Chance (8 page)

“You still haven’t asked
me yet,” he continued.

“
Me
ask
you
?”
she said utterly confused by what he was saying.

“I’ve been waiting for
you to propose and you still haven't,” Logan continued.

“
What
? I thought that
men usually did the proposing,” she teased him lightly, figuring he must be
joking.

“It
usually
is,”
he agreed. “But you
do
realize it’s a leap year, don’t you?”

“Right. Um…no, I didn’t
actually realize that,” she said sheepishly. She never really paid much
attention to that type of thing. “Is there any particular significance to
that?”

“Yep,” he grinned. “That’s
when women are allowed to propose to men, only on February 29
^th
.”

“Oh, okay. Actually, I've
never heard of that but I'll take your word for it.” Charlotte stared at him
for a moment, unsure of what she should say or do next.

He raised his eyebrows
and winked at her. He didn’t have to say anymore. She now knew very clearly,
what he wanted…what he
expected
. She's supposed to propose to him on
February 29, which was coming up next month.

For a moment, her mind
was in a tailspin. She’d never even considered getting married…
ever
.
She'd never wanted to. The thought of committing to someone on such a huge
level, saying all of those vows in front of God and all of your family and
friends—that was colossal. It meant being tied to that one person
forever
.
The entire concept of 'till death do us part' was never appealing to her in the
least.

How could she ever hope
to explain that to Logan? He wouldn't take that well. He's so needy and
insecure. Of course, when he doesn't get what he wants, he's impossible to live
with. When he's upset, he can be anything from extremely stressful and annoying,
to downright scary. Charlotte hated all of it. She liked him to be happy.

This was quite a jam she'd
found herself stuck in.  

“You do
want
to
get married, don’t you, Charlotte?” he asked her casually, possibly sensing her
whirring thoughts.

“Of course,” she said half-heartedly.

Realizing her tone might
not sit well with him, she made a decisive effort to sound more positive.

So she repeated herself,
“Of course,” forcing her lie to sound more convincing.

Charlotte knew how
disappointed Logan would be if she were honest, how much he’d sulk and how bad
she’d feel afterwards. Was it really worth all of the hassle? It's just marriage;
she reasoned to herself, they're already living together. It's no big deal. It's
a ceremony, some rings, a party and a piece of paper.

She tried to talk herself
into the idea, framing it in a way she might enjoy. They could have a nice
party like this one; invite all of their friends and family. Maybe she’d get to
meet some of Logan’s friends, family and co-workers. It would be worth the
hassle just for that fascinating opportunity and experience. She was intrigued by
the idea of learning more about the parts of his life he'd kept so tightly under
wraps.

Just as she was thinking
about all of the possibilities that a wedding might unearth, his phone beeped
again. Logan slipped it out of his pocket. She saw his jaw clench and his
expression darken as he read the new message.

“What is it? Is
everything okay?” she asked.

“I have to leave,” he said
distractedly, as he put the phone back in his pocket.

“What?” she was extremely
disappointed. “Oh Logan, why?”

His eyes focused on her
again.

“It's work. Something
important has come up. I can’t ignore it.”

It was a cryptic
explanation, but that was nothing new for her. Sadly, as much as she hated that
about him, she was used to this kind of thing.

He quickly kissed her on
the lips and ran a hand into her hair. “You’ll be okay here?”

“Of course I will, love,”
she promised him. “I’m with my friends.”

At that, Logan glanced around
the room. His eyes narrowed, as he surveyed the other people at the reception,
especially the men. Charlotte didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what he
was thinking. She knew him well enough to know.

“I’ll be fine, Logan,”
she insisted again. “I’ll keep in touch with you by text—every half hour, like
we did last time.”

“Every half hour. Good.”
He seemed to be appeased by her words, relaxing slightly and focusing on her
again. He kissed her once more before downing his drink quickly and
disappearing through the main doors of the reception hall, back through the
hotel’s foyer and out onto the street.

