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.
