When One Door Opens (4 page)

Logan didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t have any experience with this sort of thing. “Can I ask what the panic attack is like?”

Caleb was quiet long enough to make Logan think he wouldn’t answer before he spoke. “It’s like walking through a haunted house. You know some college student in a cheap costume is going to jump out and try to scare you.” He shook his head. “You know it isn’t real and that you’re not in any danger. But when that arm reaches out and grabs you, your body reacts. You flinch away from the touch, your breathing quickens, and your heart races. You can’t stop it. No amount of logic or reason can stop it.”

Logan froze. He knew that feeling. When a seemingly uncontrollable urge took over and made him crave booze that he knew he shouldn’t drink. He hated that feeling, the absolute helplessness it evoked. He cleared his throat. “I’m supposed to ask you about the radiator.”

Something flashed and then disappeared in an instant on Caleb’s face, something Logan couldn’t identify. His voice sounded wooden when he spoke again. “What’s the penalty for not telling you?”

“He didn’t mention nothing. Just said to ask.”

“I swear he gets off on making me look like a freak.”

“Then blow him off. You don’t need him to get mail or groceries delivered. Why let him bully you?” He didn’t like being Klass’s weapon of choice, but he disliked Caleb passively letting it happen even more.

“I wouldn’t have my business if he hadn’t lent me the startup money.” Caleb said the words grudgingly, his bitterness palpable. “I owe him and he takes full advantage of it in the name of curing me of my little problem.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you these things.”

Logan wasn’t sure why either, but he didn’t want the conversation to end. “I don’t know anything about your uncle, but he acts like he’s worried about you. Like maybe he wants to help you and don’t know how.”

When Caleb spoke again, he turned away, facing the stove as if he didn’t want Logan to see his face. “Two winters ago the radiator broke.” His words were clear and methodical like he’d recited them many times before. “I knew I needed to contact the apartment manager to get it fixed. Even on a Saturday, they would’ve sent someone what with the weather being so cold. All I had to do was p-pick up the ph-phone.”

Caleb paused, taking a slow, deep breath. When he continued, his voice showed no sign of distress, but his shoulders trembled. “I started to call, but then my brain started What If-ing. What if they try to make me leave the apartment or evict me? What if the maintenance guy can’t fix it? What if I go crazy while he’s here? Or I freak the guy out so he rushes the job and the radiator ends up exploding and burning down the apartment complex? I got more and more upset until all I could do was crawl under the covers and bury my head like a little kid afraid of the boogeyman.”

The idea of agoraphobia being potentially deadly wasn’t something Logan had considered. What if there was a fire? Would Caleb refuse to leave his apartment? Moving around the island, Logan brought his hand to Caleb’s shoulder and rested it there, noticing how red and puckered the skin above his too-tight T-shirt collar looked. There was no flinch, no nervous reaction, just a softly exhaled breath before Caleb continued. “I don’t remember anything else before waking up in the hospital four days later. My uncle told me that I was clutching the phone and mumbling
need help
over and over when he found me. I figure I calmed enough to realize I needed help just in time for the hypothermia to completely muddle my brain and make it impossible.” Seeming to shake the dark thoughts off easily, Caleb asked, “Are you hungry?”

Logan’s stomach answered for him while he was still brooding over what Caleb had told him.

Caleb chuckled and began pulling more items from the box of groceries. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Logan walked back to the other side of the island. “I can get something on the way home.” He didn’t sound convincing even to himself. He was so sick of eating fast food he was actually missing prison slop.

Caleb pulled out a grill pan from a bottom cabinet and set the burner to medium. “It’s no bother and this way you can report you saw me eat.” He pulled a loaf of crusty Italian bread from the box and began slicing it. The fresh-baked aroma had been torturing Logan since he’d retrieved the order. His stomach gave another gurgling grumble. Last night’s dinner had consisted of stale crackers, peanut butter, and water. At least in prison, he got a carton of milk.
God, I’m pathetic.
Realizing what Caleb had said, Logan replied, “He don’t ask for specifics, just wants to know if you’re okay.”

Opening a jar of red roasted peppers with more force than necessary, Caleb said, “Marco said he wasn’t allowed to tell me.” He pulled out two peppers and placed them on a cutting board with a splat. He started chopping them with enough force to make Logan concerned for his fingers.

