Read Online Hannah's Touch by Laura Langston - Free Book Online

go.”
    â€œI’m not judging you.”
    His eyes flew open. “You are.”
    I didn’t respond.
    â€œI don’t need you beating me up. I can beat myself up.”
    Yeah, right. If Tom had a conscience, I’d never seen it. More tongue-biting.
    â€œDon’t you believe me? Don’t you think I’m sorry?”
    No . My tongue was probably bleeding by now.
    He fisted the hospital blanket in his hand. “I have a real bad infection.”
    Here was my chance to tell him. I opened my mouth, but he spoke before I could.
    â€œI could lose my leg. They’re deciding tomorrow.”
    My control broke. “You’re worried about your leg? Logan’s dead. I bet he’d trade you places.”
    â€œYou think I don’t know that?” His voice climbed. Moisture pooled in the corner of his eyes. “I can’t forget. I never will! Logan was my best friend. If it wasn’t for me, he’d still be—” His face crumbled. He rolled over and faced the wall. “Get out of here.”
    Oh, crap. His anger was one thing, but I hadn’t expected him to cry.
    His shoulders shook. Tears mangled his words. “Just go!” Great gulping sobs filled the room.
    He was crying the way I’d cried for months after Logan’s death. My old pain yawned open, a great black hole that threatened to suck me in.
    Blinking back tears, I rushed to shut the door. I didn’t want the nurse to hear. I prayed his mom would take her time too.
    â€œLogan wouldn’t want this,” I said, sitting back down.
    His answering wail was haunting; it curled the hair on the back of my neck. “Tom!” I reached out but stopped just short of touching him. I was afraid to. “Tom, don’t.”
    He kept crying.
    After a minute, I couldn’t stand it. There was only one way to comfort him. Taking a deep breath, I reached out and touched his shoulder.

Chapter Eleven
    I was taking a chance. If Lexi felt something when I touched her, Tom might too. But I couldn’t let fear stand in the way of being kind. Touching Tom felt right and natural. Since the accident, there’d been moments when my grief for Logan had almost choked me. Sometimes I’d been alone with it. Other times Mom had been there, stroking my hair, soothing me with her touch.
    Tom deserved the same comfort. “I know you’re hurting.” I rubbed his bony shoulder through the sheet. “I know you feel bad. I do. But it’ll get better. It will.”
    I braced myself for the hum, for the stretch, for the presence. A part of me wanted it to come, and bring Logan with it, and a part of me wanted it to stay away forever so I could be normal again.
    But all I felt was Tom’s misery, the guilt that needled him with every breath. His leg wasn’t the only thing hurting. The pain of Logan’s death was like a black mark on his soul.
    He blamed himself. I saw that now.
    He’d been hiding his feelings behind a mask of indifference and cruelty. That’s probably why he drank so much. To try and forget. It was working so well for him too. Not.
    After a minute, his crying slowed. I kept my hand on his shoulder and willed the presence to come. For the first time, I wanted it to come. I wanted Tom well.
    But my body was as empty as a glass waiting for milk.
    It wasn’t going to work. M.C. was wrong. Marie was right. I had imagined everything. So what was it Logan was trying to tell me? Why was I here?
    Tom shifted under the covers. I lifted my hand and leaned back in my chair. He rolled over, stared up at the ceiling. He was probably dead with embarrassment. I would have been. Dead with embarrassment. The irony of the phrase didn’t escape me.
    â€œMarie and Lexi will probably come by this afternoon.” I wanted to pretend the last five minutes hadn’t happened.
    He was silent.
    â€œEverybody’s worried about you.”
    He turned his head. His cheeks