Crow is staring at us, and I start to apologize. “Logan, I’m so sorry. I’m sure you had places to be today…”

  He holds up a hand. “That’s all right.” He sets my purse on the table next to the box of tissues. “I’m free today. Was happy to help. Are they going to release you, you think?”

  I shrug. “I hope so. They’re waiting for the results of one of the tests to make sure I don’t have…” I pause, not wanting to say too much in front of Mia. “…anything going on. Once that’s back, I’m hoping they will let me go. I just want to go home and rest in my own bed. Put this whole day behind me.” I look at the man, so huge in this small space that he looks like he hardly fits. He’s hunching his shoulders, and I notice he’s wearing running clothes. “Logan, I…I don’t know how to thank you. You drove Mia here? How did you even know to come help?”

  “I was running by, and Mia asked to use my phone to call 9-1-1. She was a real champ. Your phone seems to be missing, but she was able to find your keys and purse, so I drove her here. The police offered to bring her, but she wanted to ride in the car so you’d have a way home. And so she could ride in her seat thing there.” He nods, and a flush of embarrassment heats my cheeks.

  I was almost out of gas, and the car was probably a mess. I don’t know how he even fit in my small sedan. The man’s legs look like tree trunks stuffed into gray sweatpants.

  “Mia was a real hero,” he says, nodding at her. He’s so serious, but there’s a lightness that comes through the dark exterior. “I just followed her lead. She knew exactly what to do.”

  “What happened after I fell down the stairs, baby?” I stroke Mia’s hair, desperately wanting to fill in the gaps. I have vague memories. I know I lost consciousness for a bit, but mostly, I remember being scared and in pain and feeling like if I moved, I’d get sick.

  “I couldn’t find your phone, so I went outside. I knocked on the house next door, but no one answered.”

  Oh God. My heart lodges in my throat as I picture my baby, her tiny fist pounding on a neighbor’s door for help. How scared she must have been.

  “Then Crow ran by and stopped.” Mia points to Logan and gives him a smile. “Although if he was really a crow, he would have been flying.” She giggles. “And you know the rest, Mama.”

  I don’t, though. I don’t know the rest, and I want to. Want to know every second of what happened when this man stepped into my house, swooping in to save the day.

  “I don’t know how I can repay you,” I say. “I’d like to try. Can I get your contact information? Buy you dinner or… I don’t know, Logan. Crow.” As I start to get stressed out thinking about what comes next, everything just hurts. My face, my head. My heart. I rest my chin against Mia’s head and close my eyes. “I would take your contact information, but like you said, I have no clue where my phone is. I was at the top of the stairs talking to my boss when I dropped it.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  I stop him with a hand. “Please,” I say. “My God, you’ve done so much. I insist.”

  His dark eyes grow more intense as he looks at me, his full lips set in a serious frown. Not a frown, exactly, but when I look past the sexy stubble, his mouth is tight. Like he’s uncomfortable. And the poor man probably is.

  “I…I have my own debts to repay. I was happy to help. Don’t worry about it.”

  His own debts to repay…

  I watch the attractive stranger and try to make sense of his words. But before I can think it through, there’s a sudden sound of footsteps outside my little partition.

  “Ms. Connor?” The nurse pops her head past the curtain. She looks from Mia to Logan. “There are a couple officers here. They’d like to ask you a few questions if you’re feeling up to it.”

  “The police?” I’m confused. Why on earth would the police show up here with questions?

  Logan’s lips tighten into a very decisive frown now. He nods at me. “A woman with an injury and a man on the scene.” He rubs the stubble on his chin with a hand. “Doesn’t look good.”

  With those three words, I understand.

  “I’m fine to talk to them,” I tell the nurse with a smile. “Thank you.”

  The officers step through the curtain and look from Logan to Mia to me.

  “Ms. Connor?” the younger of the two talks to me, while the older man stands beside Logan. “How are you feeling?”