Charlotte watched him go
and then turned back to the party. A part of her felt a sense of relief he was
gone, despite the sudden warring sensation of emptiness that had also made
itself known within her. She'd become so used to having him by her side all of
the time, it felt a bit strange to be without him, at first.

Yet, when Charlotte was
with Logan, there was always a bit of tension somewhere in the back of her
mind. Even when they were having a good time together. She'd never know what
might happen that would trigger another of his moody episodes. Once that
happened, she'd feel guilty and upset, frantically trying to figure out what
she could do to make him happy again.

Charlotte remained where
she was, by the door, sipping her drink for a while. She silently watched everyone
else enjoying themselves at the cheerful gathering. After a little while, she spotted
Sarah and Louise sitting with their significant others. She decided to go over
and chat with them.

Once she'd settled into the party
spirit, the remaining hours passed very quickly. She had a few drinks, double
helpings at the sumptuous buffet and chatted with a whole host of different
people, including plenty of men. Of course, this was a fact she knew would
annoy Logan beyond belief, were he ever to find out.

As promised, Charlotte kept in touch
with Logan via text, every half hour. However, after a couple of hours, he
stopped responding to her messages. Again, that proved to be something of a
relief to her. She simply assumed he was too busy to text back.

Charlotte thoroughly
enjoyed the remainder of the wedding reception. She even got up to dance for a
while with Bethany’s handsome brother. These few enjoyable hours gave her the
rare opportunity to get to know her friends’ other halves. She'd rarely had a
chance to do more than to catch a fleeting glimpse of any of them in passing. Sarah
and Louise expressed their immense disappointment they didn’t get chance to
meet Logan.

“He’s very handsome,
quite a looker, really,” Bethany filled them in, as gossipy as ever. “He's one
of those tall, dark and handsome types; definitely has an air of mystery about
him. He also has this intensity about him, but he was very charming, as well.”

Charlotte rolled her
eyes. “Honestly, Beth.”

“What? It’s true!”
Bethany said.

“Oh, I suppose it's all
true,” she sighed. “I actually noticed those things when we first met. He’s
definitely my type.”

“Well, I should hope he
is,” said Louise. “If you’re living with him.”

“Speaking of which, I’d
better get going. I've got to get back to my good-looking mystery man,”
Charlotte announced with a smile, as she got to her feet after having looked at
her watch and seen the late time.

“But it’s only ten thirty,”
Bethany protested. “We’ve got the room until two a.m. Come on, we were having a
great time. It's not like I get married every day!”

“I know. I've had a great
time. It was really special! But I've gotta go…Logan worries about me, and he’ll
be wondering where I’ve gotten to.”

“You’re not a child or a teenager
anymore, Charlotte. And Logan's not your father,” Sarah said. “You can stay out
until whatever time you'd like.”

“Yeah, I know that,
Sarah,” she said a little more tersely than she'd intended.

Charlotte purposely
softened her voice, “I know I can,” she said, as she put on her coat.

“I just need to get back.
Thanks, Bethany. It’s been a wonderful day and a beautiful wedding. I really
enjoyed it.”

She smiled and said a
quick goodbye to everyone else, complete with hugs and kisses all around.

Then she made her way
through the hotel reception area and went out into the cold, nighttime air,
looking immediately for a taxi to take her back home. Charlotte still hadn’t gotten
any messages from Logan and it had been over three hours now. That was so
unlike him, she was actually starting to get a little worried.

Once she was safely seated
in the back of a cab, she took out her cell phone and called him, rather than texting
him again. After five rings, her call went through to his voicemail.

“Hi Logan. I just wanted
to let you know I’m in a taxi on my way home. Are you okay? I haven't heard
from you in a while. Please call me when you get this message. I'll see you
soon. I love you. Bye.”

She hung up and sighed,
wondering why he hadn’t been in touch for so long.

Twenty minutes later, the
cab was pulling up outside of their house. Logan’s car was parked in the
driveway and the light was on in the living room. He was definitely home. She
was a bit confused and extremely curious about why she hadn't heard from him
and why he hadn't responded to her texts or her call.

