Chapter Five – Wren
First few days of class went fine. Nothing spectacular. I’m still getting my core classes out of the way, but soon enough I’m going to have to narrow down my focus and decide on my major. I… haven’t spent much time thinking about it, honestly. My parents nagged me a lot over holiday break.
You know, I used to like having everything planned out, but lately I’m finding that sometimes it’s just as fun to go with the flow and be spontaneous. How else can I describe how happy I’ve been since that party?
My mysterious masked man… I still don’t know who he is, and I didn’t breathe a word of what happened to Sloane. It’s my secret. Mine and his, whoever he might be.
And all that says nothing about Reese and the fact that, last I knew, he wanted to take me out somewhere. We texted a little this week, but nothing too crazy. No plans were set in stone or anything.
Maybe he changed his mind and doesn’t want to take me out anymore, or maybe the start of the semester is already more hectic than he anticipated. Either way, I’m in limbo when it comes to the sexy professor.
Thursday night rolls around, and Sloane tells me she and Elias are going out to dinner.
They ask me if I want anything brought back, but I tell them no.
I’ll make do with whatever we have in the fridge.
I do tell them to have fun, though. They really don’t go out just the two of them that often.
Their date nights are few and far between, but whatever they’re doing, it seems to work for them, so I guess that’s all that matters.
A few minutes after they leave, I’m in the kitchen with my head in the fridge, wondering what the heck I’m going to eat, when I hear someone knock.
I straighten out, shut the fridge, and wait to see if I hear it again.
It didn’t sound like it came from the front door.
No, the weird thing is, it sounded as if it came from the back, but who in their right mind would skip the front door and go straight to the back?
It’s dark outside. It’s not even a good time for door-to-door salesmen trying to get you to upgrade your windows or your siding or whatever.
Hmm. This is odd.
I hear the knocking sound again, so I creep over to the nearest window that can see who’s standing near the back door—and when I see who it is, my breath catches in the back of my throat and my heart constricts.
No. No way.
I push away from the window, my nerves at war inside of me. Is this really happening? Did I fall asleep when I wasn’t paying attention? That’s the only logical explanation for who is currently standing at the back door, waiting for me to answer.
My throat gets dry, and my heart aches in my chest. Though that night at the karaoke bar is still fuzzy in my mind, I go right back to it, to the argument, to how he stormed away and left me—and then how he never once visited me after the accident.
He’s a jerk. He’s the biggest jerk around, I have no doubt about that. Really, it’s no wonder he got kicked out of his band. He definitely deserved it.
Freaking Logan.
I shouldn’t open the door. I shouldn’t see what he wants.
Whatever it is, it can’t be good. To have waited this long…
I mean, why the heck is he here, anyway?
Has he run through all the girls he wanted and now he’s seeking to ingrain himself with me again?
Answering that door could only lead to more heartbreak on my part, and I’ve had enough of that.
But at the same time, I don’t think I have the willpower to resist.
Swallowing hard, I approach the back door.
With a flick of my wrist, I unlock the deadbolt and yank it open, revealing the muscular, six-foot-tall, ex-rocker standing in the darkness outside.
He wears an old leather jacket, his black hair messy in all the right ways.
His square jaw is covered in stubble, like he hasn’t shaved in a while, and even though there are slight bags under his green eyes, those eyes still light up when he sees me.
And, darn it, he’s just as attractive as he was months ago, I am hesitant to report. Just as drop-dead sexy as ever, the kind of guy who knows he looks good and knows how to use his power over the opposite sex to his advantage.
I hate him. I really do. Standing there, staring up at him, I hate him so much. All the anger, all the rage I’ve felt these past few months over being abandoned; I want to yell at him.
And at the same time, I don’t.
His name doesn’t want to surface, and as I struggle with asking him what he’s doing here, he’s the one who speaks first: “Can I come in?” The way he asks, it’s clear he knows he might not get an invitation inside, that I might tell him no and he’ll have to accept it.
I should say no. I shouldn’t let him in.