Hoping to distract the man from his thoughts, Logan asked, “Was Marco an ex-con like me?”

Caleb froze, the knife poised over the peppers.

Logan blinked. “Your uncle didn’t tell you? What the hell was the guy thinking?”

Caleb shook his head, his green eyes wide. “But he did call me right after you left.”

The sudden anger this answer evoked was almost overwhelming, and Logan couldn’t stop himself from saying, “That ain’t good enough. He should have told you I had a record. For all he knew, I could’ve forced you to say everything was okay.”

Seeing Caleb’s distressed face, Logan willed the anger from his voice and asked, “Why would he pick me of all people?”
Why trust me with you?
was his unspoken thought. Klass had to know what a vulnerable position his nephew was in, or he was a complete moron. A guy too afraid to call a maintenance worker wouldn’t be likely to call the cops either.

Caleb’s cheeks flushed, and he ducked his head. He started assembling the sandwiches, layering the bread with slices of ham, some sort of white cheese, and the peppers. “I can guess why,” he said, sneaking a peek at Logan before lowering his head again, “but you probably don’t want to know.”

“Tell me.”

He lowered his long gold lashes. “Um… I told you my uncle has a twisted sense of humor.” Turning his back to Logan, he placed the sandwiches on the grill. He then grabbed a cast-iron skillet and placed it on top of them for some reason before he spoke again. “Well, I have a type and… you’re pretty much it.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “So you and Marco….”

Caleb spun around. “No,” he said, holding out his hands. “Marco is married and even if he hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have been interested.” He grabbed a sponge from the sink and wiped the cutting board before putting it away. He then went to work on the counter, keeping his eyes cast down as if the cleaning needed his full attention.

Ignoring the alarm sirens hammering Logan’s skull, he asked, “Why not?”

Caleb didn’t say anything at first, turning back toward the stove. He flipped over the sandwiches and replaced the skillet. “Marco’s a good guy—even if he has the annoying view I should be more obedient toward my uncle.” He shrugged. “It’s not something I’ve done… or wanted to do since I stopped going out.”

After moving around the island, Logan pulled on Caleb’s arm, encouraging him to turn back around. “I know the feeling,” he said, keeping his voice low and serious. “Guys named Spike and Bubba were just dying to date me in the pen.” When Caleb’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, Logan couldn’t maintain the façade. He laughed, and then laughed harder when Caleb swatted his arm in indignation.

“Let’s eat, Romeo.” Removing a set of plates from the cabinet, Caleb directed Logan to sit on a stool in front of the island while he placed the sandwiches on plates and added a handful of tortilla chips.

As Logan bit into his sandwich, he lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, man, that’s good.” The saltiness of the ham and cheese mixed with the smoky tang of the peppers blended perfectly.

Caleb smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” He handed Logan a bottle of water from the fridge. “Marco was too chicken to eat the crazy gringo’s cooking.”

“He’s an idiot,” Logan said around a mouthful of sandwich. “I should be paying you for this.”

Caleb concentrated on his own sandwich, a hint of a blush touching his cheeks. They finished the meal in companionable silence. After clearing away the dishes, Caleb flipped over the box, causing the oatmeal packet to plop to the floor. He bent over to retrieve it, and Logan bit his tongue to keep from groaning. Logan watched Caleb break into laughter when he read the package. It seemed to light his entire face. He hoped he would see that light again.

Caleb walked Logan to the door. As it opened, a woman’s shrill voice called out to them.

“Hello, Mrs. Simon,” Caleb said, poking his head through the opening. Logan observed the white-knuckled grip Caleb had on the doorframe. He peered over the top of Caleb’s head to see an elderly woman in a white blouse and a long, flower-patterned skirt standing in front of the apartment across the hall.

“Who’s that strapping young man you’ve got with you?”

“Come on,” Logan whispered, grabbing Caleb under the armpits and hauling him into the hall. He ignored Caleb’s yelp and continued, “Introduce me to the old bird before she starts beating us with her twenty pound purse.”

Moisture dotted Caleb’s forehead, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Logan Sellers.”

The old woman shuffled across the hall. Her thick silvery-white hair was pulled back in a long braid from a fine-boned face. She was so tiny that Logan thought he’d have to kneel just to shake her hand. She saved him the trouble by squeezing his elbow in greeting. “Glad to meet you, sonny.”

