Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
Logan
There’s rubber in my nachos.
Literal tiny bits of tire, sprinkled on top of my cheese.
Taylor thinks my reaction is hilarious.
“Adds flavor,” he smirks, halfway through his third chili dog. “High-octane seasoning.”
Ignoring him, I just set the food aside, not really hungry for more junk anyway. It seems to be all we eat lately.
Top fuel dragsters scream down the strip in front of us, engines loud enough to shake the stands and rattle the soda in my cup. Smoke rolls across the track like fog, and the crowd eats it up. Some guy behind me nearly spills beer on my sleeve as he cheers on the racers.
It’s absolute chaos and somehow, Salem managed to book us right in the middle of it.
I still don’t know how the hell she pulled off getting our stunt show tacked onto a sold-out drag race event. The guys just got done performing backflips over funny cars while everyone lost their minds. Even that triple-man flip is becoming an unexpected hit.
The crowd erupts as two cars rip down the track, blue flames spitting from their tailpipes, tires screaming against the pavement. I barely notice it all.
All I see is Salem.
She's sitting next to Arya down the row, long legs crossed and sunglasses pushed up into her hair.
Christian offers her some popcorn, but from the way she grimaces and clutches her stomach, I think she's just as sick of all this trash food as I am.
Arya says something to make her throw her head back and laugh, a full-bodied noise that makes me forget how to breathe.
I hate that I wish I were Arya right now.
It shouldn't be like this. I shouldn’t care that she’s wearing Taylor's Symbiotic hoodie. It shouldn't bother me that I came out of the bathroom yesterday to find them snuggling, but it does.
They've always been close, and it never got under my skin the entire two years we dated. Yesterday, however, I could barely contain the flash of utter jealousy that twisted my stomach into knots.
It's ridiculous. Taylor has Huck. He hasn’t even been with her in almost five years, so why is that fucking hoodie pissing me off?
Huck nudges me with his elbow, snapping me out of my trance. “You good, man? The way you're staring at her kind of freaks me out.”
I blink and even out my expression. “Like what?”
“I dunno, like…” His brow furrows as he studies my face, curls wild beneath his ear protectors. “Like you're eyeing a juicy steak and haven’t eaten in a week.”
With a scoff, I pull my rubbery nachos onto my lap again. “What I wouldn't give for a rib-eye right now. Or any kind of real food, honestly. None of this processed shit.”
Salem’s words from yesterday run through my mind again: “All you’ve done is coast on my work and stuff your fucking face.”
She's not wrong. I’ve barely helped with anything on this tour, so why am I even here? Why did they invite me along? Just to make everyone miserable?
Huck leans in close as two more dragsters roll up to the starting line. “So, how's it going with her?”
He jerks his chin toward my wife, and I meet his stare blankly. “Other than when we first got into the room last night, she hasn’t looked at or spoken to me in almost twenty-four hours. I might as well be dead for all she or anyone else cares.”
The moment those words are out of my mouth, I regret them.
Huckslee inhales sharply, dark eyes widening. A shadow passes over his face that tells me he’s remembering high school, and I hate myself for inciting that memory.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean it,” I blurt, but my apology gets drowned out when the cars take off down the strip. Once they're finished, I try again. “That was a shitty thing to say. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear.”
Huck doesn’t respond right away, just exhales slowly through his nose as he gazes out at the track. When he finally speaks, he sounds tired. “Yeah. I know you didn’t, but… Don’t joke about that shit. Not with me.”
“I know,” I murmur, throat tight. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, you were feeling. And that's completely valid.”
Yeah, feeling helpless. Forgotten. Left behind in a life that used to feel like mine. Who the fuck am I anymore? I used to walk on eggshells around this guy because I was afraid of sending him into a spiral, but now I'm saying shit like that? What the hell is wrong with me?
“I’m sorry,” I say again quietly.
Huck finally turns to me with a soft smile. “Look, Loge, I know we've drifted apart over the last few years, but you're still my best friend, you know? You can tell me things.”
Unable to face the concern swimming in his eyes, I drop my head into my hands and groan. “I just want her to speak to me. Or at least acknowledge my existence and maybe stop acting like our relationship meant nothing. It's messing with my head.”
Well, there is one other thing bothering me. But I'll take what happened between me and Devon to the grave. Luckily, he's back at the hotel right now, doing god knows what. It's so much easier to think when he's not around.
Huck's quiet for a beat, long enough that I risk a glance at him. He’s still watching me closely. “Then tell her that. Or at least try.”
“She wouldn’t care.”
“Maybe not. But silence doesn’t fix shit either. Communicate, man. Don't be like Taylor.”
As if his boyfriend heard, the eavesdropping asshole throws us the finger without pausing his debate over who would win in a drag race—him or Christian.
“I’ll figure it out,” I mutter, even though I don’t know how.
Back when Salem and I dated, we'd always spend evenings cooking together.
That was our bonding time. She'd sit on a stool in nothing but my shirt, chopping vegetables, a gorgeous flush on her cheeks as she'd tell me about her day—which events or celebrities she'd photographed at the arena she used to work for.
I lived for those nights, constantly struck speechless by how someone so fucking radiant could fall for a shmuck like me.
I process loans, for Christ's sake. Then I pushed her too far, and it ruined everything.
But still… Maybe I can bring those moments back, especially now that we’re alone in a hotel room for a week. Cooking together isn't an option, but eating together is. And I just so happen to know this girl better than she knows herself—including her favorite food.
“Hey.” I grab Huck’s arm, catching his attention. “I may have an idea, but… I'll need to borrow your car.”
He tosses me the keys without a second thought. “That’s my boy. Just put some gas in the tank when you're done.”
“Thought I was your boy?” Taylor pouts.
I nod and leap to my feet, heart thudding a little too fast for what’s essentially a takeout run, but it feels like so much more.
It’s effort. It’s something real. I haven’t given her that in a long time.
“Don’t crash it,” Huck calls as I start walking toward the exit. “And don’t do anything weird in the backseat! Tay and I haven't christened it yet.”
“Gross, man,” I toss over my shoulder, but a grin still tugs at my lips, the first one in what feels like months. My stomach flutters with nerves.
The truth is, I don’t need this to fix everything. I just want a chance to remind her that I still see her and that I still remember how good we used to be.
And maybe she’ll remember, too.