Chapter 28 #2
My next stop is Logan’s office.
Because if I’m doing this right, I’m not sneaking around the president of this club like I’m sixteen and trying not to get caught behind the bleachers.
His office door is open when I get upstairs, and he’s sitting behind the desk with a laptop open in front of him, glasses low on his nose in a way he’d deny under torture makes him look older and more annoyingly put together than the rest of us.
He glances up when I knock once against the frame. “Either come in or stand there looking guilty. Pick one.”
I snort and step inside. “You always this pleasant before noon?”
“No, only when people interrupt me with whatever face you’re making right now.”
I shut the door behind me.
That gets his attention properly. Logan leans back in his chair, studies me for one beat, and says, “This about the routes?”
“No.”
He gestures toward the chair across from him. “Hit me.”
I stay standing, needing to be able to move. “I’m claiming Allie.”
The words land fast and clean.
Logan’s brows go up. Then he just stares at me. Not shocked exactly. Not confused.
Just…still.
Then, very slowly, he takes his glasses off and sets them on the desk. “About damn time.”
I blink. “That’s it?”
He gives me a look. “Jimmy. I have watched you two orbit each other like emotionally constipated idiots for years. You think this is surprising?”
I should probably be offended.
Instead, I just feel tired. “Good to know everyone’s been entertained.”
“Mostly annoyed.”
“Helpful.”
He leans back farther in the chair and folds his arms. “So. You finally stop being a coward, or am I getting the abridged version?”
That one almost gets a smile out of me.
Almost.
“Something like that.”
Logan studies me for another second, and whatever he sees must satisfy him, because the edge of his mouth twitches once before his expression goes serious again. “You serious?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Again.
He nods once. “Then you know what comes with that.”
I do.
That’s the thing.
Claiming a woman in this club is not subtle. Not private. Not just some relationship status update you slip into conversation over coffee and hope everybody eventually picks up on.
It means something here.
Protection. Position. Responsibility. A very public kind of truth.
It means people know where she stands. Where I stand. What I’m willing to defend.
And after the way I’ve handled her so far, there’s something deeply right about the fact that if I’m going to do this, I do it where everybody can see it.
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
Logan’s expression shifts, not softer exactly, but more personal. Less president. More brother. “She good?”
That one catches me off guard. Not because he asked. Because of the way he did. Like he’s not just checking if this is some claim-of-convenience bullshit. Like he actually wants to know if she’s okay.
And the truth is, that matters more than I expected it to.
“She will be,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “That better mean what I think it means.”
“It does.”
He nods once and reaches for his glasses again. “Then go make sure she stays that way.”
I should probably leave it there. Instead, I hesitate.
Logan catches it immediately. “What?”
I drag a hand over the back of my neck and say, “I want to make it public tonight.”
That gets his full attention again. At dinner. At the party. With everybody here.
No quiet rollout. No easing into it. No giving myself room to hide if things feel too exposed.
Just the truth. Out loud. In front of everybody who matters.
Logan watches me for a second, then nods once. “Do it.”
That simple. No warning. No lecture. Just approval.
And somehow that steadies something in me too.
Because if there’s one thing Logan doesn’t tolerate, it’s men playing halfway games with women under his roof. The fact that he’s not stopping this tells me all I need to know about where I stand if I do it right.
I’m halfway down the hall when Ana catches me.
Of course she does. Because apparently every significant conversation in my life today is being scheduled by the women around me whether I consent to it or not.
“Hey.” Her voice is sharp enough that I stop before I even fully turn around.
Ana is standing outside the room she shares with her latest pile of books and laundry and half-finished hobbies, arms crossed, expression unreadable in the way only sisters seem to manage when they’re deciding whether to hug you or bury you in the backyard.
I already know which way this is leaning.
“You got a second?” she asks.
That is not an actual question. “Sure.”
She jerks her chin toward the empty stretch of hallway between us and the stairs, and I follow because I’m not stupid enough to make her say whatever this is where half the clubhouse can overhear.
The second we stop, she gets right to it. “I’m happy for her.”
That’s not what I expected first.
It still doesn’t feel good. Because of the way she says her. Not you two. Not both of you. Her. Like this conversation is already centered exactly where it should be, on the person I’ve done the most damage to.
