Everything that happens in the minutes after I hang up the phone takes place in a blur. I think I manage to tell Logan what’s happened, even though I’m not sure how, since it feels like words are impossible. He does a sweep of the room, gathering up all my clothes and his own, and the ones from the living room, too. We get dressed silently. I pull up the train schedules on my phone, jabbing this button and that, trying to figure out when the next train to Connecticut is. I groan in frustration as the stupid page refuses to load.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hate this train schedule. Just tell me if there’s a fucking train!” I yell at the piece of plastic in my hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that,” Siri answers belligerently. The bitch.

“Don’t worry about the train,” Logan says, putting his hand on my shoulder and kneading the tight muscle there. “I’ll drive you.”

I look at him in surprise. “You will?”

“Of course, I will.”

“But it’s far. And it’s my family — you’ve never even met them.”

“I’m sure I can handle it. I hardly think they’re going to be focusing on me, anyway, don’t you think? I’ll just blend right into the background.”

I don’t tell Logan that I don’t think it’s even possible for him to blend into the background. Right now, I’m just too grateful — not to mention terrified — to do anything but nod my acceptance. “Thank you. That would be great.”

I have just enough time to pull on my leggings and t-shirt, and then we’re on the road. I call Rori and Emma from the car. They were both home already as well, and are getting ready to hop into cars of their own and drive down. I tell them I’ll meet them right at the hospital.

When I hang up the phone, some of the adrenalin starts to wear off, and I just feel sick. It’s almost one in the morning now, and my body wants to be sleeping, but my mind is on fire. Mom didn’t know how bad Dad was, just that she’d called the ambulance after he’d collapsed and that he was still unconscious in the ICU. I know that people survive heart attacks all the time, but lots of them don’t, too. Or they need massive life-changing surgeries.

“Your father died of a heart attack, didn’t he?” I say suddenly. Bile is creeping up the back of my throat.

Logan glances over at me, keeping his hands at ten and two, his fingers curled tightly over the leather. “Yeah. I wasn’t going to bring that up.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my mind brought it up for me.” My mouth is a grim line.

“It’s going to be okay, Blake. He’s going to be okay. My dad had a family history of heart disease, lived on scotch and blood-red steaks, and worked eighty-hour weeks. To be honest, I’m surprised he made it to sixty. It doesn’t mean it’s going to be the same for your father.”

I don’t even realize I’m clenching my fists in my lap until Logan reaches over and puts his big hand over mine. His touch calms me immediately — at least a little bit. I won’t really relax until I get there, until I can see and talk to my dad and know that he’s okay.

“Do you think you can drive any faster?” I ask.

Logan gives me a quarter grin. “Oh, I think we could go a little faster.”

When we get to the hospital, I call Mom, and she directs us to Dad’s room. He’s on the fourth floor, and the hallway leading to his room is quiet. I guess in the ICU, that’s a good thing — at least there are no crises going on at the moment.

Logan and I don’t say a thing to each other as we make our way down the hallway. It feels like a hundred miles, even though it’s probably not more than a hundred feet.

When we come upon the door, it’s closed. I knock softly. It swings open, and Mom appears. Her face crumples as she sees me, and my knees almost give out as she wraps her thin arms around my neck.

“Mom, what is it?” I choke. “Is he ...”

She sobs. “He’s okay. He’s just ... Oh, Blakey I was so scared. I really thought we were going to lose him.”

“It’s okay, Mom.” I pat her back, breathing in and out as slowly and evenly as I can. “It’s going to be okay.”

When I can get her to pull away again, I squeeze her arm, then turn to the bed. To the deathly pale figure lying there. To my Dad.

He’s my dad, but he’s not. His skin is waxy and pale, more like a cheap sculpture than his usual robust self. There’s a tube running out of his nose, and his chest rises and falls in slow, even heaves. He looks small, lying there, not at all like the fierce father I remember. I stifle a sob.

“Tell me what the doctor said.”

Mom doesn’t answer me right away, and when I look over, I see her eyeing Logan. Heat colors my cheeks. “Sorry. Mom, this is Logan. He’s my ... well, he’s my boss.”

