and I’m starting to think that she has a good reason to.”
“Put your phone away.”
“Not until I know what all of this is for,” I responded and began reading through the results.
I should have known better than to stand so close to the bed. In a flash, Logan had reached out with a painful cry, snatched the pill bottle out of my hand and grabbed my wrist, tugging me down to the bed with him. Mac barked and bounded off the bed and out into the hall at the same time I shoved myself back, but not before he ripped my phone out of my hand. By the time I righted myself and reached for my phone, he had it shoved under the pillow and was breathing heavily.
It stopped me.
It took all of his strength and energy to get up and do that when it wouldn’t have even winded me. He was stiff when he moved and looked like he could barely hold his head up without grimacing.
“RA,” he said finally, leaning back and looking at me with heavy lidded eyes.
“Aren’t you a bit young to have arthritis?” I asked, confused. Thinking back on the times I saw him wince and cringe I supposed that it made perfect sense. Some of the older animals at Arden suffered from joint discomfort and it was heartbreaking because they obviously couldn’t verbally explain how they were feeling.
“Rheumatoid arthritis is an autoimmune disease. Normally, people get arthritis when they’re older because of wear and tear over the years, but that’s not how it is with me. When it hits, it hits hard. I’m on a few medications but I don’t like them so I don’t take them often. This one,” he held the empty bottle between his middle finger and thumb. “makes me nauseous and dizzy among other things. This one,” he picked up another one and shook the almost full bottle. “is a steroid, so I don’t take it, ever. When the pain gets bad, I smoke a little weed to help me sleep. I disappear for a few days until I feel better and then I’m fine.”
All of a sudden, I felt like shit. I had, essentially, broken into Logan’s home, spent months assuming he was a drug dealer and dismissed him as punk. And why? Because he smoked a little weed to take the pain
away, as if that made him some criminal. I’d been such a snob and too judgemental, a far cry from the woman Gran raised me to be.
I looked down at my hands folded in my lap. What was I supposed to say? I considered starting with an apology but what good would that do? I’d still be a snob and he’d still be in pain.
“Listen, don’t feel bad, alright? I don’t need or want anyone’s pity. I’ve been doing fine on my own.”