Charlotte paid the driver,
waited for her change and thanked him. She quickly got out and made her way to
the front door. She was fumbling for her keys to get in when she noticed the
door wasn’t quite closed. That was also exceptionally unlike Logan, who was typically
so security conscious, to the point he could be described as paranoid.

In Charlotte's tired and
slightly intoxicated state, she didn’t notice the small drops of blood that led
into the entryway and along through the hallway.

“Logan?” She called, as
she stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her. She put her keys and
handbag down on the small table in the corner and took off her coat, hanging it
up on the rack.

“Logan, I’m back,” she
called out.

There was still no
answer. She peered through the entrance into the living room and could see the
back of his head over the top of the sofa. The television was on and he was
apparently staring at it, ignoring her. She wondered what she’d done to upset
him this time. The volume of the TV wasn’t very loud, so she was certain he’d
been able to hear her and was simply choosing not to respond.

“Logan?” she said it
louder, just to make sure.

Nothing, no response.

With a little sigh, she
flicked off her heels and wandered into the tiled living room. As she approached
the sofa, she slipped a little, and upon righting herself, she looked down and
saw a smear of blood on the white tile.

“Logan?” Charlotte said
loudly, quite alarmed by the unexpected sight of blood.

She quickly walked around
the sofa and stopped short. Her eyes were wide with confusion and horror at the
sight before her. Logan was slumped on the sofa, unconscious. His shirt, across
his entire chest was completely red with blood, as was the white leather of the
sofa surrounding him as well as the white shag pile rug beneath his feet.

Charlotte screamed in terror
and surprise, momentarily frozen as she just stared at him in disbelief. She stared
at his lifeless, pale features, not knowing if he was dead or alive.

Oh God! No wonder he hadn’t
responded to my text messages! No wonder he hadn’t been asking me where I was
or keeping his usual tabs on me!

All of this time, for
hours, she’d been dancing, drinking and laughing with her friends. Meanwhile,
Logan had been here, alone on the sofa, bleeding to death. She felt like the
worst person in the world. She felt simply awful. He'd never even wanted them
to go to the wedding, but he'd gone with her. She should've been back earlier!

What if he died
because I'm such a selfish, terrible girlfriend?

An unbelievably
overwhelming feeling of guilt swamped over her, followed by sheer terror and panic.

I have to do something!
What? What should I do? Is he dead? Is he alive?

She realized whether he
was alive or not, she had to believe he still had a chance. She'd call an
ambulance. That's what she'd do!

Suddenly, she leapt into action;
she ran to her handbag by the front door and snatched out her phone. Her
fingers were trembling badly and she felt weak as she dialed 911. It suddenly felt
as if she were in a dream. Nothing felt real to her.

In the back of her mind,
she kept repeating things like,
"This isn't happening," "This
is just a nightmare," "this can't be real," "I'm going to
wake up,"
and,
"Logan's okay."

Charlotte quickly got through
to the emergency services and tried to explain, as calmly as possible, what had
happened and where she was, giving their address. She felt a strange mixture of
panic and detachment, still unsure if this was really happening. She continued
to tell herself that it couldn't be real, although deep down, she knew the
horrific truth.

The woman on the other
end of the phone was very professional. She helped Charlotte remain calm and
kept her on the phone talking until the ambulance arrived. The lady talked her
through checking for some of Logan's vital signs. With help, she found a very
weak pulse. He was still alive, she confirmed.

He's alive! Thank God!
He's not dead! He has a chance!

At the sound of sirens in
the distance, Charlotte hung up the phone and dashed out onto the front lawn.
She stood outside, frantically waving her arms above her head like a mad woman.
She wanted to flag them down, in case they didn’t know where they were going.
She was somehow afraid that they might miss the house without her there. She
was sure they wouldn’t, but at the same time, she didn’t want to take any
chances.

“He’s in there,” she told
the team of paramedic, who burst out of the ambulance and ran around to the
rear before unloading the stretcher and a bag full of medical supplies.

