Page 9 of A More Than Mayhem Christmas

The second almost destroyed us.

We can’t go through that pain again.

We wouldn’t be able to survive it.

4

Logan

Ever since Amanda came into my life, she’s been the center of my universe. Now, she seems to be the same for around a dozen kids. I can’t blame them. Amanda brings the light out of people without ever having to try.

I watch from the doorway as my girl smiles, her eyes getting wider with every word she speaks. She’s sitting in a chair in the corner of the hospital’s rec room, reading a Christmas story to the kids gathered at her feet. Around the perimeter of the room, parents of said kids watch her work her magic… and that magic is the giant grins and quiet giggles she somehow manages to get out of sick children—children who can’t imagine anything worse than being stuckherefor Christmas.

For their sake, I hope that this is the worst life throws at them. I hope they never have to know about the other kids down the hall, and more so, I hope they never have toexperienceit.

Amanda mock gasps now, motioning toward me as she stands up, saying, “Look, everyone! We have a special visitor.”

She’s in a red dress with silver tinsel on the hem—a sexy little Mrs. Claus, if you will—and I’m already picturing getting her home and stripping her out of it. On second thought, she can leave it on.

Probably not the best thought to have in a room full of sick children, but I’ll never again take for granted how lucky I am to have her.

I push away any illicit thoughts, at least until later, and bellow, “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

“You’re not Santa!” a boy yells, and I’m not really sure where he got the idea that I was trying to be, but whatever.

“You’re Wolverine!” someone yells from behind me, and I turn toward the voice, instantly recognize him as Caleb—a boy I admitted only hours ago. When I told him my name was Logan, he asked, “Like Wolverine?”

I didn’t confirm or deny it, but now I’m Wolverine, and that’s pretty fucking cool if you ask me.

Amanda and I hand out presents to the kids in the rec room first, then slowly make our way down the hall to each room of the children’s ward. Some parents open their doors or curtains for us, letting us sit with their sick child for a few minutes. Others prefer not to be disturbed, so we hand them the gift if they’re willing to accept it and then quickly move along.

This has been our Christmas tradition for a few years now.

Amanda’s mom typically visits Amanda’s twin brother, Ethan, in Charleston during the holidays, while my dad always volunteers on Christmas Day. Since I want to follow in my dad’s footsteps, I volunteer as well. I just finished the day shift, and my dad, who we still live with, is somewhere around here, so Amanda spent most of the day alone. She says she doesn’t mind because it allowed her to wrap and label all the giftswe’ve received from our friends and the community. While I have connections to the hospital, this gift-giving project isallAmanda.

And I couldn’t love her more for it.

Though, I don’t know how she finds the time and energy to do what she does. Outside of her job as a child psychologist, she takes on all these other projects. Earlier in the year, she encouraged people in the town to donate their time and supplies to build a playground at the local church.

We don’t even go to church.

“I think this is the most donations you’ve ever received,” I muse.

“It is,” she says, her smile all-consuming. There’s a skip in her step as she shakes the bag holding the presents. “We even have some left over, so I’ll bring them to the shelter tomorrow if you want to come with.”

I take her hand, link our fingers. I don’t know if I’m doing it to slow her down, or because Ineed her touch, or just… needher.

Amanda seems to know how I’m feeling, because she knows me better than anyone. Better than I know myself. She stops walking immediately, turning to me with her eyebrows drawn in concern. “What’s wrong, baby?”

I heave out a breath, attempt to keep my emotions in check. For the last hour, I’ve gone through the motions. I smiled when warranted, listened when needed, and did my best to hide the blinding ache in my chest. In my soul. But with every step closer we got tohere, the dread in my gut only amplified. I wouldn’t say I’m afraid; I’m just…

I’m reliving a fucking nightmare.

“Logan?” Amanda asks, and I blink hard, force myself back to reality. “Did you just check out on me?”

I lower my gaze so she doesn’t see the truth in my eyes. “Yeah, sorry.”

“What’s going on?”

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