Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
“Why are you three lurking in there like raccoons?” Rob asked, Carter wrapped in his arms.
Maddie and Shar exited as Shar said, “We’re not lurking, we were checking on something.”
“It’s pitch black in there,” Rob started, but I was no longer paying attention to their conversation.
Logan stood in front of me, blocking most of the light from the living room. He wore jeans and a light hoodie.
For a heartbeat, we stared at each other, neither moving. Then Logan asked, “Can I come in?”
I nodded, stepping back so he could enter. He closed the door behind him. The den fell back into darkness, lit only by the glow from the streetlights. The room felt too small. Like my bedroom that first night he’d shown up.
I almost asked how he’d gotten my address, but if Shar and Maddie had talked with him, I’d put all my marbles on them. Logan stepped further into the room and sat down on the edge of the futon.
I couldn’t sit. My body was all restless energy and jangling nerves. I needed to move, or I was going to explode. So I paced toward the window, then to the desk where I parked, leaning against the scroll-top.
“How have you been?” he asked quietly.
The question was so ordinary it almost made me laugh. Like we were classmates bumping into each other in the hallway after midterms, not two people who’d seen every part of each other and then spent two weeks pretending the other didn’t exist.
I thought about continuing the ruse. Fine. Busy. Instead, I gave in to the pressure pounding in my head and said, “Not great.”
He looked up. “Crystal—”
“You never called,” I cut in, heat rushing up my throat.
“After the gallery. After I told you I cared about you. Nothing. No call. No email.” He flinched, barely, but I was on a roll.
“I stepped off a cliff in front of you, and your response was nothing. Silence. Do you have any idea how that felt? To be here, with my family, pretending everything’s fine while you’re out there—” I gestured vaguely.
“I don’t know, doing whatever the hell you were doing? I—”
“Crys, you were right.” His jaw flexed, his fingers curling together.
The words landed like a brick in a still pond, ripples racing from the impact. My mouth snapped shut.
He let out a long breath, shoulders sagging. “You were right about me. And about my family. I think I’ve been faking relationships my whole life.”
Logan waited for that to sink in before continuing. “I know it probably seemed like that’s what it was with you. But it wasn’t.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I was lonely—”
“Well, I was too.”
He nodded. “But even when I started making friends with guys on the team, I still wanted to call you. To be with you. It wasn't about what I could get away with or what image I could maintain. I didn’t—” He leaned back, dropping his hands on his knees. “I lied to you, Crys.”
My breathing slowed. “About what?” I braced myself for impact.
“That whole thing about my mom telling Norman about us. I made it up.”
I frowned. “Why?”
His fingers twitched on his jeans. “Because I asked her if we could get a meeting set up, and she said no. She didn’t want to use that connection for something that wasn’t important, but she’d already volunteered me for his outreach, so .
. . I told her I wouldn’t do it. Unless my girlfriend could get an intro.
I tried saying you were just a friend, and then she couldn’t understand why that would be so important to me, so I made it up. ”
I took that in, thinking back to that night at the gallery. How his mom had taken him outside the tent. “So Norman offering me the job—”
“Had nothing to do with me. But I thought I was just getting you the intro—”
“And you didn’t know that lie would last.”
He nodded, and the pieces clicked into place. Why he’d been so eager to come over to my place. Why he hadn’t even blinked when I told him that I’d signed the contract.
I pushed off the desk, pacing in front of him. “But you didn’t have to stick with it. As soon as I told you I signed the contract, you could’ve told me. We both would’ve still gone to the events and . . .” I stopped and looked at him. “Why didn’t you call it off?”
His Adam’s Apple bobbed. “Because I didn’t want to stop talking with you.”
“We still could’ve talked.”
He scoffed. “You weren’t my biggest fan, if you remember.”
That was true. Would I have spent time with him had I not believed I’d gotten him into that mess? “So you coming to the gallery—”
“I wanted to be there.”
“And picking me up when Jenna’s car died.”
“Wanted to.”
“And the hotel room?” My mouth went dry.
Logan cleared his throat. “Definitely wanted to.”
I turned toward the desk, dragging my fingers through my hair. “Then why did you keep talking about January? Why did you say—?”
I gasped as Logan’s hands circled my waist. He turned me to face him. “Because you were right.” He lifted a hand and smoothed the hair from my cheek.
“I like that you keep saying that.”
He chuckled, his hand resting between my neck and my shoulder. “I didn’t want to be the one to take the risk.”
