Page 67

No, no, no, this is so much worse than I realized.

I barely register that my mom is still talking. It’s all static in my ears as my mind goes into overdrive.

Ryder’s alone.

Kyle has access to my apartment.

There’s no way Kyle didn’t go after him.

“Logan, you are not in any shape to?—”

“Mom, I love you, but right now is not the time,” I bite out. “If Kyle has him—if he’s been gone for a whole day—I can’t sit here. I have to find him. I have to. Who knows what Kyle did to him? I’m so sorry I’m yelling at you, but this is an emergency.”

“I’m going to go, Logan,” my dad says firmly. “You’re not in any shape to move. You were stabbed and had surgery. I’ll handle it. Promise, son. I’ll see what I find when I get there, and I’ll tell the nurse you’re awake so she can come check on you.”

I want to argue. I want to go because the only thing worse than being stuck in this goddamn hospital bed is the gnawing feeling that he’s not going to find anything. There’s no way Kyle would still be there. He’s too smart, but I still need Dad to go to be sure.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get there, okay? See if I can get in without your keys.”

I nod, gritting my teeth. I know there’s no way I’m getting out of this bed right now, but if he doesn’t find Ryder, I will.

“Fine. Okay.” I relent, my voice hoarse with desperation. “Go now, please.”

Dad gives a short nod before turning toward the door. Mom steps aside, her lips pressed into a worried line, watching him leave. I’m not ready for the line of questioning I know is coming, but as soon as the door clicks shut behind my dad, she pulls up a chair beside my bed.

“Logan, honey,” she says softly. “What the hell happened?”

I let my head fall back against the pillows, exhaling aggressively through my nose. My stomach screams in protest, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except getting Ryder back.

“Logan.” Her voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Talk to me.”

Thankfully, a nurse walks in and stops this line of questioning. Even though I know I’ll have to answer soon enough. “Good, you’re awake,” she says with a smile.

She checks the monitor, shines a penlight into my eyes, and asks a few quick orientation questions. I answer them all—name, month, where I am—and she nods approvingly at my answers. Then she checks to make sure I can move my arms and legs, which I can. It just really fucking hurts.

“Alright, you're alert and oriented. That’s good. The police have been outside waiting to talk to you since you came in, but I wasn’t about to let them near you until I did a neuro check and made sure you were alert first. Are you ready to speak with them now?”

I nod, ready to tell the cops exactly who did this. My hands are already sweating, and I can’t stop flexing my fingers like it’ll somehow wring the tension out of me.

A moment later, the door swings open and two police officers step inside. The older of the two men—a tall guy with graying hair and tired brown eyes, and a plain button-down shirt and slacks—nods in greeting. “Mr. Hart, I’m Detective Santos. This is Officer Donnelly, who I believe you’ve met since he’s assigned to your case. We need to ask you a few questions about what happened yesterday.”

I nod, we’ve met Donnelly. He’s in a full police uniform, with a blue button-down shirt, black pants, and a fully equipped duty belt that’s doing nothing to ease my nerves.

Mom tenses beside me, sitting up straighter, and I can feel her glance at me. Regret starts to creep in over the fact that I didn’t tell them how severe the situation we’re in is.

My stomach twists hard for another reason, too.What ifthey don’t believe me? What if they work with Kyle, and this somehow makes everything worse?But it’s a chance I have to take. Trying to figure this out on our own got us nowhere, except stabbed and likely taken.

I sit forward, heart racing, and try to steady my voice. “Good,” I say, with a confidence I don’t fully feel. My throat’s tight, but I force myself to say it. “Because I know exactly who did this.”

Detective Santos pulls out a notepad, pen already in hand. “Alright, go ahead.”

“Kyle Pearson,” I state. “He stabbed me in the parking lot outside of my office. In the parking garage.” I want them to know I’m fully aware of all the details and remember everything.

There’s a flicker of something between the two officers as they eye each other, but I can’t tell what it is.Maybe they think Kyle’s a creep, too.

“And you’re sure it was him?” Donnelly asks.

“Yeah. I’m sure,” I say with as much conviction as possible.