Chapter 23
Fractures
The knock came late. Too late.
Penny already knew it was him.
Logan.
When she opened the door, her chest squeezed at the sight. Blood on his shirt. Jaw locked. Hands trembling like he was barely holding himself together.
It had been a year since the party. A year since the messy night that ended with his mouth on hers and his body in her bed and then nothing.
Secrets fed like crumbs to keep her circling him.
And she had circled. She always did. But tonight?
Seeing him like this broken and bleeding her ache burned hotter than her pride.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said firmly, blocking the doorway with her body. Her voice didn’t shake. “You don’t get to pretend like we didn't sleep together for a year and then show up bleeding on my floor.”
He didn’t answer. Just brushed past her, heavy boots tracking dirt onto marble, and went straight for her kitchen. He pulled water from the fridge, chugging it like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
Penny slammed the door. Arms crossed.
“You look like shit.”
“I killed a man.”
Her laugh was sharp. “You’ve killed a lot of men, Logan. Don’t act like this is new.”
He looked at her then, eyes wild and dark. “Not like this one.”
Something in her chest cracked. Because she loved him. God help her, she loved him. The obsession had chewed her up, left her hollow, but it was still there. He was still there.
She stepped closer, anger hot in her throat. “You don’t get it, do you? I’ve been your tips girl, your shield, your distraction, anything you wanted, except what I actually wanted.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t want this.”
“The hell I don’t.” Her voice shook now, but she didn’t back down. “I ache for you, Logan. Every night you push me away, I ache. I hate you for it and I still ” Her breath hitched. “I still fucking love you.”
He froze and then his hand gripped the counter so hard the wood cracked.
“Don’t say that,” he rasped. “Don’t ever say that. You don’t love me. You can’t. I’m not ”
His voice broke. “I’m not built for that. I’m a fucking monster.”
Penny stepped right up to him, chest to chest. He loomed over her, but she didn’t flinch.
“Then let me love the monster,” she whispered.
His breathing hitched, rough and jagged. The mask cracked. His obsessions, his guilt, all of it swirled in his eyes like storm clouds. And before he could stop himself, before he could shove her away again, he kissed her.
It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t gentle. It was an obsession bleeding into desperation, needing to claw its way through his control. Clothes stripped like confessions, their bodies colliding with the urgency of two people who’d been starving for too long.
But Penny didn’t let him hide this time. She kept her hands on his jaw, kept her eyes locked on his, forcing him to stay present. Forcing him to see what she saw.
“You’re not a monster,” she said against his lips. “You’re just mine.”
Logan groaned like it hurt, forehead pressed to hers as if he could disappear inside her. And for once, he didn’t push her away. The room was still humming when it was over, their breaths ragged, bodies slick and tangled in sweat and sheets.
Logan lay flat on his back, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling like it might swallow him whole. He looked wrecked. Like the sex had stripped him bare instead of putting him back together.
Penny sat up first. She always did. Her hair clung damp to her temples, her lips swollen from his kisses, but her spine was straight. Firm.
That’s when she noticed the blood. Not from her. His shirt had ridden up, and beneath it a jagged cut ran across his ribs, raw and angry.
“Jesus, Logan,” she breathed, pressing a hand to his stomach to hold him still. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
He shifted, trying to pull away. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” She grabbed his wrist, sharp, unyielding. “You’re bleeding all over my bed.”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
Her eyes snapped to him. “Then you get me.”
Before he could argue, she slid off the bed, padded into the bathroom, and came back with her kit. Antiseptic. Gauze. Steady hands.
He tried again, weakly this time. “Penny ”
“Shut up.” She crouched beside him, pulling his ruined shirt aside. The wound was ugly, deeper than he’d admitted. She dabbed antiseptic to the gash and he hissed, jaw clenching.
“You trust your crew more than doctors?” she muttered, working.
“I don’t trust anyone.”
“Bullshit.” She pressed gauze against his side, firm enough to make him grunt. “You trusted me with your secrets. With your tips. With your goddamn life.”
His throat worked. He looked away.
“You think I haven’t pieced it together?” she went on, voice steadier than she felt.
“You’re the one who keeps Lucas clean. You’re the one who does the ugly jobs so he doesn’t have to. You bleed for him. You bury him. And then you crawl to me when it’s too heavy.”
“That’s not your business.” His tone was hoarse, defensive.
She sat back on her heels, eyes hard on him. “You’re right. It’s not my business.”
Then she softened, voice lowering. “But I want it to be.”
That landed. She saw it in the way his chest stuttered, the way his mouth opened and closed like the words got stuck.
“Penny…” he rasped.
She pressed fresh gauze to his side, then looked him dead in the eyes. “I am done being your little journalist on the side. I am done being just your tips girl. You don’t get to crawl in bleeding, fuck me, and then vanish until the next job. Not anymore.”
He flinched. Not at her touch at her words.
Her voice broke, but she didn’t waver. “Because I love you, Logan. And you either let me in all the way, or you leave me alone forever.”
Silence stretched. His breathing was rough, uneven.
Finally, his hand lifted hesitantly, trembling and cupping the side of her face. His thumb brushed her cheek like she was something too fragile for him.
“You’re going to regret loving me,” he whispered.
Her eyes burned, but she didn’t look away. “Not once.”
And for the first time in his life, Logan believed her.