Page 17 of Exiled

“I went back the next day, too. Not yesterday, because I got swamped with work. I meant to, but I just—” Beth cuts herself off. “Did something happen? Is she okay?” Beth sounds worried.

“She’s fine, yes. But she got out.”

“Got out? How? I shut the door, I’m sure I did. I even checked to make sure it latched all the way.”

“She kind of clawedthroughthe door. Like, destroyed it completely. Along with a lot of Logan’s clothes and his TV. It’s a mess. He asked me to call you and see if you would come and help clean up.”

“Through the door? Geez. Okay, well sure, I’ll be right there. But—why are you calling? Is Logan okay?”

“He’s with Cocoa. They’re reuniting, I guess.” I’m not sure what he told her about how badly he’s hurt. Best to let him handle that.

“Okay, well, I’ll be there in a little bit.” Another silence. This one feels bated. “All he would tell me is that there was an accident. Is he—is Logan okay? He’s never been gone this long.”

“I—I’m not sure what I should say, honestly. That’s something he should tell you, not me.”

“It’s bad. You would tell me if it was nothing important.”

“So we’ll see you soon?” I really don’t know how to answer, so I avoid the question.

A sigh. “Yeah. Half hour, forty-five minutes or so.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

The line goes dead, and I lock the phone, set it on the bedside table. Stare around me at the mess, let out a haggard breath. I feel so tired, suddenly. But the bed is torn up, and the floor is buried under shredded clothes. The closet door is open, yanked off the track, hanging askew. Clothes dangle partially ripped off hangers, and more hangers are strewn on the floor. More clothes are piled on the floor at the bottom of the closet, but those don’t seem destroyed.

I right the TV, set it with great difficulty onto the stand. It is massive, heavy, but I manage it. Strip the bedclothes from the mattress, toss them aside. Begin tossing destroyed clothing onto that pile, handfuls at a time, until there’s nothing left but the pile on the floor of the closet.

“Isabel, what are you doing?” Logan, from behind me.

I shrug, gesture at the bed. “I wanted to lie down, but the bed is a mess, and so is the floor. Anyway, Beth will be here soon.”

“You should have left it. That’s why I pay Beth.”

“I thought she wasn’t your personal assistant?”

“She’s not. But she’s always eager for any excuse to get out of the office, so I send her on errands.” He rights the lamp. Stares at me from across the bed. “Isabel, I didn’t mean to sound like I was handing out orders, earlier.”

“Facts are facts, Logan. If you hadn’t gotten involved with me, you wouldn’t have been shot. That’s a fact. The only reason you’re alive is because either Caleb is a poor shot, or you got really lucky. You could be dead right now.”

“And like I said, I knew there was a risk Caleb would lash out at me at some point. I took the risk to get involved with you understanding that was a possibility. That absolves you of any guilt. If you’d lied about him or something, that’d be different. But I knew.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. You were shot. You lost an eye. Because of me.”

Logan rounds the end of the bed, grabs me by the arms, holds me at arm’s length. “Stop. Please. I’m okay. I’m alive. Yeah, I’m short an eyeball. But now I get to wear an eyepatch and act like a pirate, and no one can say shit about it.”

I can’t help but laugh. “God, Logan. You are ridiculous. You would do that, wouldn’t you?”

He crooks an index finger into a hook. “Arrrgh, matey. You bet your doubloons I would!”

“That’s a terrible pirate voice.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s hear you do better.”

I shake my head and stifle another laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, then you can’t knock mine if you won’t try it.”

“I can criticize without emulating, Logan.”