I woke with a start, a heavy weight on my chest. Willow. I blinked down at her, burrowed to my side, her small fist coiled in the fabric of my T-shirt. She was so small. A perfect little human.

Burying my nose in her soft auburn curls, I breathed her in. Sunshine and cotton candy lingered in her hair.

“I’ll take her,” Logan said gruffly.

“N-no,” I managed, but he lifted her off me anyway. Rubbing the spot on my chest where her head had been, I watched through heavy lids as he carried her across the room.

When he disappeared into his suite, I willed my legs to work so I could follow him. But no. So I closed my eyes and let my head fall forward. Minutes later, when I felt the couch dip, I did my best to push myself to sitting. But I couldn’t quite manage, so I ended up lopsided.

“What time is it?” I rasped.

Resting his elbows on his knees, Logan looked down at his feet. “Nine.”

Nine …

The fog lifted a little. Not much. But enough to push a heavy hand through my hair. “Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “I … uh … guess I fell asleep.”

Logan searched my face with narrowed eyes. “You weren’t asleep. You were passed out.”

He spit the words like an accusation. And since they were true, I didn’t respond. Which only seemed to agitate him more.

Making a clumsy grab for the water on the coffee table, I misjudged the distance, and decided the effort was too much, so I slumped back against the pillows.

Logan snatched the bottle from the table and pressed it into my hand. “You want to tell me what the fuck happened?”

I didn’t know. Couldn’t remember a thing after we’d left the elephant exhibit. I was having such a good time. And I just wanted it to last. But nothing ever lasts.

I took a sip of water. “I took a pill. A pain pill.”

Admitting it made me feel weak. But I’d told Logan more about my injuries than anyone but my closest friends. What was one more thing?

When he didn’t respond for a long moment, I lifted my gaze. Whatever I expected to find on Logan’s face—sympathy, pity, understanding—it wasn’t there.

He was mad.

Why was he mad?

“You have a prescription?”

The suspicion in his tone conspired with the chemicals in my brain, loosening my tongue just enough to let it fly. All the tiny truths I hid in dark corners and buried in deep holes.

“I have five. Muscle relaxers too. But I don’t take any of them. Since they make me …” I looked down at my legs, which I could see but not feel. “Like this. But I do take a low dose hormone to keep my one good ovary from shutting down.” I laughed, and it was so brittle, I thought it might slice my tongue. “But it won’t do any good. I’ll never have a baby.”

Shifting my gaze to the open door, I could just make out the small lump on Logan’s bed. My hand crept up, and again I rubbed the spot where Willow’s head had been.

This time when our gazes collided, Logan looked horrified. And I wondered what he saw. But really, I didn’t want to know.

“You can go now,” I said and, letting gravity work its magic, I slumped against the cushions and closed my eyes.

A minute or an hour later, the cushion dipped again. Something warm curved around my thighs, and when my lids fluttered open to investigate, Logan was on his knees in front of me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, bowing his head. “I’m so sorry.”

I made a clumsy attempt to push him away. Because I didn’t want his sorrow. I had enough of my own.

“Don’t … don’t feel sorry for me.”

He caught my wrists. “I don’t. That’s not what I meant. Will you let me explain?”

I stopped fighting. “Go ahead.”

Even with the medication dulling my senses, I felt his thumbs sweeping slow circles over my skin.

Looking down to where we were joined, he sighed. “My sister’s an addict. You probably already know that. When I saw you like that, it reminded me of her … before she got help.”

He looked up with earnest blue eyes, ready to take all the blame. But even with the way he reacted, part of it was my fault. “I sh-should’ve told you about the pill … I don’t … I don’t have any tolerance because I don’t take them as prescribed.”

Confusion lined his brow. “Why?”

A smile curved my lips. At least it felt like a smile. “There’s this feeling. This moment that … uh … you’re not here.”

Turning around, he rested his shoulders against the edge of the couch and his head on my knee. “So that’s a bad thing?” he asked. “That feeling?”

Maybe without the pill, I’d never tell him. Or maybe I just wanted someone to know, finally.

“No. But it’s tempting. Or it used to be. So I stopped taking them regular … regularly.”

He looped an arm around my calf. “What was tempting?”

He shifted slightly to see my face. And when our eyes met, I felt the tug as he coaxed the word to my lips. “Oblivion.”