Page 33 of Straight to You

LOGAN

T here’s so much beeping, someone make it stop.

It’s persistent and annoying, and I don’t remember ever setting an alarm that sounds like this.

My mouth feels like I haven’t had water in days.

Why do I feel so out of it? I swallow against the scratchy dryness, and I think my lips crack.

The beeping doesn’t stop; it’s pulling me closer and closer toward consciousness.

I force my eyes open, and the horrible fluorescent lights overhead sear into my retinas, and I wince. There’s a dull, throbbing pain radiating through my side. A creeping sense of unease claws its way up my spine as I realize I’m in a hospital, and reality begins to piece itself back together.

“Ryder!” I gasp, my voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, even though I try to yell out for him.

But instead of him being there, my mom jumps up and reaches for my hand.

“Oh, honey,” she breathes, her face a mixture of relief and worry as she fusses over me, smoothing my hair. “You’re awake. Oh, thank you, Jesus. Jim, he’s awake! ”

My dad walks over, and they both stare down at me in the hospital bed.

“How’re you feeling, son? We’ve been worried sick about you,” he says.

“Where’s Ryder?” I ask immediately, ignoring his question. I know they’re worried about me, but I’m fine. I’m far more concerned about Ryder—there’s no way he wouldn’t be here right now if he could be.

My parents exchange a glance, and instantly, my stomach drops.

“Logan,” Mom starts cautiously, her voice tight with something she’s not saying.

I push myself up on my elbows, pain tearing through my side, but I don’t care. I need answers, and I need them now.

“Where is he?” My voice is laced with panic.

She hesitates again, and my dad clears his throat before stepping in.

“We don’t know. We’ve been trying to reach him, but he hasn’t been answering his phone.”

“Something’s wrong,” I blurt the words out before I’ve even had time to think. “Ryder’s in trouble.”

It’s a gut feeling. Ryder wouldn’t ignore my parents, especially not after I didn’t come home or call like I promised.

He’d be here. I’m so sure of it, I’d bet my life on it.

He would have been the first one through that door, gripping my hand, climbing into this small, uncomfortable hospital bed with me, muttering about how I scared the shit out of him and how I’m not allowed to die before he does because he can’t handle that kind of grief.

He never would have left my side, which makes panic rise because…because the only reason he wouldn’t be here is if he couldn’t be…because of Kyle .

My chest tightens, and this sick, heavy feeling forms in my gut. I don’t want it to be true, but something in me already knows it is. He has to be in danger because there’s no way Kyle would try to kill me and not go after him.

Kyle thinks Ryder belongs to him, because to him, love isn’t something you give, it’s something you take.

Something you own and feel entitled to. And I was the obstacle standing in the way of the fantasy Kyle had built up in his head.

He probably hopes I bled out in that parking lot, and I can’t wait until he sees my face again when I find Ryder.

Because I know Ryder’s out there and I won’t stop until I find him.

God, I knew this was coming. Something felt wrong, and I did nothing to stop it.

The thought makes something tear open inside me as panic claws its way up my throat like I’m choking on it.

I’m so fucking sorry, Ryder.

I can picture it so vividly—every horrible scenario flashing through my mind like a horror movie I can’t shut off.

“Honey, we don’t know that he’s in trouble. Maybe he’s sick or something,” Mom says gently, and I want to scream. It’s not her fault; we never told her about the stalking. I didn’t want to worry her, but now she doesn’t understand the severity of this situation.

“How long?” I croak. “How long have I been out?”

She hesitates. “About a day.”

A day.

A fucking day?

“You don’t understand,” I say, frantic now.

“If he’s not answering and it’s been a whole twenty-four hours, something’s wrong.

” My body screams at me to move, to get up, to do something, anything.

I try to swing my legs over the side of the bed, but my body betrays me with a fresh wave of pain that nearly knocks me out again.

Fuck! I’m stuck here wasting time while Kyle does fuck-knows-what to Ryder. My Ryder.

“Logan—”

“No,” I snap, gasping through the pain. “We need to go to my apartment. Now.”

“Sweetheart, you’re?—”

“Mom, no, you don’t understand!” I cut her off and she looks shocked, I’ve never raised my voice and spoken to her like this before, but I’m struggling to control my emotions after knowing I’ve been out for a whole fucking day.

“I’m sorry, Mom, but this is an emergency.

It’s life or death for Ryder. Dad, please, where are my keys? We need to go.”

