Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
TESSA
I’m absolutely freaking out.
After Logan reluctantly left with his coffee earlier, Preston has barely taken his eyes off me. He’s sitting at the corner table, laptop open but untouched, watching me with so much disdain that it chills the blood in my veins.
I go through the motions—making drinks, smiling at customers—but internally, I’m panicking. My hands shake as I pour steamed milk. My throat tightens every time I feel his eyes on me. I don’t know what to do.
Preston may not know exactly what’s going on with Logan, but he knows something is off.
No, I’m not cheating on Preston. But that doesn’t matter. Even if I told him that Logan and I are just friends, that he comes in every day for coffee and chats with me for a few minutes, it wouldn’t matter. He doesn’t like it, and he’s going to make sure I know that.
What’s even worse is that he believes I lied to him. And that’s going to make the consequences all the more awful.
Layla came in a couple of hours ago, and she may not have been here when Preston saw Logan, but she clearly knows something is wrong.
She’s been extra gentle with me, the way she always is when she knows I’m hurting—offering extra doses of kindness and smiles that reassure me she loves me and that she’s here for me.
I know she wants to help. I wish I could let her. But Preston would eat her alive, and I can’t let anything happen to her.
“Hey,” she says gently, sidling up beside me at the espresso machine. “Would you mind taking the trash out back to the dumpster?”
I look at her, confused. The trash is only half full, and we normally don’t take it out to the back alley until closing as part of our end-of-day duties. But something in the way she asks—almost pleading—makes my stomach tighten.
I swallow hard. “Sure.”
“Thanks,” she says cheerfully, her voice a little too bright. “You know how much I hate trash duty. I’ll handle things up here.” She grins before turning to greet the next customer.
I gather the top of the plastic bag and tie it into a knot. Pulling the trash from the bin, I make my way through the back and out the rear door into the alleyway.
As the swinging door that separates the back of the shop from the front closes behind me, I swear I catch a glimpse of some of the Cranes hockey players walking in through the front entrance.
I can’t be certain, but they look so familiar—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with that easy athletic confidence.
My mind flashes back to my Instagram scrolling, and I wonder if they’re Logan’s teammates.
I don’t stop to verify. Instead, trash bag in hand, I push through the back door and step into the alley.
Layla and I have a form of unspoken communication we’ve built over the years because Preston is almost always nearby.
It’s been out of necessity. There was something in her voice just now—a pleading tone that begged me not to question her and to just do what she asked.
And if there’s anyone I trust in this world, it’s Layla.
I step into the dim alley, the summer heat still clinging to the brick walls despite the late hour. I toss the garbage bag into the dumpster, and the metallic clang echoes off the narrow space.
And that’s when I see him.
Logan.
He’s leaning against the brick wall of the building, one shoulder pressed into it, arms crossed loosely over his chest. There’s something in his expression—something that resembles heartbreak, or pain, or both—etched across his face.
“Hey,” he says, offering a sad smile.
“Hi,” I reply, hesitant, my eyes darting back toward the door, making sure no one else is watching us.
“He’s still at the table,” Logan says quietly, reading my fear.
“Oh.” I nod. “Okay.” The word comes out barely above a whisper.
He takes a step toward me, and I flinch on instinct. My body reacts before my brain can stop it.
He immediately stops, his eyes widening. “Tessa.” There’s agony in his voice—raw and unfiltered. “You know I would never hurt you.”
No, I don’t know that, I think. I don’t know anything. So I don’t answer.
Logan stays where he is, rooted to the spot as if he’s reading my mind.
“You don’t know that,” he says quietly, shaking his head.
His lips pull into a frown. “How could you? I’m sure he’s told you so many things that turned out to be lies.
I know you probably feel like you can’t trust anybody, but I’m telling you—you can trust me.
I will never…” His voice catches. “I will never hurt you. I’m just asking you to trust me. ”
I scoff, the sound bitter even to my own ears. “I can’t trust you, Logan. I can’t trust anybody. If you knew me—if you really knew anything about me—you would see that.”
“I get it,” he says, his voice steady. “But I’m begging you to trust me tonight because I’m getting you out of here.”
“What?” My voice jumps an octave as I take a step back. “What do you mean?”
“I need you to come with me,” he says. “I’m taking you away from here, away from him, so he can’t hurt you.”
“I-I-I—” I stutter, my voice turning shrill, panic clawing up my throat. “I can’t go with you. First of all, I barely know you, Logan. And second of all, he will find me. No matter where I go, he will find me.”
“He won’t,” Logan says firmly, taking another careful step forward. “I can keep you safe.”
My lip quivers as a tear slides down my cheek, hot and unwelcome. “No one can keep me safe. You don’t get it. I will never be safe.”
He slowly inches toward me and gently takes my hands in his. His palms are warm, steady, and nothing like Preston’s grip—no pressure, no demand, just an offer.
I want to flinch. To recoil. My body isn’t used to kind touch.
But even as I tell him I can’t trust him, something in me feels like I can.
The emotion in Logan’s voice is thick, urgent.
“Please understand, Tessa, that I can’t leave you here.
I can’t walk away knowing he’s going to hurt you because of me.
Don’t you understand that I can’t do that?
” His grip tightens just slightly—not possessive, not demanding—steady.
Grounding. “I completely understand your hesitation. I do. But I have everything set up.”
He exhales, like he’s been holding this in for too long. “I spoke with Layla earlier. I have some of my friends in the shop right now making sure he doesn’t say or do anything to her. And if he does, they’ll handle it.”
My breath catches. Layla knew. She’s been helping him.
“Meanwhile,” he continues, softer now, “I need to get you away from him. We’ll come up with a plan. I have resources. I have ways to keep you safe. You don’t have to settle for this life.”
His eyes hold mine, unwavering, pleading. “Maybe I can’t get you to completely trust me. I know that takes time. But I am begging you to trust me enough to leave with me tonight. Now. Please.” His voice cracks, and I see unshed tears gathering in his eyes.
Save for a few conversations, a handful of get-to-know-you questions, and our daily meetings over cups of coffee, I don’t truly know Logan.
But I do know Preston.
And the fear of going home with him tonight outweighs the fear of the unknown. Because the truth is, there’s only so much I can take—and I don’t think I can take any more.
I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Logan’s face transforms, hope flooding through his features as he gently squeezes my hands. “You’ll come with me?”
I nod again, my voice barely a whisper. “I’ll come with you.”
He blows out a shaky sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging. “Thank you.”
He releases my hands, then reaches for one of them again, sliding his fingers through mine.
The gesture is so simple, so gentle, yet it feels monumental.
Instinct screams at me to pull away, to run, to bolt in the opposite direction—but I force my feet to stay planted. I force my body to stay upright.
“We’re leaving now?” I ask.
He gives me a hopeful smile, the kind that almost makes me believe everything might actually be okay. “Right now.”
The next thing I know, I’m following him around the corner to a black SUV parked in the shadows.
He opens the passenger door, and I climb in, my legs shaking so badly I almost miss the step.
My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs as I buckle my seat belt with trembling fingers.
Logan walks around the front, gets into the driver’s seat, and starts the engine. The low rumble fills the silence between us.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says, turning to me. His eyes are so earnest, so full of conviction. “I promise you, it’s going to be okay, Tessa.”
I give him a weak smile, unable to form words.
If I’m honest, I don’t believe him.
But more than anything, I want to.