I nod once. “Okay.”
Ana looks at me for a long second, and when she speaks again, there’s no humor in her voice at all. “But I need you to hear something.”
My stomach drops a little. Because I know. I already know what’s coming. Not specifics maybe. But the shape of it. And I deserve every word.
“She loved you for a really long time,” Ana says quietly.
That one hits. Not because it’s new. Because hearing it from someone who had to watch it up close makes it real in a different way.
“She never made that your problem,” Ana continues. “Never tried to corner you. Never asked you for something you weren’t ready to give. She just…stayed. And kept hoping maybe one day you’d stop pretending not to see what was right in front of you.”
I look away for half a second, jaw tight.
Ana doesn’t let me. “No,” she says sharply. “You look at me.”
I do.
And there it is. Not just protective anger. Hurt. Not for herself. For her best friend. For the woman she’s probably had to comfort more than once because her idiot brother and her idiot best friend were too tangled up in each other to function like adults.
“I never confronted you before,” she says. “Because it wasn’t my place and because she wouldn’t have wanted that. But you need to understand something, Jimmy.” Her eyes flash. “You put her through hell.”
That one lands harder than Landon’s did. Because Landon was angry as her brother. Ana’s angry as the person who actually saw the aftermath.
The crying. The pretending. The waiting. The hurt she probably tried to laugh off and failed.
I nod once. “I know.”
“No,” Ana says, and her voice cracks just enough to make my chest tighten. “I don’t think you do.”
I don’t interrupt. Don’t defend. Don’t explain. Because she’s right.
Again.
“She’d come back from some stupid party where you barely looked at her and act like she was fine,” Ana says, quieter now. “Or she’d tell herself it didn’t matter because ‘that’s just Jimmy’ like that was supposed to make it hurt less.”
Christ.
I close my eyes for one second and feel the full, ugly weight of myself settle in my ribs like lead.
Ana’s voice softens just a fraction. “She is one of the best people I know,” she says.
“And if you are finally getting your head out of your ass enough to deserve her, then good. Great. I hope it works.” Then her expression hardens all over again.
“But if this is another version of you panicking because somebody else got too close, I will actually ruin your life.”
That one almost gets a laugh out of me. Not because it’s funny. Because she means it. And honestly? Good. Somebody should.
I nod once, slow and serious. “It’s not.”
Ana studies me for another beat, and whatever she sees must satisfy her enough to keep from going fully homicidal, because she finally lets out a breath and drops her arms. “You done hurting her?”
“Yes.” The answer is instant. Absolute. And for the first time all day, it feels like saying something I can actually back up instead of just desperately wanting to.
Ana’s eyes stay on mine. Then she nods once. “Good.”
There’s still warning in it. Still protectiveness. But there’s also something else now. Hope, maybe. Or maybe just relief that I’ve finally stopped being the dumbest man alive. Either way, I’ll take it.
She reaches out and punches me in the shoulder hard enough to count as affection and punishment at the same time. “You’re still an asshole.”
“Fair.”
“And if you make me regret not kicking your ass right now, I’ll circle back.”
“Also fair.”
That gets the tiniest hint of a smile out of her. Then she shakes her head and heads for the stairs, muttering, “Idiots. All of you.”
Probably true. Definitely true, actually.
By the time I make it back to my room, the whole day feels like one long, necessary stripping away of every excuse I’ve been hiding behind.
Landon knows. Logan knows. Ana knows.
The people who matter most have looked me in the face and made it crystal clear exactly what I stand to lose if I do this wrong. And instead of making me want to retreat, it does the opposite.
It locks me in.
Because the truth is, I’ve already wasted too much time pretending fear was a good enough reason to keep one foot out the door.
I’m done with that.
My hand is on the knob before I realize I’m smiling. Not big. Not stupid. Just this quiet, disbelieving thing I haven’t worn much in the last few years. Because when I open the door, she’s there.
Allie.
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed in one of my T-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts, flipping through a battered paperback she probably found in the pile on my nightstand, like this is just a normal thing now. Like she belongs here. And maybe that should feel too fast. Too much.
Instead, it feels like seeing the shape of something that should’ve been mine to look at a long damn time ago.
She glances up when I come in. Smiles.