Page 16 of Sticks & Serpents

I clenched the steering wheel, my knuckles white as I hit redial for the third time. The phone rang once, twice, then straight to voicemail again. Frustration surged within me. Why wouldn’t he answer?

Logan had been so dependable. The kind of guy who didn’t just disappear on a whim. I tried to shake off the dread pooling in my stomach, convincing myself he was probably just busy or wrapped up in something with his teammates.

Taking a deep breath, I dialed his number again, praying this time would be different. It rang through, but no one picked up.

Just as I was about to hang up, the call connected.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end sent a chill down my spine. It wasn’t Logan.

“Who is this?”

My mouth went dry as I struggled to find my voice. “It’s Holly. I—I was supposed to meet Logan for dinner.” A beat. "Who… who is this?"

"Logan's mother." She sounded panicked and exhausted, like she’d been running a marathon and had only just caught her breath.

"Oh." I swallowed. "Is… is Logan okay?"

Silence filled the air between us for a moment that felt like an eternity. My heart raced, thudding against my ribs like it wanted out of my chest.

And then came her words—“Logan’s in the ER. His fingers—his hand?—”

My breath hitched in my throat, every word slicing through me with razor-sharp clarity. “What happened?”

“I don’t know all the details,” she replied quickly, her voice trembling with worry. “He went for a run and... and something went wrong.”

Panic surged through me like ice water flooding my veins. Images of Logan crumpling under some unseen weight flashed through my mind—tripping over roots or slipping on wet pavement—and I swallowed hard against the rising tide of fear.

“Is he okay?” I managed to ask, though every part of me screamed that it was too much to hope for.

Another pause stretched out before her answer came, heavy with uncertainty. “They’re working on him now.”

Tears pricked at my eyes; I blinked them back furiously. This couldn’t be happening—not after everything we’d discussed about starting fresh, not after he had seemed so enthusiastic about tonight.

“Some guy attacked him. We don’t know who,” Logan’s mother said, her voice shaking with distress.

My heart dropped into my stomach, the room spinning around me as her words echoed in my mind. I felt light-headed, disoriented by the gravity of the situation.

I knew who.

Images of Damien surged through my thoughts, sharp and unrelenting. My fingers trembled against the steering wheel as I tried to focus on what Logan’s mother was saying next, but her words faded into a blur. She was distraught, struggling to hold it together, and all I could think about was the brutal hit I’d seen earlier at the rink.

Damien.

My stomach twisted painfully at the thought of his violent energy—his insatiable need to dominate. I fought back tears, desperate for clarity amidst this whirlwind of panic.

“Holly?” she asked again, her voice breaking through my haze. “Are you still there?”

I whispered an apology, barely managing to find my voice before hanging up abruptly. I wanted to rush to the hospital, to check on Logan and make sure he was okay, but a gnawing instinct warned me that doing so would be a terrible idea. What if Damien was still out there? What if he saw me? What would he do to Logan?

I pressed my palms against my thighs in an effort to steady myself, but they shook uncontrollably instead. Each breath felt heavy as fear tightened its grip around me. The weight of it all settled like a stone in my chest; every beat of my heart echoed with anxiety.

No more thinking about Damien—about how easily he could slip back into my life and turn everything upside down again.

I needed space.

With determination edging out panic, I turned the car toward campus and headed home—back to the luxury house where I lived with my father. It felt like a sanctuary even though it had never truly felt like home.

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