She looked at Caleb and dished out the kind of embarrassment only the ancient can get away with. “Is he your boyfriend?” She tilted her head back to look Logan over and said, “He’s quite a big fella.”

Caleb looked down, and spots of high color appeared over his cheekbones. “He’s Marco’s replacement, not my… uh… boyfriend.”

A twinkle shined in Mrs. Simon’s eyes as she pursed her lips. “Caleb, dear,” she said, laying a delicate hand on his arm. “Could you give me a hand with some boxes?”

Not looking the old woman in the eye, Caleb said, “Actually, I really need to work.” He looked at Logan, his eyes wild. “Could you help her?”

“Sure thing.”

Caleb nodded his head vigorously. “Great. That’s great. Thanks.” He scurried back into his apartment and secured the door. Sneaky bastard.

The old bird’s affable demeanor disappeared with the slide of the lock. “You,” she said, pointing a bony finger against Logan’s stomach. “Come with me.” She turned toward her door, not bothering to see whether he followed. He did the only thing he could. He followed.

Logan took in the apartment. It mirrored Caleb’s, but it couldn’t be more different. Lacy cream curtains let the light soak the room. A sparse collection of antique and uncomfortable-looking furniture populated the main area. Doilies and crocheted blankets covered every available surface. He rubbed his nose as the smell of potpourri and cat hair invaded his nostrils. An enormous orange cat groomed itself on the pillow-piled sofa.

Mrs. Simon settled herself primly on the couch, smoothing her skirt. “Have a seat, sonny.”

Logan eyed the little paisley couch dubiously before taking a seat. The springs squealed in protest when he settled into place.

She folded her hands in her lap. “I have a hard enough time getting that boy to come over here without you offering to do it for him. He’s too scared unless he thinks I need his help.”

“Maybe he just don’t like cats,” Logan grumbled when the tabby came over to investigate him. He didn’t cringe away from its polka-dotted nose sniffing his arm, but it was a near thing.

“Do you know about what happened with the radiator?” Mrs. Simon asked, reaching for the orange cat, and cuddling him in her arms. Logan was surprised she could lift the thing. It had to be part tiger.

“Yeah, Caleb told me.”

“Before that, his uncle used to try harder to get Caleb help, but realizing that Caleb would rather die than leave his apartment shook him to the core.” The monster in her lap began to purr like a Harley when she rubbed behind its ear. “But what his uncle doesn’t understand is it wasn’t about choice. Do you know why so many old folks die when the weather turns really hot?”

When Logan shook his head, she continued, her voice somber. “The frailty of the body as we age is part of it but not all of it. They die because they are too afraid to open the windows. They know how dangerous the heat can be, but they are more terrified of a robber coming into their homes than they are of dying from the high temperatures. Caleb didn’t choose to die. He was just more afraid of the alternative.”

Logan hadn’t thought of it like that, but it made a twisted sort of sense. Caleb chose to risk freezing to death instead of the possibility of burning if the radiator exploded. It would be damn terrifying to believe those his only options.

“Someone has to help that child, and that uncle of his sure as heckfire doesn’t know how.”

Logan snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.” It bothered him more than it should. He knew there were professionals who checked on housebound people.
Maybe they’re more expensive and Klass’s a cheap bastard.
Except Caleb ran his own business and, by the look of his apartment, was doing good. Whatever the reason, Caleb needed to know who his uncle was bringing in to help him. Logan wouldn’t do anything to hurt Caleb, but Klass didn’t know that.

“Caleb’s a nice young man and would have a lot to offer someone.” She paused, giving Logan a pointed look that made his ears burn. “I imagine it won’t be long before he’s snatched up.” The unspoken challenge was clear in her voice. He stifled the urge to tell her to mind her own damn business. The idea of her working her matchmaking skills on Caleb irked him irrationally. He’d give her credit; she was a perceptive old lady. Most people were too busy gawking at his height to wonder about his orientation. She’d figured it out in a matter of seconds. That she thought he might be a potential match for Caleb surprised him, but it wasn’t like he wore a name tag reading “alcoholic ex-con.” If she knew his background, she’d likely never consider him as boyfriend material. Shaking off the thought, he offered his hand and said good-bye before heading out.