My breath came in short gasps. I recounted our conversation in the supply closet at the gallery. Everything Logan was saying, it was exactly what I’d hoped for. But Shar’s words came crashing into my head. There’s a hit he’s not willing to take right now, isn’t there?
“Logan—”
“I talked to my mom. About her and Norman. About the affair. About how long it had been going on. I told her she could tell my dad, or I could, but it wasn’t staying a secret.”
The room seemed to tilt under my feet. “When?”
“The night of the press walk through.”
My eyes widened. That night? “What happened?”
“She left,” he said simply. “Not permanently, I don’t think. But she left the house. Said she needed space. He—” Logan’s jaw tightened. “My dad didn’t take it well.”
“What about Norman?”
Logan pursed his lips. “He might’ve been fine if my dad hadn’t shown up at the gallery and slashed my mom’s paintings.”
I gasped. “He didn’t.”
“He sure did.”
I laughed out of shock. “I’m sorry, that’s not funny.”
“It’s kind of funny.”
“A little sad though. Those paintings were amazing.”
Logan nodded. “My mom showed up. Cleaned the mess. I’ve never seen her so calm.”
“Is your dad still—?” I wanted to say having a mental break, but didn’t think that was helpful.
Logan’s mouth twisted. “He’s a mess. Angry. Hurt. He keeps trying to pretend nothing’s wrong as long as he can until he explodes. We still haven’t had a real conversation about it.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, wondering if all this was my fault. Until I remembered I wasn’t the one kissing Norman Marcus in his office.
“But I talked to my mom,” Logan went on. “Really talked. For the first time in . . . probably ever. About how their marriage has been hard for years. She felt like she had to be the spiritual glue for all of us, and somewhere along the line, she forgot she was allowed to want anything.”
“One minute!” My dad’s voice filtered through the closed door.
Logan’s throat worked. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. It was a lot—”
“No, I totally understand.”
“I still should’ve called. I just wasn’t—” He drew in a shaky breath.
“I’ve never missed anyone like this. Not a teammate.
Not an ex. Not anyone. I don’t want to go on road trips without you, and I know that’s ridiculous, but every away game, every hotel room, every bus seat—I just sit there thinking about how I wish you were there next to me. ”
His hand tensed against my neck. “This scares the shit out of me.”
I nodded, sliding my hands around his waist. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”
Logan made a noise in his throat, his fingers trembling. “Crys. I—” He took another second, composing himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever said this and meant it, but—”
“TWENTY! NINETEEN!” The countdown started in the other room.
“I love you.” Logan’s voice splintered. “You said you cared about me at the gallery, and I don’t know if that’s the same, but I needed you to know that’s how I feel.
And I get that I still have a lot of work to do.
I’m probably still going to be an ass sometimes, and I wish that wasn’t true, but I’m going to keep asking questions, and—”
I pressed my fingers to his lips.
“ELEVEN! TEN!”
Logan’s eyes lifted, landing on mine. He looked terrified. Desperate. Because he’d just stepped off the edge of the cliff with me.
“I love you, Logan.”
He kissed my fingers.
“SEVEN! SIX!”
“I want to be at every game, every tournament, every bus ride.”
“FOUR! THREE!”
“I don’t expect you to be perfect because I sure as hell won’t be. I just want you and—”
Logan was kissing me as my family screamed, “ONE!” and the noisemakers and poppers exploded along with the shouts of “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
I grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him closer. He made a startled sound against my mouth—a half-laugh, half-groan—and then his hands were everywhere. Dragging me back. Pulling me onto his lap as he fell back on the futon.
I nipped his lower lip, running my hands through his hair, wishing I could magically transport us back to his condo because whatever we could do on the other side of this door, it was not going to be enough.
Logan’s hands slipped up the back of my shirt, and he smiled. “Three clasps?”
“Comfort bra. I didn’t know you were coming.”
He laughed, toying with it until I slapped his hands away. “My parents are out there.”
“Does this door have a lock?” He picked me up and set me on the cushion, ignoring my protests, and just as he reached for the handle, the door to the den flew open.
Logan jumped back as the overhead light flashed on.
My dad stood in the doorway. “Huh. Why’d you have the lights off?”
I blinked, waiting for it to click in.
My dad, completely oblivious, grinned at Logan. “How about this weekend. Quite the comeback, eh?”
He was talking about the game against Toronto. Connor had filled us all in on Logan’s shootout goal in overtime.
Logan glanced at me before turning back to my dad. He coughed a laugh. “You have no idea.”