Page 57 of Love in Pieces

Does anyone else want to make sure I’m being careful? I feel like a child with all these warnings. Rolling my eyes, I toss a few slices of bread into the toaster and warm up the little bit of coffee left in the pot. While my breakfast heats up, I check my email, respond to one from Dr. Kraus, and read a few summer semester updates from the school. I find a TV show to keep myself busy until I get bored.

I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep on the couch until my phone starts ringing. The caller ID readsUnknown.Probably spam. I hang up and chuck it back on the cushion next to me. A few moments pass when my phone rings again. I sigh, getting annoyed.Unknown.I hang up again, cursing under my breath that these spam callers are getting persistent. This time, my phone dings with the familiar sound of a voicemail alert. I furrow my brows, clicking on the alert. Unknown shows at the top with a short ten-second voicemail. That’s weird. Most of the spam messages are far longer than they need to be.

When I hit play, my heart sinks. “Where, oh where, has my baby doll gone?”

My blood runs cold, almost ice. I don’t need a name to know whose voice that is. And there’s only one person in the world who calls me that. His voice is eerily calm. Eerily smooth. A shiver runs down my spine when I replay it, immediately regretting the decision. I’ve always hated that pet name, but Sam has always insisted.

My first instinct is to check the locks on the door and windows, but even when they all resist when I try opening them, I find myself still doubtful that they’ll remain locked, or God forbid, hold. My heartbeat threatens to rip a hole through my chest. The sound reverberates in my ears so loud I can’t hear anything else. The walls suddenly feel like they are caving in, and I sink to my knees in the middle of the living room as salty tears spill to the floor. I frantically back myself up to a wall, begging for some sort of solid presence behind me. I bury my head in my knees, hugging my shins as tightly as I can. Streaks of tears fall from my eyes down my pale legs.

This cannot be happening. I’m not ready. I thought I would have more time. I thought I would be stronger. Be better. Be prepared. I’m not any of those things. I don’t know if I ever will be.

A muffled voice sounds somewhere distant. Somewhere outside of me. “Abby,” the voice says. No, he couldn’t have found me. He can’t. I’m not ready to go back to him. I don’t want to.

“Abby!” the voice yells, and someone shakes me, pulling me from my thoughts. “Abby, it’s me. It’s Logan. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

When I look up, worry strikes Logan’s features. His eyes are wide, brows drawn together, mouth a thin line. His hands hold my shaking shoulders steady. “Logan,” I breathe, but the tears fall quickly, a knot forming in my throat, my gut, everywhere.

“Hold on. I’m going to get you some water.” He disappears before I can protest, not wanting to be left alone. Thankfully, he returns in a matter of seconds, a glass of water in tow. He holds it to my lips, and I cup it with both hands to take a small sip, trying to savor the cool liquid, letting it slide down my throat past the knots, past the panic.

I try to imagine the water washing my anxiety away. Watch it float away, hauling my fears with it, and the image that flashes through my mind forces a short laugh from me.

Logan looks confused. Even I'm a little shocked. He sits back, legs crossed in front of him. “You good?” he asks, still trying to be soft but heavily puzzled by my small outburst.

Shaking my head, I take another sip. “I was trying to imagine the water wiping away this panic attack. But then I was picturing Sam drowning in it.”

Logan’s brows raise, clearly shocked, but he smiles. “Wouldn’t that be nice,” he agrees.

A sedative silence falls while I finish the glass of water. Logan sits still, waiting for me to make the next move. He watches me carefully, likely looking for any signs of another panic attack. When the glass is empty, he fills it again, not bothering to ask if I want more. I thank him with a smile, taking a sip from the newly filled cup.

I take a deep breath, preparing to thank him for the help, and maybe try to explain why all of this happened. But when I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out. My lips tremble in the place of words. I don’t even know where to start. So instead, I point to my phone that lies on the floor next to the couch. He hands it to me without questioning it. When I unlock it, the voicemail is still pulled up, so I turn the speaker toward him and force myself to hit play even though my body is screaming at me to throw the phone out the nearest window.

I squeeze my eyes shut as I listen to those words again, that voice slithering into my mind, trying to latch on like it did for far too long.

Logan’s features turn to irritation as he slowly takes my phone from me and sets it on the couch behind him. He moves next to me, leaning against the same wall, legs outstretched before him. The silence, once tranquil, is now deafening.

“What do I do?” The words come out strained, like Sam’s hand is wrapped around my throat, restricting my air even though he’s not here.

Logan hangs his head, running both hands through his hair, then down his face. “I don’t know...” he trails off, looking to the ceiling. “Dallas has told me things. About your situation. I didn’t realize it was this bad.” He takes a long deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “Does Dallas know?”

“About the call?” I ask, resting my head against the wall. “No. I collapsed the second I heard his voice.”

Logan nods, looking around the room briefly. He stands, grabs my phone, and shoves it in his pocket. He moves to check all the entrances.

“I’ve already done that.”

“Well, I’m doing it again.”

“Logan,” I start, but he cuts me off, pausing at the front door with a hand braced next to the deadbolt.

“Abby, I need you to listen to me, okay?”

I nod rapidly. “Okay.”

“From this point on, don’t answer any unknown numbers. Calls. Texts. Social media messages. If you don’t know the number or the person, don’t answer. I’m sure you can reasonably take care of yourself, but youhaveto come find me or Dallas immediately if you think, even for a moment, that something is suspicious.” A pause. “Do you have plans today?”

“No,” I reply, breathing heavily as I take in Logan’s orders.

“Put your shoes on.”

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