Page 142 of Kings Fear No One
It’s been two days since the events at the old church in Boulder, and I’m more torn up now than I was then.
Probably because I’ve had time to do nothing but obsess over every small detail. I’ve felt the awkward pauses and uncertain glances Logan and I have shared. He’s been in the hospital the past few days, recovering from his motorcycle accident.
When I’ve visited him, his eyes have lit up. He’s held my hand and told me he’s glad I came. I shed tears over the sight of him swollen and scraped up with too many bruises to count marring his skin.
Logan Cutler was a Steel King. He was made of steel himself. He was unbreakable and powerful, with taut muscles that flexed and strained and an intensity in his stormy gaze that could turn any enemy to dust. He was resilience and strength and wasn’t supposed to be laid up in a bed covered in bandages.
We couldn’t bring ourselves to address anything beyond the moment.
Beyond his enjoyment at seeing me and my relief that he was alive and breathing.
It was like a stampede of invisible elephants rushed through the room.
We certainly couldn’t talk about us. We couldn’t address all the things hanging in the air. Things like the future, where our marriage would be going from here, and what I’d confessed to Abraham.
Surprise! I’m pregnant.
I sniffle lifting the duffle bag off the floor and hauling it over to the space by the door. The note I’ve written Logan gets left on the kitchen counter for him to find. I’ve already bought my bus ticket out of town and called Mama up to let her know I’ll be arriving by eight. She said Papa will be parked outside waiting for me.
I reached out to the Pulsboro clerk’s office again, offered several profuse apologies, and requested they start the annulment process like we’d asked so many weeks ago.
Everything’s in order.
Logan won’t have to worry about a thing when he returns home. It’ll all be taken care of for him. He’ll be able to move on from this ordeal. I’ll be able to… deal with the aftermath of what returning to Boulder entails.
My family won’t be happy I’m pregnant. It’ll be just another reminder I’m damaged goods. How will they marry me off to some proper Christian man now?
I can hear their voices in my head, suggesting I hide out for the rest of the year ’til I give birth. Then I can give the baby up for adoption and pretend it never happened.
I spend the next couple minutes wandering the apartment, making sure I’ve packed up what’s mine. The Bible I’ve kept on my bedside table catches my eye. For a moment my hand hovers over it as an internal debate takes place.
Just months ago, I couldn’t imagine ever leaving it behind. Now only dull cynicism passes through me when I consider bringing the beloved book with me.
The bolt on the front door snicks as it’s unlocked. Heavy boots clack on the tile.
Oh no!
What’s he doing home so early?!
I flee the bedroom to meet him in the hall, my heartbeat accelerating like the criminal I am. I’ve been caught red-handed and my mind’s too foggy to think up a story.
Logan stands before me in a plain charcoal t-shirt that clings to his muscles and worn denim that fits him just right. A few bandages and scrapes remain from his collision. He comes to a stop directly in front of me, his eyes charged like a severe storm at sea.
Any lines, any words I have thought up, vanish.
I have no idea what to say. I divert my gaze to the floor where I can study our feet. My sandals that show off my painted toes and his that are almost twice my size, covered in the beaten leather boots the same shade as tobacco.
“I didn’t think you’d be home yet.”
“They released me early.”
“You… you should’ve called,” I say, braving a quick glance up at him. “I would’ve driven your truck to come get you.”
“Didn’t need you to. Mace gave me a ride.”
“Oh, okay. Excuse me.”
I shift to his left to squeeze by him in the narrow hall. He steps to the side to block me. His hand lands on my hip as if to steady me from tipping over. His touch feels so natural, so comforting even now, without him even trying.
