“Logan? Logan Miller?” There’s a female voice over my head. “I think we need coffee over here Ed,” she calls to the back of the café. Thump! She must have taken the seat across from me. I rub my forehead on my arm. My head pounds too hard to raise it. Clunk! The sound of a cup, placed on the table, is like shards of glass stabbing my eardrums. “Thanks, babe. Logan, do you need us to call someone?" “No,” I grunt. “Can we take you to the clinic?” “No,” I grunt again. My throat