Just him.
Clean and dead.”
I remember watching Mickey
drag my body into the hall,
start CPR with Siobhan.
No matter how much they pressed
and breathed
and cried
and cursed
and screeeeeeeeamed,
I couldn’t come back.
“I’m sorry.”
Krista repeats my words.
“Who’s sorry?” Mickey asks her.
“You or him?”
“When I speak for myself,
I’ll hold up my hand.”
She makes a Boy-Scouty gesture,
then lowers her hand.
“Logan is sorry.”
He flinches at the sound of my name.
“What the hell’s he sorry about?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him.
“But you were really pissed off that night,
so I figured I should apologize.”
Mickey puts his head in his hands
when he hears my answer.
“I didn’t mean to yell at him.”
“You always yelled at me.”
I pause to let Krista translate.