With how much I talked about him to Sloane these past few months, the only reason my roommates aren’t speeding their way back by now is because Logan had the wherewithal to avoid the camera at the front door.
He was smart enough to know Sloane wouldn’t want him here, which begs the question: was he watching, waiting for me to be alone at the house?
Creepy, but also… kind of sweet, in a weird way.
Oh, God. My brain must’ve gotten jumbled up when I got hit by that car. Stalking someone isn’t sweet.
I don’t know how long it takes me to respond, but eventually I whisper, “Sure.” I step aside as I hold the door open, inviting him in even though it’s probably the worst mistake I could possibly make in a situation like this.
I thought I’d be Logan-free, that I’d never see him again. I don’t have any classes with him this semester, so I thought… well, it doesn’t matter, because here he is.
Logan steps inside, walking past me and heading deeper into the house, and as he does so, I can’t help but close my eyes and breathe him in, like some pathetic girl who can’t get enough of the guy who keeps breaking her heart.
I need to hold it together.
Closing the door, I lock it back up and follow Logan.
We end up in the living room, though neither of us go to sit.
The TV is on, playing something mindless—some reality show about heavily botoxed people falling in love.
I’m a sucker for shows like that, even though I know most of the relationships at the end fizzle out.
I’m a fool for love, what can I say? Always have been. It’s why I was stupid enough to believe Mike and I would go the distance, while he was cheating on me with my ex-best friend for two whole years behind my back.
“What, um, what do you want?” I hate how nervous I sound.
This is the guy I was never afraid to tell off, a guy who I always had a backbone to.
He was someone I thought I didn’t really care about, but I guess that’s why things are different now.
The past few months I’ve had to reckon with the fact that somewhere along the way, Logan had claimed a piece of my heart for himself, even if he never wanted it.
Logan stands a few feet away from me, with his back to me, so I can’t read his expression.
His shoulders rise and fall with what looks to be even breaths, but that doesn’t say much.
This guy has never held back when it comes to saying mean things, so I mentally prepare myself that he’s here to be cruel.
That’s what he does. He says it like it is, with no empathy whatsoever. He’s too busy in his downward spiral to give a single crap about anyone else.
Slowly, he turns to face me, and I hate that I feel a flutter in my lower gut when his green eyes land on my face. His brows are together, but beyond that, I can’t figure out what he’s thinking, or why he’s here. What the heck he wants from me now.
Hasn’t he already taken enough? Hasn’t he done enough?
His voice is much gentler than I’m anticipating when he says, “I thought you left.”
I don’t know what he means, so I don’t say anything in response. I just stand there and wait for him to continue, because surely that isn’t what he came here to say. There has to be more.
Logan shakes his head once. “I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Well, you saw me, so if that’s all you want, you can go—” I stop the moment he takes a step forward, and just like that, there’s one less foot between us. Three-ish feet turned to two, and suddenly he’s too close.
Too close, and yet not close enough.
“No,” he says vehemently. “That’s not—just let me say what I need to say, and then I’ll go.” A few seconds pass before he continues, like he’s waiting to see if I’m going to argue with him or cut him off.
Even though it might be a mistake on my part, I am curious why he’s here, what he could possibly have to say after all this time.
“I’m a fucking asshole. I’m the shittiest person around.
” He shrugs. “I never think about other people, never cared enough to. I’m not—” He pauses as he swallows hard.
“—good at this sort of thing. I was so caught up in my own shit, in feeling sorry for myself, that I didn’t care about anyone else around me. ”
Everything he says, I already know. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Logan was in a downward spiral ever since he got kicked out of Black Sacrament, even if it was his own fault for being such a jerk.
A rude, misogynistic jerk while wearing the Black Sacrament mask. If he would’ve been out of the costume? He’d probably still be the lead singer, and no one would be the wiser—and my life would sure as heck be different.
Logan takes another step closer to me. Now there’s a foot between us. I should step back, remind him that I don’t want him to be this close to me, but I can’t. All I can do is angle my head back and wait for him to say more, because there has to be more.