Mom’s eyebrows shoot straight up into her hairline — a gesture that my sister Emma definitely inherited. I can tell she wants to ask why in the world I’m in Connecticut with my boss, but she’s polite enough not to say anything. Or hell, maybe she’s just too distracted.

Logan smooths things over. “We were working late when Blake got the call. I offered to drive her down. I’m so sorry about your husband — is there anything I can do?”

Mom seems charmed by him, despite the circumstances, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t know if I should be concerned about how easily we were both able to pass our relationship off as nothing more than that of boss and employee, but I’ll worry about that later.

“Mom, tell me what the doctors said,” I say again.

This time, she perches on the edge of Dad’s bed. He doesn’t notice. His eyes don’t even twitch. “They think he’ll be fine. He might need surgery — we’ll need to wait another day to find out.”

I let out a breath. “That’s good. Right? That’s good?”

She nods, but there’s some hesitation in it. “It’s good. The surgery isn’t without risks but ...” Tears are pricking her eyes again. “It’s the best we can hope for right now.”

I ease onto the bed next to her and take her hand. For a long minute, no one says anything. I just hold her hand.

“Would you two like some coffee?” Logan asks, finally.

“I’d love some, but the cafeteria is closed. There’s a machine downstairs, but to be honest, it kind of tastes like ass.”

I snort a laugh. “Mom!”

“What? It does.”

Logan has the ghost of a grin on his face. “Well, I don’t think this is the time to be drinking ass coffee. There’s got to be a place around here somewhere — why don’t I run out and pick you up something?”

My heart swells six sizes as Mom nods. Logan is so good. He’s so good. I wish he could see himself the way that I see him.

“Thanks, Logan,” I whisper. He nods and then disappears from the room.

Mom and I sit there. The room is silent except for the gentle beeps of the machines surrounding Dad’s bed, and even those are soothing in their monotonous regularity. Soon, though, there’s a loud scrambling from the hallway. Voices, thudding footsteps, and then the door to Dad’s room busts open.

The all pour in — Emma and Tyler, Rori and Wes. The room feels full, suddenly, and loud and warm. We’re all hugging, and Mom’s crying again, and Rori and Emma are crying now, too, and Tyler and Wes are just doing the best they can in the situation.

“How did you get here so fast?” Rori asks me, when we’ve all calmed down and Mom’s given everyone the update on Dad’s condition.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess Logan just drives fast.”

“Logan?” Emma hisses. “He’s here?”

“He went to get coffee.”

“Did you ...” She doesn’t finish her question, just waggles her eyebrows in a way that’s very much like Mom. I know that what she wants to know is if I told him yet.

“No.” That’s all I say, and I say it curtly, because the last thing I want to do is have this discussion here, now, in front of everyone.

Thankfully, a nurse comes in and interrupts our conversation to check Dad’s blood pressure. We’re all silent when she does, and after, as she makes some notes on his chart, she gives us a reassuring smile. I don’t know if that means the results are actually good or she just doesn’t want us to worry, but right now, I’m going to choose to believe the former.

After she leaves, it isn’t long before Logan returns, holding aloft a tray with three take-away coffee cups. He stops in surprise when he reaches the room and sees my entire family crowded around Dad’s bed.

“I guess I should have brought more coffee.” He flashes a charming enough grin, but I can tell that he’s uncomfortable. He hands a cup to Mom and then to me, and then he greets Tyler and Wes. Right. I keep forgetting they all know each other. Emma tries to catch my eye again, but I ignore her. Probably just going to say something else bitchy to me, this time telepathically.

I try to take a sip of my coffee, but it tastes sour in my mouth. Not because there’s actually anything wrong with it, but because it’s past 3am now, and I’m so wired with adrenalin that it feels like battery acid is running through my veins. The thought makes me think of Dad, of what it must feel like to have your heart stop beating. I choke back a sob, and everyone in the room stares at me.

“I’m fine,” I mutter. Logan crosses the room toward me and puts his hand gently on my arm. It’s a sweet touch, tender, but not over the top. Still, I can feel all eyes in the room on us.

“I need to get some air.”

I make a beeline for the door, taking my coffee with me, only because I have nowhere else to put it. Out in the hallway, I look around for a trashcan.

