Chapter 27 Rose #2
The way he stands up there in his suit, clean-shaven, composed, even after admitting his wrongdoing. It aches to see him and not be able to touch him. Watching him up there, looking like the man I fell in love with, I feel my pulse move through me, down my arms, into my fingertips.
“It should hurt,” Logan says, waking me from the stupor. His voice is deep and captivating; the audience listens with everything they have.
“When was the last time you donated enough to make it hurt?” he continues.
“I mean that literally. Not a tax write-off. Not rounding out your portfolio. Enough that you felt it—that you had to think twice. Because if you are someone who has never had to struggle for anything, that moment of discomfort is the closest you will come to understanding what the people this clinic will serve feel every single day. And if that small, temporary sting is all it costs you to change not just one life but dozens, maybe hundreds—then isn’t that worth it? ”
I can’t help the proud smile pulling at my lips. I can’t believe he’s saying this to a room full of rich people.
“In addition to a private donation, I also pledge to match every donation made tonight.”
The room gasps. Easton grins down at me. I swallow hard. “Did he really just—”
“Yep.”
Logan continues from the stage, pledging his time, his father’s time, a rotating roster of volunteer nurses and doctors he’s personally coordinating.
“We want this to be more than a wellness center,” he says.
“As someone once told me—it’s going to be a place where people can feel human again.
” He adds a small joke after that. The room laughs. I don’t hear it.
When the music starts back up and Logan steps off the stage, I realize I’ve been leaning forward. Reaching, almost. Wanting him back. Right here, right now.
I let go of Easton’s arm. He squeezes my hand once.
Then a small woman steps into my path. “Darling, it’s so nice to finally meet you.
I’m Lorna. Logan’s mother.” She raises her hands toward me, tentative, uncertain.
I’m not sure why, but I bend down to meet her, and the moment I do, she pulls me in and holds tight.
I wasn’t expecting that—her seeking me out, her hugging me.
When we separate, she keeps her hands on my arms. It’s…
really nice. It’s a hug from a mom, like they have their own special kind of magic.
“I won’t keep you. I know it’s a lot tonight. I just couldn’t let another minute go by without telling you how sorry I am for what my boys did. My husband and my son. They’ll speak for themselves. But I needed you to hear it from me, too. And I hope… well, I hope…”
“Mom.” His voice is close now, right behind me. Everything inside me ignites.
“Yes, yes, I know.” She smiles—small, a little abashed—and reaches up to touch her son’s face. “I just wanted to meet her. I’ll leave you two to talk.” Then she slips away into the crowd.
And then it’s just us.
My head is swimming. He’s looking at me carefully, as if he isn’t sure what I’ll do. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and the full force of him, in person, right in front of me—it’s a lot.
“It’s so fucking good to see you.”
“I—” The words won’t come. My thoughts won’t land. His apology, the event, the room full of people, my business—all of it presses in at once.
I feel dizzy. I think I’m going to pass out.
I turn, walk toward the exit. I can feel his eyes on me, hear his footsteps stalking behind me.
“Please, Rose, I—”
I don’t stop. And then he calls out, “I guess we’re really over.
” My feet lock. I stand there, tilt my head, listening, wanting him to take back those words.
“You didn’t yell at me. You didn’t fight.
” I let out a shuddering, shaky breath. “I’m sorry.
I wish you the best. I’ll always be here for you. ” Another pause, smaller. “I love you.”
I stand there in shock. When I finally turn, he’s gone. Just a wide-open entrance, noise of the party. My skin is alive, the breeze from outside, the crisp November air chilling me to the bone.
This is everything I wanted. Despite everything that came before it, he literally just made my dreams come true. I should go back in there. Find him. Tell him I love him, too—yell at him for saying it like that, for the first time, to my back.
I’m a coward. And really, truly, might pass out. I flag down a cab instead.
Twenty minutes later I’m inside my apartment, shoes off by the door, face down in my pillow.
I’m crying before I even know I’m crying.
It doesn’t make any sense—I should be relieved, I should be happy—but a crevice opens up within me and won’t stop bleeding.
I press my face into the pillow and sob.
What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just forgive him?
I don’t know how much time passes before I hear the door. The apartment is dark. Footsteps, then the mattress shifting beside me.
But it’s not Easton.
It’s Logan.
He smells of spicy cologne. Subtle, just beneath his aftershave. I don’t think about it. I just turn into him and hold on, and he pulls me close, lips to my temple, like he does, and it feels like I’m home.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, after a while. “I’m so sorry.”
My breathing evens out. “I thought you were staying away.”
“I tried. For about twenty minutes, and only for your sake, because I thought it was what you wanted. But that was all I could do. If you want me to leave—”
“No, don’t go.”
I stay there, tucked in his arms while his hands rub circles on my back.
“I can’t believe you did all that,” I say eventually.
“I would do anything for you.”
“I missed you.”
“Me too. So fucking much.”
“Do you think we can do this? Are we doomed?” I pull back enough to look at him. Logan is here, in my room, in my bed. This is real life. It’s not vacation. He’s really here.
“Can I show you something?” he asks.
“Yes.”