  I give them a weak smile and meet the officer’s eyes. “I’m so much better now. Thank you.” I motion to Logan. “Logan, would you mind taking Mia to the cafeteria for something to eat?” I kiss my daughter’s hair. “I’ll bet she’s starving.”

  Mia nods and gives me a hug before scooting to the edge of the bed. Logan reaches out a hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. He helps her jump down from the bed, and then, Gavin in one hand and my daughter’s in the other, he looks away from the cops.

  “Logan, take my purse. You can use my debit card. I don’t think I have any cash.” I mentally calculate the balance in my account, but unless Logan buys Mia everything in the cafeteria, I should have enough in there to cover it. “And of course, please get yourself whatever you need. You’ve got to be starving.”

  He shakes his head. “I’ve got it covered. We’ll be back later.”

  As this stranger takes my daughter away yet again, I rest my head back against the pillows. I’m so, so tired. There is no reason I should trust this man with Mia, and yet, I feel a lot more concerned about why the police are here.

  “Ms. Connor.” The officer points to my forehead. “Looks like you have a pretty nasty cut there. Do you remember how it happened?”

  I give the officers another smile. They are just doing their job. I try to remind myself that if I were a victim of violence, I’d need them to do exactly what they are here to do right now. Following up. Confirming. Making sure I am safe.

  “I do remember,” I say. “I’ve been having headaches lately. One came on really fast this morning, and I tripped over some loose carpeting on the stairs. I’ve been meaning to fix it, but…I’ve been meaning to get to a lot of things.”

  They ask me a few more questions. About Logan, how long I’ve known him, and whether he was in my house any time before the 9-1-1 call. On some level, I appreciate that these men are doing a job. But right now, I’m exhausted. I’m sure there are women out there who need this kind of intervention, but that’s not the case here.

  “Can I give you a business card?” the officer asks after I answer all their questions. “If you need support, the county has some services.”

  I don’t hesitate before answering. “Sure, of course. Thank you.”

  They hand me a business card. It’s got a sunshine logo on it and has a toll-free number I can call for information about county programs. But since there’s no crime, there’s no problem. And nothing more for the officers to do here.

  “Best of luck with your headaches, ma’am.” They look me over one last time and then head out.

  When I’m finally alone, I lay my head back against the pillows and close my eyes. I have no clue who I’m going to call or how I’m going to manage the mess I’ve made of today.

  When the curtain moves aside and Mia and Logan come back, I’m surprised at the relief I feel looking at their faces.

  Logan’s chin is set, and his dark eyes flash. “Everything all right here?”

  I understand what he’s asking, and I nod. “Yeah,” I sigh. “They left.”

  The doctor comes in then, and the tiny space is suddenly very crowded. Logan steps aside but stays close to the curtain. Mia climbs back into my lap.

  “So, I have some good news.” The doctor explains that I have a mild concussion from the fall. “That was a decent tumble you took,” he says. “The cut on your face is likely to swell, and don’t be surprised if you get a black eye and some bruising, but there’s nothing on the initial scan to suggest a serious brain injury.”

  When he says brain injury, I look at Mia, but she doesn’t look afraid. She looks tired and is resting her head against the front of my hospital gown.

  “Do you have help at home?” The doctor looks from Logan to me. He doesn’t wait for me to answer and starts explaining post-concussion care. What I should do, what I shouldn’t. He hands me a bunch of paperwork so I can follow up with some other doctors this week, but the real kicker comes when he says at the end, “Since we don’t know how exactly the fall happened, I’m tempted to medically restrict you from driving.”

  No driving?

  “What?” I ask. “Why? For how long?”

  He hands me a fact sheet about concussions and recovery. “I recommend you take a week to ten days to recover. No strenuous activity, no driving. If you can get into a specialist in the next two weeks, that doctor will want to run tests and can better assess how you’re recovering. That should provide a clearer idea of the timeline for a return to normal levels of activity.”