“He's in the living room,
on the sofa. It's on your right as soon as you walk in the front door,” she
said numbly.

One of them merely nodded
in response to show her they’d understood, and then ran into the house.
Charlotte followed swiftly behind them, wanting to make sure they found him and
they weren’t too rough with him. She was panicking, fretting over the smallest
details. She couldn't remember ever feeling so helpless in her life.

“He's got a gunshot wound
to his upper right chest,” she heard the young paramedic say. The woman couldn’t
have been much older than twenty-five.

“He’s lost a lot of
blood, but the injury itself isn’t fatal,” the paramedic stated.

It took Charlotte a while
to realize the paramedic was talking to her. She'd been in a daze, just staring
at Logan’s lifeless-looking, bloody body as they lifted him gently onto the
stretcher.

Two words repeatedly echoed
in her mind, 'gunshot wound.'

How could Logan have
been shot? He was only going to work…wherever that was.

“Yes…” she managed to
choke out, suddenly feeling quite dizzy and sick. Suddenly, she became aware of
a hand on her elbow, guiding her to the door.

“You’re coming along to
the hospital with him, aren’t you? If so, you need to leave with us. We’re
taking him to the hospital now.”

Of course, she was coming
to the hospital. She just needed to figure out how to make her brain and mouth
work in order to tell them. Her mind was not functioning properly. Charlotte
had been in a daze-like state, going in and out of panic. She tried to
concentrate enough to fight her way through the fog.

First, she slowly started
to nod her head, and then she heard her own voice. It sounded odd and as if in
the distance.

“Yes…yes, of course,” she
mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“You’ll need to put some
shoes on, first.”

She looked down at
herself and saw she was still wearing the outfit she'd worn to the wedding. A
modest but flattering red shoulder dress, that ended just above her knees. It
felt totally inappropriate to wear to the hospital.

Well, at least I match
the color of Logan’s blood.
She thought bitterly, as she managed to shove her feet back
into her heels and begin to stagger out of the house to the ambulance.

She felt the cool air
wash over her face, as she went outside. All of the effects of the alcohol
she'd consumed had worn off. She felt completely sober now, the great time that
she’d had at the reception a little while ago was already a distant memory.

Charlotte was guided to
the awaiting vehicle, as she continued to struggle to process what had
happened. None of it seemed real. It was too much to deal with. She felt
overwhelmed and out of her element.

She was helped into the
back of the ambulance and she sat down on one of the spare seats as Logan’s
stretcher was hoisted up and wheeled in beside her. A paramedic handed her the house
keys.

“I’ve locked up the house
for you,” she said kindly.

“Thank you,” Charlotte
whispered, clutching the keys in one hand and reaching for Logan’s hand with
her other.

Charlotte squeezed his
hand tightly for the entire journey as she watched him through a daze, as the
female paramedic went about her work. The young lady seemed to be efficient and
gentle. She looked as if she knew exactly what she was doing. The lady was very
nice, at one point during the journey; she patted Charlotte's hand and declared
that Logan had been stabilized about eight minutes into the drive.

Upon arrival at the
hospital, there was another flurry of activity as Logan was whisked out of the
ambulance and straight into the Emergency ward, leaving Charlotte to get out on
her own and walk inside. As she did so, she wondered where they'd taken him and
what was going to happen next.

As she stood there, just
inside of the hospital entrance, she looked up and around at all of the
different signs and departments. There were three potential directions for her
to choose. A slight panic was beginning to set in, as she realized she had no
idea where to go. She couldn’t even focus on the words properly. She couldn’t
concentrate enough to read.

Charlotte simply wandered
through a random door and came face to face with a tall, well-built and boyishly
handsome man in green scrubs. He was just pulling on a pair of surgical gloves.

“Can I help you?” he
asked.

“I…Logan…I…” Charlotte
mumbled through her daze.

He regarded her with kind
eyes and then put his hand gently on her upper arm.