A second later, Logan emerges from Dad’s room. Even under the fluorescent lights, he looks absolutely beautiful, like a Greek God under bad lighting.

“I’m sorry,” I say, waving the cup at him. “I don’t think I can drink this.”

That’s when the tears come. It’s so stupid. My dad just had a heart attack, and I’m crying because I feel bad about not drinking the stupid coffee Logan went out to get me. I sputter a laugh when I realize how ridiculous I’m being.

Logan cages me in his arms. The feel of his chest against mine is all I need to set the tears off again. God, I feel like a faucet lately.

Logan runs his hands through my hair, and then brushes it back off my cheek. His touch is so gentle, so tender, that it sets off another fresh wave of tears. Great.

Logan only pulls me tighter to him. His chest is a rock wall, yet it’s somehow the most comfortable thing I’ve ever laid my head against. His arms are just as warm and solid, and his breath on my neck is enough to curl my toes a little. Not that my mind is going there right now.

Just then, the door of Dad’s room swings open. I jump back about twenty feet, as far away from Logan as I can get. Both of us look towards the door guiltily. It’s Tyler. He squints first at Logan, then at me. How much did he see?

If he saw anything, he doesn’t say so. He just tips his chin towards the room. “Your dad’s awake.”

I gasp and then bolt for the door. Logan is quick on my heels. Thirty seconds later, two nurses scurry in as well — lord knows how they knew so quickly, but they did.

Dad is sitting up in bed, blinking. His face is still pale, but he manages to grin when he sees me. “All my girls are here,” he chuckles, or tries to.

“Of course, Daddy. We had to come.” I throw myself into his arm and give him a tight hug, or as tight as I can, given the IV coming from his arm, and the electrodes still hooked up to his chest to measure his heartrate activity.

We hover for a while, until the nurses finish, until the doctor comes in and proclaims him, “doing well, considering.” A cautious relief rushes over all of us.

Eventually, Dad’s eyelids start to droop again.

“Your father must be exhausted,” Mom says, clucking over him. “And you kids must be, too, after driving all the way down here. Why don’t you go back to the house and get some sleep? Blake, you still have your key, don’t you?”

I nod. I do, but I don’t know if I’m ready to leave yet. Seeing Dad here like this …

I stifle a yawn. Maybe I really am exhausted. After all, I’m carrying around precious cargo and all that. Okay, that cargo is literally the size of a legume, but still. It’s a lot of work.

I catch Rori and Emma’s eye, and Rori gives me a quick nod. We all hug Dad and then Mom, and then find ourselves out in the hallway. I can breathe a little easier out there, it seems, and not just because it isn’t so crowded. We take a moment. Emma sags against Tyler. Rori snuggles into Wes’s arms. I … stand awkwardly next to Logan.

I ache to go to him again, but he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot in a way that says he’s deeply uncomfortable right now, and the last thing I want to do is make it worse. I get that this is probably a lot right now. But it’s a lot for me, too.

He looks over at me and then quickly looks away, and all of a sudden, I want to cry. Can today just please be over?

“You can get home with your sisters, right, Blake?”

“Sorry?” I can feel Emma and Rori’s eyes on me. I try to look cool, which is not easy even under the best of circumstances.

He runs a hand through his burnished blonde hair. “I mean, your family’s all here now. You don’t mind if I go back to the city?”

“Oh.” I blink a couple of times. “Of course not.”

What I really mean by that is of course I do. I want you to stay here and hug me and tell me everything’s going to be okay and just be with me.

My mouth doesn’t seem capable of forming any of those actual words, though, so I settle for a petulant pout. That’ll show him.

“Great. Well, good night.”

“It’s morning.” That’s the best jab I can manage, apparently.

“Right. Morning.” His lips don’t even twitch into a smile. He just turns on his heel and walks away. I watch him the entire way, until he reaches the elevators and hits the button. He doesn’t look back once. We all stand in silence, watching him disappear at last into the lift.

“Come on, sweetie, you can ride with us.” Rori touches my elbow lightly, and a minute later we head down that same hallway, towards the elevators and then to home.