  I lower my chin and say nothing. A week to ten days? And then maybe longer? I feel the sting of defeated tears burn my eyes. The fall, the fear, the pain, the costs… That would have been enough. But now this? Everything about my whole life is going to be disrupted. Making things even harder for both me and my child. Harder is something I literally cannot afford. Disruption is something I’m not prepared to work around.

  My lower lip trembles, and I bite it to try to keep myself calm. The doctor is talking about symptoms, what to look out for over the next few days, but I can’t listen. Can’t focus.

  “Bridget, do you have a ride home?” The doctor must have asked this already because the silence in the room as he waits for my answer feels heavy. Like he’s weighing whether I’m ready to go home based on how well I understand him.

  Before I have the chance to say a word, Logan speaks up.

  “Yeah. I’m driving her.” His stare on me is intense, searching. I can’t say for sure why being the center of this man’s attention isn’t unnerving. There’s kindness and sadness behind Logan’s very guarded expression. “I’ll take care of everything,” he says.

  He can’t. I know he can’t. I don’t even know what he means by that. He’s a stranger.

  But as I study him, I think through what he’s done today alone. He’s held my purse, my daughter’s hand, and Gavin the giraffe. Tears sting my eyes, and I think about calling everyone in my phone book, even Mia’s dad, but without my phone…I’ll never remember anyone’s number. I’m fully fucked. Without options. Helpless. And that feeling crushes me.

  As if picking up on my struggle, Logan looks at me, his brows knitted together in worry.

  I shake my head and start to resist, but just then, Mia drops Gavin on the floor, and Logan bends down to pick up the plush toy. When he does, he lifts Gav and brushes him off, removing nonexistent dust from the floor.

  “This guy might need a bath later,” Logan says, his voice soft. “He keeps ending up on the floor.”

  Mia giggles and takes the toy back.

  I swallow hard, and I search the faces of the men in the room—the doctor, who has no clue what anxiety his words are causing. And this other man. The one who’s given up almost a whole day of his life for a stranger in need. My mom is gone; Mia’s dad’s not here. I struggle to accept the feeling I’ve been fighting for months now—defeat. But I’m there. Out of options. And the one ray of light in my world is a dark, handsome man who looks like he’s carrying burdens of his own.

  I should say no. Should refuse his help. I can never repay it. I know that. Whether it’s money or time or something else he’ll want in return, I know I won’t have it. I have nothing to give anyone.

  “Thank you, Logan,” I say quietly, squeezing Mia tight.

  This is just a ride. That’s it. I’m going to let him take me as far as the front door of my house. Once I close the door and get back inside, I’ll be alone again. I promise myself that I’ll repay him for his kindness and help, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep myself and Mia afloat.

  6

  CROW

  The drive back to Bridget’s house is a lot more awkward than I expect. Mia chatters away about school and dinner, while Bridget listens beside me in the front seat. I can tell her mind is racing. She’s twisting a business card in her hands, tearing at the edges with her nails. The tension she’s giving off can’t be good for her head.

  “That from the cops?” I ask quietly, ticking my chin at her hands.

  She nods, and I hear something pained in her voice as she says, “County services. In case I need them.”

  I pull into a cheap gas station not far from the hospital. Bridget tries to shove her debit card at me. I ignore her and turn to get out, but she stops me with a hand on my arm.

  Her hand on me is firm and warm, surprisingly strong after what she’s been through today. Her face is starting to bruise and swell from the stitches, and her color isn’t great. She needs some food and some real rest, but when she touches me, I get lost for a moment in the sensation.

  “Logan,” she says, her voice soft. “You’ve done so much. I can pay for the gas.”

  “How about this,” I say. “You stop trying to fight me and rest.”

  Bridget looks confused. “And if I do? You’ll let me pay for the gas?”

  I smile. “No. But you might as well save your energy and stop fighting me since you’re going to lose either way.” I look down at her slim fingers lightly pressing against the inked birds on my arm. I pull away from her touch and immediately miss the contact.