“You’re in a state of
shock. I’ll take you to the waiting room,” he said kindly.

She let the nice doctor guide
her back through the door and down a short corridor into the Emergency waiting
room. He led her to the chairs.

“There you go. Just sit
down and rest for a bit. You can wait here. There's some coffee over there, in
that corner,” he said kindly, as he gestured to a different part of the large
area.

“Thank you, Doctor?” she
mumbled.

“Brett Devlin.”

Charlotte held out her
hand and he hesitated holding up his gloved hand, “Oh well, I need to change
these anyway,” before shrugging and returning her handshake.

Even through the latex,
Charlotte felt a spark of electricity between them. They stood there hand in
hand, as they held each other’s gaze for just a moment or two longer than normal.
Then he said a quick and uncomfortable goodbye, and disappeared through the
door.

Charlotte immediately
felt another wave of guilt wash over her for flirting with the attractive doctor
while Logan was on the operating table. She berated herself silently before taking
a seat on one of the hard, uncomfortable orange chairs.

She looked around for the
first time since entering the area. There were a couple of other people waiting,
too. Either they were reading the magazines that were strewn around on small
tables, or they were looking at their phones. On a television mounted high on
the wall in one corner of the room, a news program was playing.

Charlotte's brain was
still not fully functioning. She was having trouble concentrating on anything,
unable to focus her mind on any kind of distraction. She simply stared at the
floor and anxiously picked at her polished nails. She was still trying to get
her head around the fact Logan had been shot, although she'd clearly seen the
result with her own eyes. Questions started to bounce around in her mind.

What kind of work did Logan
actually do? Was it legal? Did the shooting have something to do with his mysterious
job? Is that why he'd refused to tell her anything? Had the shooting been a
random attack on his way home? Did someone try to rob him? What the Hell
happened? What if she'd been home even later? Would he have died because of
her? Why didn't she leave earlier?

Charlotte decided no
matter what Logan thought, no matter how secretive or
mysterious
he was,
she'd get some answers out of him, once and for all. She needed to know what he
did for a living. This time, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Even if it
meant hours of him sulking or even an out and out argument. If he was putting
himself in danger, she needed to know about it—she had a right to know.

Charlotte wasn’t sure how
long she’d been waiting. It felt like hours. Checking her watch made little difference,
as she had no idea what time it had been when she’d arrived. Looking around
her, she saw the same three people were still waiting in the room with her.
They were still either reading their magazines or tapping away on their phones.
Perhaps it hadn’t been that long after all.

Finally, after what had seemed
like an eternity, a nurse wearing green scrubs emerged from a set of double
doors.

“Mrs. Tyler?” she asked.

Charlotte stood up and
approached the woman.

“No, we’re not married…”
she said weakly.

This detail seemed
unimportant to the woman.

“The surgery was
successful and Mr. Tyler is in stable condition. Please, come this way,” she
said, as she started walking toward a set of doors.

“Will he be okay?” Charlotte
asked, still reeling from all that had happened.

“He should be fine. The
doctor will give you more details,” the nurse said nicely.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said,
following her through the doors and down the corridor towards his room. “Thank
you so much.”

“He was very lucky you
found him when you did,” the nurse added. “If it was much longer, he would've
lost far too much blood…he might not have made it.”

She silently thanked
herself for being sensible and loyal enough to have left the reception when she
did. The nurse closed the door behind her as she left. Charlotte was left alone
in the small, dimly lit recovery room, standing at the foot of Logan’s bed.

It was quite a shock, to
see him like that—hooked up to machines, a monitor displayed his heart rate and
other vital signs on a small green and black screen accompanied by a rhythmic
beeping sound. She'd tried to avoid hospitals whenever she could. It had been a
long time since she’d been in one.

Logan was still sleeping,
his chest moving up and down in a slow, steady rhythm. There were two hard
backed plastic chairs shoved against one wall. She picked one of them up and placed
it next to his bedside, sitting and reaching for his hand. She held it silently
and waited for him to wake up.