Chapter 48
Chapter
Forty-Eight
Logan
Salem hasn't stopped looking at me like she’s seeing the Loch Ness Monster.
She'd refused to take my hand, which admittedly made things awkward, and everyone decided to go for a swim while we hash things out.
Her palm hasn't left her lips either, not all the way through the hotel lobby, not during the uncomfortable elevator ride, and not even now as I drop her bags on the bed in my suite. Not that I expect her to stay here, but part of me always hopes.
Always fucking hopes.
The silence becomes deafening despite The Love You Want by Sleep Token playing from the radio.
She sinks down onto the edge of the hot tub, looking fucking gorgeous in a crop top and cut offs as she moves her gaze around the room.
It’s larger than my old apartment. There's even a mini bar, a private balcony overlooking the ocean, and a fully stocked snack pantry.
Apparently, Matty spares no expense when it comes to his friends.
“I’m not a ghost, you know,” I try to laugh, but the joke falls flat.
Salem finally drops her hand from her mouth, lips nearly white. “How did this happen? We… they took you off life support.”
“Yeah. They did.”
“Your heart stopped.” Tears escape from her lashes. “I watched it. I heard it. That fucking machine flatlined—” She chokes off and threads her fingers through her hair. “You died.”
I cross the room in three strides, but I don’t touch her, even though I crave it. God, I want to drop to my knees and worship her, apologize for everything with my tongue—but I don’t. Not yet.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I did. But then I didn’t.”
A broken, disbelieving laugh leaves her throat. “You didn’t?”
“Not for long.”
“Not for long?” she repeats, voice rising with each syllable. “You died, Logan. You fucking died, and I buried you.” Her fist pounds into her temple. “In here, I buried you. I mourned you. I’ve been mourning you.”
I take a cautious step closer, every nerve ending in my body desperately clawing for her. “Maybe you shouldn't have run, then.”
She jumps to her feet like I've struck her, and fuck, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.
“Salem, I didn’t—”
“No,” she whispers, turning away from me. “No, you're right. I ran like a fucking coward.”
The crack in her voice nearly guts me, but she doesn’t let me see her cry. Her shoulders stiffen, spine a rigid wall of pride. I hate that I put that distance there.
“Well, you weren't the only one,” I admit.
“What are you talking about?”
Giving in to temptation just a little, I get as close to my wife as I can, the cherry chocolate scent of her body lotion driving me wild.
“In Vegas, remember? The morning after we married.
I found out you'd slept with Devon and when he told me I was adopted, I ran.
But I'm done running, Salem. I'm tired.”
Her breath stutters. She turns her head just enough to give me a glimpse of the anguish etched onto her features. “I don’t know if I’m brave enough to stop.”
“Then let me be brave enough for both of us.” My fingers brush her wrist, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch.
“So, what, now you're back from the dead and we just pick up where we left off? Like nothing is different and our relationship didn't fail the first time?”
Those words make me pause just before my lips find her neck. “No. Everything is different now.”
Pulling away feels like ripping off my own skin, but I force myself to turn toward my suitcase on the breakfast bar. She peers over my shoulder as I pull out the manilla folder sitting on top. When I face her again, her fingers wrap tightly around a necklace under her shirt, gray eyes widening.
“Is that what I think it is?”
I nod and press the divorce papers into her palm. “Yeah. Signed and notarized. All that's left is for us to file when we get back home.”
Her grip twitches around them like she wants to toss them aside. I wouldn't blame her if she did. Almost hope she does. Hell, I don’t even know what I expected from this moment, just not this bone-deep pain. Not the finality of watching her stare down at a signature that says we couldn't make it.
Salem doesn’t say anything, nor does she cry. She just nods before turning away with a dull look in her eyes, and fuck, for the first time since I woke up, I wonder if giving her those papers was the right move to make.
“I’m not trying to corner you,” I say quickly. “I just… figured we should have the option to start over. If we wanted it.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, features clouded with uncertainty. “You really think we could do that? After everything?”
I stuff my hands into my pockets so she can’t see how bad they shake.
“I don't know. I'm still figuring out who I am and so are you. But I know that I love you. I need you in my life. Maybe we can figure out who we are apart, but together at the same time? Let’s find out if there’s something here worth saving.”
“And if there’s not?”
A sad smile pulls at my lips. “Then at least we’ll know we tried.”
She stares at me for a long moment, still clutching that necklace with white knuckles. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not,” I admit softly. “But I'm willing to try if it means you'll still be here with me.”
“God, I hate you sometimes.” She swipes at her damp cheek. “You’re so fucking optimistic. I swear you believe in fairytales. Life doesn't work that way, Logan.”
“I'm not asking for a fairytale, or even a happy ending, I'm just…” Trailing off, I look away and try to formulate my thoughts. “I'm asking you to believe in us. Whatever we are.”
Her features soften as the setting sun filters through the open windows. A war wages behind her eyes, hurt and hope battling it out for control. Slowly—almost hesitantly—she folds the papers in half before tucking them into her back pocket. “Just friends, then?”
Swallowing hard, I let my gaze fall to her mouth when she licks her lips. “Just friends who kiss, maybe? Because I'd really like to kiss you now.”
She lets out a husky laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously in love with you.”
Still, her fingers twitch at her sides like she’s debating whether to touch me or not. “If we try this again, Logan… you don’t get to ghost me. No more running. No more lies. We show up for each other.”
“I will.” It’s not a promise. I’ve made too many of those and failed miserably. This time, it's a vow, one as sure as the air I breath and the blood in my veins. “I’m right here.”
Always.
For a beat, neither of us speaks, content to gaze at one another.
Salem is the first to break move, slowly closing the space between us. Her hand lands on my chest, right over the spot where my heart should have stopped for good.
And then finally—finally—my wife presses her soft lips to mine.
I kiss her back tenderly, realizing that this isn't about starting over for us at all. When one door closes, another opens, so they say. This is about persevering. Choosing each other, no matter what. Which I will.
Even if the world tries its damndest to make sure we won't.