They need to understand how serious this is, but instead of rushing through the room like I want them to, Dad’s mouth flattens into a thin line, lips pursed likely at the way I’m speaking to Mom, but then finally, he nods. He knows I wouldn’t be like this unless something is very wrong, and it is.

“Honey, you didn’t show up here with any keys. They said you only had your phone on you,” Mom soothes gently, like that’ll calm me down.

What?

God damn it, I forgot Kyle took my fucking keys. After he ripped the fucking knife out of me he took the keys.

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 if they 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.

Officer Donnelly frowns. “And what’s Kyle Pearson's connection to you besides being the one working on your case with you?”

I can feel my blood pressure spike at the question because he knows every detail I’ve reported.

“He’s the one stalking Ryder,” I grit out.

“He’s the one who’s been sending him emails.

Watching him, or us now, I suppose. He broke into Ryder’s house and left a fucking note inside his office, as you know.

We first met him at Pine Bar in town weeks ago.

” My chest rises and falls too fast, adrenaline still burning through my system. “And now Ryder’s missing.”

My chest rises and falls too fast, adrenaline burning through me like I’m still in that parking garage, bleeding out, trying to get to Ryder.

That makes Santos pause. He glances at Donnelly before flipping to a new page in his notebook. “Missing? How do you know that?”

“He hasn’t answered his phone in a day. He’d never blatantly ignore my parents’ phone calls.

I had to go to the office yesterday, and he was worried about being alone.

There’s no way Kyle stabbed me and didn’t go after Ryder.

He stole my keys; that’s one of the last things I remember before passing out.

There’s no world where Ryder wouldn’t be here right now if he could. I know Kyle did something. I know it.”

The detective’s expression darkens. “And you think Kyle Pearson is responsible for that, too?”

“I know he is.”

Donnelly speaks up. “Has Pearson made any direct threats?”

“Yes. His last email was the most threatening. He said that if we didn’t stop ‘being together,’ we wouldn’t want to find out what happens. That he’d hate to see either of us get hurt, and it was our last warning.”

This isn’t exactly the time or place I had planned to tell my mom about our relationship, but she’ll interpret that however she wants.

Santos nods, flipping his notepad shut. “Alright, Mr. Hart. We’re going to need you to walk us through exactly what happened yesterday. Every detail. And while we do that, we’ll get officers over to Ryder’s house to check whether he’s there.”

I exhale, my pulse still pounding, but at least someone is finally listening .

“Ryder’s been staying with me since this whole thing started. He was at my apartment before I left, and I highly doubt he would’ve gone home. My dad is on his way to my apartment now to see if he’s there, though.”

I never should’ve left. I should’ve explained to HR how dire the situation was instead of thinking cameras would be enough.

Wait, the cameras!

“Mom, where’s my phone? I need it.”

“It’s right here,” she says, as she grabs it from the table beside the bed and hands it to me.

My fingers fumble with the passcode before I manage to unlock it. The hospital’s shitty Wi-Fi crawls as I open the security app. I mutter under my breath, “Come on, come on...” like rushing the load screen will make the feed appear faster.

The dashboard finally appears, and it says, ‘offline.’

Offline.

They’re all fucking offline. He must have hacked into the system and shut them down so there’d be no proof of him at the apartment. I refresh the app, trying again, but nothing changes, no matter how many times I try.

“Motherfucker,” I hiss, my hand tightening around the phone.

He heard the officer tell us to install cameras. He was standing right there. Of course, he knew to check. I’m so goddamn stupid for thinking it would actually stop him or lead to the proof we needed.

I knew Kyle was dangerous, and I walked right into his trap like an idiot...and left Ryder alone to deal with it. I clench my jaw so hard it hurts.

I don’t know how I’ll live with myself if something happens to Ryder.

I love him with every fiber of my being.

I love him in a way that makes words feel useless.

In a way that makes everything before him feel like a placeholder.

I love him in a way that makes me ache for every second I wasted pretending I didn’t.

He has to be okay because I have to tell him that. He has to know how much I love him.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, trying to pull it together, but the second I open them, the cops are still staring at me.

But before I can open my mouth to speak, Mom’s phone rings.

She fumbles for it, answering on the second ring. “Jim?”

I watch her face closely, my entire body locking up as she goes silent for a moment, listening. I can’t hear anything on the other end, but I can see the color drain from her face, and my heart stops.

She slowly pulls the phone away from her ear.

“Ryder’s not there,” her voice trembling as she speaks. “But his phone is.”