“Thank you,” she replies. But it’s by rote. She’s dead behind the eyes, and I wonder if she’ll ever find that piece of herself that she lost with her son. Ricardo Santiago was driving the car that night. He was an eighteen-year-old boy who was on his way home from the library. He was on the street and didn’t see the black ice that turned the road into a skating rink. He didn’t see it until he lost control of the car. He hit Logan dead-on, and the car clipped my dad’s leg. Dad’s on crutches with a bad sprain, but he’ll heal. Ricardo died on impact when his car careened into a parked car.

I vaguely remember seeing Ricardo’s mother at the hospital after the accident. I remember how they told her about his almost-instant death there in the waiting room. I remember thinking it could have been us, receiving that news. Our news didn’t come until hours later. And it wasn’t good.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say to the next person in line, and I shake his hand. Ricardo’s entire family is here. He had three brothers and two sisters. His father is a wealthy attorney in the city. I remember reading that much in the paper.

Matt and Paul have been shadowing me ever since this happened. They won’t leave my side. When I sleep, one of them throws a blanket over me. When I wake up, one of them reminds me to eat. When I go to the bathroom, one of them stands outside the bathroom door.

There’s one thing I am very certain about: my life is not complete without Logan.

Logan

There’s not a place on my body that doesn’t hurt. I wiggle my toe and try to lift my hand, but I can’t. I blink my eyes open and stare straight ahead. It hurts too f**king much to look left or right. Shapes move in front of my face, but they’re too blurry. I can’t make them out. I close my eyes again and drift back into the darkness. I welcome it because where there is darkness there is no pain.

Emily

Someone shakes my arm. “Em,” a soft voice says. Then more insistently, “Emily!”

I brush the noise away like cobwebs from my face, but it doesn’t stop.

“Emily, wake the f**k up.”

I blink my eyes open to find Matt in front of me. “He’s awake,” he says. He’s grinning.

I brush my hair back from my forehead. “What?” I still can’t think.

“He just moved, Em,” Matt says. He’s nearly giddy. He pulls the blanket off me and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet. “Go talk to him. I need to call Paul.”

The boys have been taking turns staying with me at the hospital. Only two people can be in the room at a time, and I won’t leave. Paul, Matt, and Sam don’t seem to mind. They take turns going home, taking care of Hayley, and one of them is always with me.

I walk slowly to the edge of the bed and look down at Logan’s prone form. “He’s not awake,” I say over my shoulder. But Matt is gone. I look down, and I see the tiniest flutter of Logan’s lashes. “Logan!” I cry. It’s stupid, I know, since he can’t hear me.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and take his hand in mine. I saw his eyelids move. I look down, and his toe wiggles. His eyes are closed, though, and he’s still. Too still.

A doctor runs into the room and lifts Logan’s eyelids, shining a light in his face. He flinches. I see it.

“Is he going to wake up?” I ask. I hold my breath, waiting for the answer.

The doctor’s mouth pinches into a thin line. “Maybe.”

Maybe. That’s the only word I need to hear for hope to bloom within me. I step back, out of the doctor’s way. The nurse takes me by the shoulders and pushes me gently to the edge of the room.

Matt walks in again. “I called Paul and Sam. They’re on the way.”

I nod. I can’t take my eyes off Logan. He moved. I never thought I would see him move again.

Logan suffered a terrible head injury. He had to have surgery to relieve the pressure in his brain, and he had some internal injuries, as well. He lost his spleen, and his right leg is broken. They set it, and he’s in a cast. Bruises cover most of his body.

I look at Matt, and his eyes are filled with the same hope mine are. “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” I ask.

He nods and pulls me into his chest. “Of course, he is,” he breathes. He bends his head and sniffs me. Then he whispers dramatically, “Now that he’s waking up, do you think you could take a f**king shower? You stink.”

I shove back from him. “I do not.”

“You look like shit, Em,” he jokes. He tousles my hair, and I don’t care. I do look like shit. I lift my arm and smell myself. And I stink. I can’t see Logan like this.

A few minutes later, Paul and Sam walk into the room. Paul is carrying the canvas bag that has my belongings in it.

“Thank God,” Matt teases. He turns me toward the bathroom and points. “Go shower. You can’t have him waking up to you looking like that.”

I nod. “Okay.”

Sam sniffs me as I walk by him and holds his nose.

“I don’t smell that bad,” I grouse.

He grimaces. “You kind of do.”

“Fine!” I say. “I’ll shower.” I point my finger at the three of them. “Then I’ll make you all sorry.”

“I’ll be sorry if you don’t shower,” Paul mumbles. But he’s smiling.

I go into the bathroom and avail myself of the tiny shower in Logan’s room. I don’t need much, but I do need to wash off the funk accumulated by waiting in a hospital for four days. I get dressed quickly and brush out my hair. I return to find the three brothers looking down at Logan. Matt’s mouth is moving in prayer, but I can’t quite hear him.