  “Relax,” I tell her. “I’m just going to put a couple bucks in the tank.”

  I don’t want any more hurt for Birdie. Whether I know her or not, I recognize the struggle in her eyes. The defeat. And if I can take a little bit of that away from her by just doing what I can, then I’m going to. It’s a lot more than I can do for myself.

  Despite driving on empty, Bridget’s car has been fairly well maintained. I make a note to pop the hood when we get back to her place, but then I remember the stairs and the missing phone. There’s a lot more to do than giving her car an inspection.

  I start making lists in my head and recognize an unfamiliar feeling in my chest. It’s new, and it drives me forward, like an invisible thread that I can follow from one moment to the next.

  Maybe it’s a weird form of power. Maybe it’s hope. All I know is, for the first time in a damn long time, I like the way things feel. I’m sweaty and hungry and would really like to get out of these funky running shoes, but having Bridget in the car, her eyes following my every move, and Mia in the back, a little bit more of that sadness gone from her face… This feels a lot like living. Like life.

  It’s nothing I’ve felt in years.

  And it feels good.

  I give the hood an approving tap and then climb in behind the wheel. “Car’s in good shape,” I say. “I only had enough cash on me for a couple gallons, but it’ll get us home.”

  Birdie’s eyes are half closed, but she smiles when she thanks me. “Are you a mechanic?” she asks. “The only way my luck could get better today is if you told me you were a headache specialist.”

  “I cause more headaches than I cure,” I say, a half grin on my lips. “But yeah, I work with these.” I crack my knuckles and then start up the car and head back toward Bridget’s house. “Cars, houses, small engines. If it’s mechanical, I can probably get it going. Electronics—phones, computers…not so much.”

  Her eyes are fully closed now, and I notice that Mia has dozed off in the warmth of the late afternoon. The sunlight hits her face, and I watch the rays move from her to her stuffed toy as I drive.

  Mia seems to relax more the farther we get from the hospital, and I do the same. The tension in my shoulders sags, and suddenly, I’m tired too. Exhausted.

  When we arrive at the house, I pull the car into the exact spot it was parked this morning, right outside at the curb. I hurry around to the passenger side and help Bridget out. I offer her my hand, and at first, she refuses.

  “I’m okay,” she says. “I can do it.”

  But then she reaches for the strap of her purse and moans slightly as she angles the strap over her shoulder.

  “Okay,” she chuckles, holding out her hand. “I’m not going to be a hero.”

  I take her hand, and she looks from our hands clasped tightly palm-to-palm and carefully steps onto the sidewalk.

  “Thank you,” she says, her voice tight.

  “Got your keys?” I ask.

  She unzips her bag and digs through it while I open the back door and unfasten Mia’s seat belt. She wakes up as I snap the buckle a little loudly.

  “Sorry to wake you,” I mutter. “But we’re home, Mia.”

  She yawns and then gives me a sleepy grin before handing Gavin to me while she climbs out of the back.

  Bridget locks the car, and the three of us walk to the front door, a ragtag, worn-out group. It’s been a day, but walking up to the house feels somehow familiar. Right. And that fucking scares me.

  Once Bridget unlocks that door, my reason for being here will end. That sneaks up on me like a wildfire, and I feel a sudden dread replace the momentary good feelings. Somehow dread feels easier, more familiar.

  I let it take over. I don’t belong here. I’m just the good Samaritan. The ride home. All the light and hope of just a few minutes ago start seeping away.

  Bridget’s hand is shaky as she jingles her keys and puts the house key into the lock. She doesn’t seem like she should be alone just yet. But what am I going to do? Leave Mia and Bridget to fend for themselves all night?

  Yes, I tell myself. That’s exactly what I have to do. This may have been the best day of the last few years for me, but this has been a horrible one for Bridget and Mia. I’m sure they just want to put all this behind them. Including me.

  Bridget opens the door, and Mia runs inside. She races ahead to use the bathroom, leaving her mother and me alone.