Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
TESSA
Logan places a red draw four card down in the pile between us.
“Draw four, sucker,” he says with a wide grin.
I sigh and look down at my hand, fanning the cards out. My eyes light up when I see a blue draw four tucked near the back, and I slap it on top of his with perhaps a little too much satisfaction.
“I don’t think so,” I say smugly, tilting my head to the side.
He shakes his head and chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Sorry. It doesn’t work like that.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t work like that?” I ask, my smugness evaporating.
“When someone lays a draw four, you have to draw four cards and your turn is skipped. Those are the rules.”
“Well, that doesn’t make sense,” I say, because it truly doesn’t, “since you just laid a yellow zero, and I laid a red zero and changed the color to red. So clearly I can play cards on top of other cards.”
“Well, yeah,” he says easily, gesturing with his remaining cards, “you can lay the same card in a different color to change colors. But with a draw four, you have to draw four and it skips your turn, so now it’s my turn again.”
“But that still doesn’t make sense,” I argue, crossing my arms.
He grins, wider this time. “It’s Uno rules, baby.”
I pause.
Just for a moment.
The way he says baby—casual, teasing, warm—sends a shiver straight through my chest, and I hate how much I like it. How much I want him to say it again.
I force myself to focus on the cards in my hand instead of the way my heart just skipped.
“Fine,” I sigh, reaching for the draw pile with exaggerated reluctance. “But I’m looking that rule up later because I don’t think that’s right.”
He lifts a shoulder, trying and failing to hide his amusement. “Look it up. I’m telling you, those are the rules.”
I draw four cards—of course none of them are useful—and watch as he takes his turn again, laying down another card with far too much confidence.
Admittedly, this is the first time I’ve ever played this game.
It feels strange to experience a game as simple as Uno, something most preschoolers can do, at twenty-five.
Growing up, it just never came up. Not in any of my placements, not in the families or group homes I bounced through.
Board games and card games weren’t exactly a priority when caseworkers were stretched thin and foster parents were just trying to get through the day.
When Logan first suggested Uno tonight, I thought it was silly, childish, even. But I have to admit, it’s actually really fun—even if the rules feel completely made up and wildly unfair when they’re not working in my favor.
We keep playing, the pile of cards between us growing as we trade colors and numbers, draw twos and reverses. Logan trash-talks with every card he plays, and I find myself laughing more than I have in years.
Staying with Logan while Penny works through the logistics of my case against Preston is not something I ever had on my bingo card for this year.
Honestly, aside from finishing school, I’ve never really allowed myself to make long-term plans.
Life has always felt too unpredictable, too out of my control, to imagine anything stretching beyond the next few months.
Yet here I am, experiencing so many firsts with Logan.
Playing Uno and other games, going to the farmers’ market, cooking new meals together, binge-watching TV shows, laughing every day, and most importantly, waking up without fear sitting heavy on my chest are a few firsts I’ve experienced with Logan.
It feels like I’m learning how to live for the first time, how to exist without constantly bracing for impact.
Something as simple as sitting across from someone at a kitchen counter, arguing about card game rules while not worrying the argument is going to escalate, and eating too many strawberries, feels extraordinary—not because it’s grand or romantic, but because it’s normal.
And that’s what I’ve been missing my entire life.
Normalcy.
Safety.
The permission to just… be.
Logan plays another card and looks up at me with that easy grin, and something warm unfurls in my chest.
“Uno,” he says.
I look down at my cards, still holding far too many, and smile despite myself.
“This game is rigged,” I mutter, knowing there is no way I can win.
“You’re just bad at it,” he teases.
“I’ve been playing for twenty minutes, Logan. Give me a break.”
“No breaks in Uno,” he says solemnly. “Only victory or defeat.”
I throw a card at him.
He catches it midair, laughing, and I realize with startling clarity that I don’t want this to end.
Not the game.
Not the night.
Not any of it.
More than anything, I want it to begin—with Logan.
It’s clear we shared an attraction from the very first moment we met, the day after they won the championship, when he signed that jersey for Preston.
Even then, I felt it—that pull, that spark, that flutter low in my stomach when our eyes met.
I know he did too. But recognizing it for what it was, letting myself acknowledge it, wasn’t something I was capable of at the time.
Leaving Preston was never really an option. Survival doesn’t leave room for desire.
Still, I cherished every single day Logan came into the coffee shop.
Every smile. Every question. Every cup of coffee he ordered just to linger a little longer at the counter, leaning in close enough that I could smell his cologne.
Those moments kept a small light burning inside me during an otherwise very dark time.
And even when I believed I could never have him, his presence alone made my life better.
But now… I can have Logan.
I’m free. Or at least, I’m learning how to be.
I’m here, in his home, safe behind bodyguards and restraining orders and locked doors.
And I know Logan wants me too. I feel it in the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention, in the care he takes with every word and every action, in the way his hand hovers near my back when we walk through crowds but never quite touches unless I need steadying.
There isn’t a rule book for making the first move on someone who escaped an abusive relationship, and I know Logan doesn’t want to misstep.
He’s careful, respectful, and protective.
Maybe he’s too protective, if I’m being honest. But the energy between us is undeniable—it crackles in the air whenever we’re in the same room, humming just beneath the surface of every conversation, every shared meal, every accidental brush of hands.
I get to see him every day now. I love spending time with him. More than anything, I get to be happy with him.
And happiness—real, genuine happiness—might be the most intoxicating thing of all.
It’s better than any high I’ve ever chased. Better than the relief of Preston being in a good mood. Better than the temporary safety of making myself small enough to avoid his anger.
This happiness is mine. I chose it and was brave enough to finally fight for it. And I want more.
If I’m being brutally honest with myself, I want Logan to touch me.
The reasons are simple. There’s not a void that needs to be filled out of desperation or loneliness.
I’m not trying to escape from reality because, for the first time, real life is treating me quite well.
I want him to touch me because I want him.
I’m insanely attracted to him and want to experience a healthy relationship.
I choose him, and I just need to figure out how to tell him that.
He raises a brow, studying me across the scattered cards. “What is it?” he asks, with a mischievous grin playing on his lips.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. I push the cards in my hand toward the center pile, letting them flutter down in defeat. “Nothing,” I say, forcing my voice to sound casual. “Congrats on the win.”
He licks his bottom lip slowly, his gaze holding mine a second longer than necessary. The air between us feels thick, charged. “Nah, that’s not it. Something is going on in that head of yours.” He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table. “Care to share your thoughts?”
My heart hammers against my ribs. For a wild second, I consider just saying it. But the words stick in my throat.
I press my lips together and lift one shoulder in what I hope looks like a casual shrug. “No thoughts.”
He looks at me with an expression that tells me he doesn’t believe me for a second—his eyes dark and searching, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—but he lets it go anyway.
“All right,” he says softly, still watching me.
The moment stretches between us, taut and fragile.
Then he sits back, breaking the tension, and starts gathering the cards.
I exhale slowly. So yeah…I may choose him.
But telling him is easier said than done.