Chapter 40
CHAPTER 40
Logan sighed deeply and raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration.
His gaze remained fixed on his phone, the brightness stark in the dimly lit room. The lockscreen was a picture of a sunset he’d taken months ago, its serene beauty completely at odds with the chaos churning inside him.
His thumb hovered over Ethan’s name.
Do I call him? Or do I just let it go? The question had been swirling around for hours, each repetition adding another layer of tension to his already knotted shoulders.
He closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to think clearly.
A second sigh escaped him, heavier this time, as if it carried all the weight of his indecision, and shoving his chair back with a muted scrape against the floor, he stood up.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his jeans and slid them off, tossing them over the back of the chair.
Clad in only his t-shirt and boxers, he pulled back the quilt and climbed into bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight as he settled in.
He lay flat on his back, arms bent at the elbows, hands tucked behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling above. The faint glow from the streetlights outside seeped through the curtains, casting soft shadows that danced across the walls.
Even that small distraction couldn’t pull him away from his thoughts as Ethan’s face floated before him—that smile that never failed to disarm him even when he was furious, those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through him.
Another long sigh broke free from his lips, this one almost a growl. He shifted restlessly, trying to find a position that felt right, but nothing did.
Five more minutes passed before he gave up entirely and flicked the bedside lamp on with an irritated jab of his finger.
“Shit,” he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. His phone lay on the nightstand, taunting him with its silence, and he picked it up, scrolling absently until Ethan’s name appeared once more.
“Ethan Parker…” he murmured bitterly, shaking his head as if scolding an invisible presence. “Why are you so fuckin’ annoying.”
His words weren’t loud, but they carried a tinge of exasperation mixed with something else—something closer to longing.
He set the phone down and pushed up from the bed. The wood floor met his bare feet, and he stood there for a moment, unsure what to do next, before he moved on autopilot and wandered into the kitchen.
Opening the fridge door, the cool air rushed out to meet him and he grabbed the carton of milk, tipping it back for a long drink. It wasn’t satisfying, but it provided a physical outlet for his restless hands while his mind continued to pace.
Back and forth he circled his apartment numerous times, weaving between the furniture like a restless ghost haunting its own space. Every step brought another flash of Ethan: their argument that morning, the way he’d looked after, the hurt written across his face before he’d masked it with indifference.
There was a lingering tension that had refused to dissipate all day. I should apologize, he thought, for what felt like the hundredth time.
His footsteps faltered, and he paused by the couch, leaning against the armrest. His jaw tightened, and he shook his head as if trying to physically dislodge those thoughts from his brain.
“No,” he said aloud this time, “He doesn’t get off that easy.”
Even as he said it, doubt crept back in like an unwelcome guest. Maybe I did overreact, he admitted reluctantly to himself. Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped at him like that.
He resumed pacing, caught in an endless loop—one moment determined not to give in, and the next consumed by guilt over how things had ended between them.
Eventually, exhaustion won out and he trudged back to bed, hoping sleep might offer some reprieve from his mind’s internal war.
Several minutes ticked by before he finally rolled onto his side and grabbed his phone again. Ethan’s name stared at him like some kind of challenge—a dare he wasn’t sure if he was brave enough to take on.
His thumb hovered before moving away again just as quickly.
“What the fuck are you doing to me?” Logan whispered. The room was quiet, and the question just hung there.
He locked his phone and set it aside.
Sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight, that much was certain, and all he could do was lie there, letting thoughts of Ethan—all the ways their lives had become tangled together in an impossible knot—consume him.