Page 35 of Duty Devoted
When the tears finally stopped, I felt empty, hollowed out. I sat there staring at the dirt floor and felt nothing at all.
That was how Logan found me when he returned—sitting exactly where he’d left me, tear tracks dried on my cheeks, staring at the wall with empty eyes.
“Lauren.” His voice was soft, concerned. “How long have you been like this?”
I blinked, trying to focus. “Like what?”
“You didn’t even hear me come in.” He set down a small collection of items—I couldn’t make out what they were. “That’s not good in our situation.”
He was right. I’d been completely unaware, lost in shock and grief. In a hostile environment, that kind of mental absence could get us both killed.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t apologize.” Logan knelt beside the cot, his expression caring. “You’ve had the worst day imaginable. Your body is protecting you the only way it knows how.”
With surprising tenderness, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face. The simple gesture had me longingfor comfort, and I found myself leaning into his touch without thinking.
“Did you find everything we need?” I asked, trying to focus on practical matters.
“Some of it. Not much available without breaking in to occupied homes, and I won’t risk that.” He gestured to his small pile of supplies. “What I really need is a cup or something that can hold water. We’ll find something before we leave.”
Logan opened my medical bag, spreading the contents on the broken table. “We need to go through this, take only what might be useful for the trek.”
I watched with detached interest as he sorted through the supplies. Surgical instruments went into a discard pile—likely unnecessary. But gauze, antibiotics, pain medication, and basic wound care supplies went into the keep pile.
“We’ll need to leave the obstetric equipment,” Logan explained as he worked. “Too specialized, too heavy for what we might encounter.”
“And this bag is too bright,” he said, holding up the yellow canvas. “Might as well paint a target on our backs.”
He stepped outside and returned with a handful of dirt and dead leaves, which he began rubbing into the bright fabric. I watched him work, systematically destroying the cheerful yellow that had made the bag easy to spot in any medical emergency.
Now, it would blend into the jungle, invisible to searching eyes. Like we needed to be.
“Lie down,” he said when he finished, his voice carrying calm authority. “You need rest before we start our journey. It’s going to be hard going.”
I wanted to argue, to insist I was fine, but exhaustion was pulling at me like a tide. The narrow cot creaked as I settled onto it, using my folded spare scrubs as a pillow.
Logan continued organizing supplies in the dim light filtering through the broken windows. There was something hypnotic about watching him work—the careful way he checked each item, the quiet competence in every gesture.
“Logan,” I said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For not leaving me behind when I’m…like this.”
He paused in his preparations, meeting my eyes across the small space. “I don’t leave people behind.”
“Even when they’re falling apart?”
“You’re not falling apart. You watched a man get murdered, delivered a baby and saved two lives today, then escaped armed pursuit. Most people would be completely nonfunctional by now.”
“I feel nonfunctional.”
“But you’re not. You’re here, you’re talking, you’re still thinking about your patients. That’s not falling apart—that’s being human.”
He returned to his organizing, moving with silent efficiency. “Try to sleep. We’ll need to leave before dawn, while it’s still dark and most people are asleep.”
“What about you?”
