Page 69 of Viking

“Logan?”

I close my eyes and take my first deep breath since Ryan died. The pain in my shoulder spikes with the movement, sharp and unforgiving. I grit my teeth through it. I deserve worse.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I manage, my voice deep and raw.

Her voice softens instantly. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been worried sick. Nick called, but I…I needed to hear from you.”

“I’m here,” I say, though it feels like a lie. I’m not really here. Not all of me. “I’m okay. I’m…” I stop, because I can’t finish it. Because it isn’t true.

I’m not okay.

Not even close.

There’s a long pause, and then she whispers, “I know about Ryan.”

My throat tightens, and I have to look away, as if she’s standing right in front of me. “Yeah,” I manage. “We lost him. Six total. It was bad, Lila. Real bad.”

Her breath hitches, and I know she’s crying. I want to reach through the phone, pull her into my arms, and make her believe it’ll all be fine, even though I don’t believe it myself.

“Logan…” Her voice breaks. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could do something.”

“You are,” I say quickly. “Just hearing you…it helps. Lila, I can’t stop seeing it. The chaos, the fire, the...” My voice falters, and I swallow hard. I shouldn’t be saying any of this. I shift slightly and the movement sends another jolt of pain through my shoulder. I suck in a breath, trying to mask it, but it feels like punishment. Maybe that’s why I don’t bother holding it back completely.

“How’s your shoulder?” she asks gently because of course he told her about that, too.

“Fucked.” I suck in a deep breath, clenching my right hand into a tight fist and hating myself for having said that aloud. “But I’ll be fine.”

“How long until you can fly again?”

“Eight to twelve weeks. Depending on PT,” I grunt out, attempting to roll my neck without pulling at the incision too hard.

“I hate this,” she says, her tone fierce now. “I hate that you’re there, that you’re going through this. I hate that I can’t do anything but sit here and wait.”

“You being there, where you’re safe, it’s enough,” I tell her, meaning it. It’s the only thing that feels right in a world turned upside down. “I’ve got three days of leave. I’ll be home Thursday.”

“Thursday?” Her relief is palpable, like she can finally breathe again.

“Yeah. Memorial’s Friday. I’ll be there for that.” The words feel hollow, like they’re coming from someone else.

She’s quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is soft. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I’m here, Logan. For whatever you need.”

I let out a shaky breath, the knot in my chest loosening just a little. “I need you,” I admit, the words raw and real. “That’s the only thing I know for sure right now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promises. “You hear me? I’ll be right here when you get home.”

The thought of her waiting for me, of seeing her face, touching her, holds me together for just a little longer.

We sit in silence for a while, the connection between us stronger than any words.

“Thank you,” I finally whisper. “For being mine. For…everything.”

“Always, Logan.”

Hampton, Virginia

June 21, 2024

8:18 a.m.