Chapter 50 Sloane #2
“How are…things with Logan?” he asks carefully.
My stomach does something complicated.
Because “things with Logan” is a phrase that exists in two worlds at once.
There’s the version Cameron sees: Logan helping, Logan showing up, Logan being steady in the way I’ve needed.
And then there’s the version I’m living: Logan’s hands on my waist in the kitchen. Logan’s mouth on my forehead before he leaves for rehab. Logan in my bed, breathing against my neck, holding me like I might float away if he lets go.
But we haven’t said anything out loud yet.
Not really.
So I keep it safe.
“He’s…good,” I say too quickly. “He’s been around a lot.”
Cameron’s eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah. I noticed.”
A small, nervous chuckle escapes me as heat crawls up my neck. “He’s helping.”
“I know,” Cameron says. His tone is careful, but there’s something under it. Something sharp. “I’m not mad he’s helping.”
I swallow.
“How’s he doing?” Cameron asks. “Like…with everything. Rehab. All that.”
“He’s pushing,” I say. “He’s been—” I pause, thinking of Logan’s forced smiles, his eyes going distant when his phone buzzes. “He’s been quieter this week.”
Cameron’s brow furrows. “Quieter?”
“Yeah.” I poke at my food. “He’s been avoiding his phone a lot. Like…letting it ring. Turning it face down. Stuff like that.”
I don’t know why I say it.
Maybe because it’s been tugging at me like a loose thread.
Maybe because everything makes me hyperaware now.
Because once you’ve lost someone, you start scanning for the next loss without meaning to.
Cameron’s fork stops halfway to his mouth.
His eyes flick to mine.
“He’s probably just stressed,” Cameron says, too casually. “With, you know…only a week left.”
And for half a second, I see the exact moment he realizes he’s about to say the wrong thing.
But it’s too late.
My entire body goes cold.
“A week left?” I repeat, voice too flat.
Cameron’s jaw clenches.
“What did you mean?” I ask, slower now.
He looks away. Then back.
“Sloane—”
My heart is suddenly in my throat. “Cameron. What is he stressed about? A week left for what?”
Cameron’s face tightens like he’s chewing glass.
He exhales hard through his nose. “Shit.”
My hands go numb.
The student union keeps buzzing around us—laughter, chairs scraping, someone calling out an order number—but the sound feels far away, like I’ve been dropped underwater.
Cameron scrubs a hand over his mouth. “He didn’t tell you.”
It’s not a question.
It’s a statement.
My voice comes out too quiet. “Tell me what?”
Cameron’s gaze holds mine, heavy. Protective. Torn.
“I’m not supposed to—” he starts.
“Cameron,” I cut in, sharper than I mean to. Then softer, because I hate sharpness now. “Please.”
His jaw works again, harder.
Finally, he says, “He’s got a decision to make.”
The words land like a punch.
“A decision about what?” I ask, even though my body already knows. My stomach already knows. My chest already knows.
Cameron’s eyes don’t move. “Football.”
My hands curl into fists under the table.
My pulse roars in my ears.
“What kind of decision?” I force out.
Cameron’s shoulders lift in a helpless half-shrug. “A team. A camp. Something. I don’t know all the details—he didn’t tell me all the details. Or, I guess me punching him didn’t really make him think he could.” His mouth twists. “But I know he has a deadline.”
I stare at him, the room tilting.
A team.
A camp.
A deadline.
Logan’s phone face down.
Logan’s kisses like he’s afraid of giving me too much.
Logan’s quietness.
Logan’s eyes going distant when he thinks I’m not watching.
My throat burns.
“And he hasn’t told me,” I whisper.
Cameron shakes his head slightly. “No.”
I swallow hard. “So…you knew, but I didn’t.”
Cameron’s expression shifts—something like guilt, something like anger at himself. “Yeah.”
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
A week left.
A week left until the world asks me to lose something else.
I stare down at my tray like it might ground me, like the bland campus food might somehow make this less real.
Cameron leans forward, voice low. “Hey. Look at me.”
I don’t.
“Sloane,” he says, firmer.
I finally lift my eyes.
Cameron’s expression is rawer than usual. “Whatever it is, he’s been trying not to drop it on you. That’s…very Logan.”
That should comfort me.
It doesn’t.
Because “trying not to drop it on me” is just another way of saying he’s been holding something back.
From me.
And the part of me that’s still shattered from Pops—the part that wakes up thinking everyone leaves—wraps its fingers around that and squeezes.
I force a breath.
Then another.
I make my voice steady with pure will. “Okay.”
Cameron’s brow furrows. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I repeat, too calm. Too controlled. “Thanks for telling me.”
Cameron’s eyes narrow like he knows I’m lying with my whole body.
But he doesn’t push.
Because maybe he knows pushing will crack me.
We sit there for another minute, neither of us really eating.
Then I stand, tray in hand, legs weirdly steady.
“I need to go,” I say.
Cameron stands immediately. “Sloane—”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
The lie tastes familiar.
Cameron’s gaze softens. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I swallow.
Part of me wants to say yes.
Part of me wants to run back to Logan and demand the truth like I’m entitled to it.
Part of me wants to pretend I didn’t hear anything at all.
“No,” I say quietly. “I just…need some air.”
“Okay.” Cameron nods, reluctant. “Text me later.”
“I will.”
I walk out into the sunlight, and it hits my face like a slap.
The campus is still alive.
Still moving.
Still laughing.
Still careless.
I take one step.
Then another.
And all I can hear in my head is Cameron’s voice.
Only a week left.
A week left.
A week left until I find out whether Logan is another thing I have to survive without.