Chapter 44
Radio Silence
It had been a week. Seven days since I told Logan Creams to fuck off. Seven days since I watched his shadow get swallowed by city lights. My phone hadn’t stopped since,missed calls, unread texts, voicemails that began with silence and ended with whiskey-soaked apologies.
Now he was outside my building. Again.
From my office window I could see him leaning against the lamppost, hands buried in his pockets, a cigarette burning down to ash. Not even pretending to hide.
“Creep,” I muttered, yanking the blinds shut. My chest betrayed me, tightening at the sight.
Another message blinked onto my screen.
[From: Logan ??]
Please. Just answer. Just tell me you’re okay.
My thumb hovered. One aching second. I wanted to. I didn’t.
The phone hit my desk hard enough to rattle my coffee. Files glared from my laptop,his name over and over. Security reports. Dock whispers. Blood trails that always ended in shadow.
He deserved to drown in his own silence.
But I loved him. God help me, I still loved him.
By 11:03 p.m., the pounding started. Soft. Then louder.
I dragged myself off the sofa, blanket twisted around my legs. I didn’t need the peephole to know.
Logan.
Red-rimmed eyes. Knuckles scabbed. Leather hanging open like he’d forgotten how to wear it.
I cracked the door. “It’s eleven, Logan. Go home.”
He didn’t blink. Just stared like I was the last thing tethering him to earth. “I can’t,” he rasped. “I can’t live without you. Move into the Towers with me. No more walls. No more lies. I’ll tell you everything.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
For once, he didn’t look like the monster in alleyway stories. He looked like a man drowning.
My hand tightened on the chain. My pulse thundered.
“Logan…” I whispered,and unlatched the door.
He didn’t surge; I did. My fingers in his collar, his mouth on mine, soft at first,softer than he’d ever been,then deeper, like we’d both been starving for the same breath.
I pulled him inside.
“Slow,” I told him, backing toward the bedroom. “Stay.”
“I don’t know how to be soft,” he said, voice raw.
“You already are.”
I stripped my shirt and climbed onto the bed. He followed, careful hands, shaking a little. Every kiss was new. Every touch asked instead of took.
“Tell me what to do,” he muttered, forehead pressed to mine.
“Look at me,” I breathed. “And don’t run.”
When he was inside me, his pace stayed slow, deliberate, like he was learning a language with his body. His eyes never left mine.
“You’re not a monster,” I whispered. “Not with me.”
He broke on a sound I’d never heard him make,something like relief.
We came apart together, quiet instead of feral. Afterwards, he didn’t move. Didn’t bolt. He held me like the world might shake us loose.
“I love you,” he said into my hair, wrecked. “It feels like drowning.”
I kissed his throat. “I still love you. Always will.”
For the first time, Logan Creams didn’t fuck away the noise.
He let me quiet it.