Chapter 20 Logan
LOGAN
I hadn’t expected the look on her face to hit me like that.
When we reached the treehouse, nestled high in the canopy of a sprawling cypress swamp, Elizabeth’s jaw dropped slightly.
The wooden structure was both rustic and magical, with rope bridges connecting platforms and an expansive deck that overlooked the shimmering water below.
Spanish moss draped from the trees, swaying gently in the warm breeze.
She stepped out of the car, eyes wide as she took it all in. “What is this place?”
“It’s a little hideaway. I found it when I was trying to disappear for a while on a past trip to New Orleans. Thought you could use the same.”
When we reached the top, the view took even my breath away.
The treehouse felt like its own world, floating above the swamp, with nothing but the sound of birds and the occasional splash of water below.
Elizabeth wandered to the edge of the deck, her hands brushing the wooden railing as she took it all in.
“It’s peaceful.” Her voice was softer than usual, as if she were afraid to disturb the stillness.
“Wait until you see the inside,” I said, pushing open the wooden door. The interior was cozy, with soft cushions, warm wooden tones, and floor-to-ceiling windows that let the light pour in.
Elizabeth glanced around, her shoulders relaxing. “You weren’t kidding about getting away. I feel like we’re so far from civilization.”
I grinned. “Told you I knew a thing or two.”
The first day was perfect. We started with coffee on the deck, drinking from mismatched mugs while we watched the cypress trees sway in the breeze. I tried to impress Elizabeth by confidently identifying a bird.
“That’s a pelican,” I said, nodding at the white bird perched on a tree branch.
Elizabeth turned slowly, blinking at me. “That’s an egret.”
“It could be a pelican.”
“Logan.”
I crossed my arms. “Well, you don’t know it’s not some rare swamp pelican.”
She looked at me like she was considering pushing me off the deck. “I do. Because it’s an egret.”
“Agree to disagree,” I murmured, taking another sip of coffee.
By midday, I brought out my guitar and played a song I’d been working on. It was raw and unfinished, but I didn’t care.
“That’s beautiful,” Elizabeth said when I finished. “You never play anything like that in public.”
“That’s because the public doesn’t deserve it,” I teased, but the truth hung between us: I’d never felt comfortable sharing something so personal until now.
That night, we played Scrabble, and I did not cheat.
Elizabeth eyed my latest move and folded her arms. “‘Zantle’ is not a word.”
“It absolutely is.”
“What does it mean?”
I hesitated for half a second too long. “It’s… an old pirate term for, uh, someone who hoards treasure.”
Her brow lifted. “You just made that up.”
“That’s slander,” I said, placing my tiles back in the bag before she could challenge them. “And I won’t stand for it.”
“You’re so full of it.”
“Agree to disagree.”
She picked up a pillow and hit me with it.
The next day was even better. We woke up to soft sunlight streaming through the windows.
We spent the morning playing chess (she was awful at it, but mostly because she kept getting distracted and making up rules). Then, later, she sat at the old upright piano in the treehouse, plunking out a melody, looking up at me with wide eyes.
“I remember this from my childhood,” she said.
“You played?”
“For, like, two minutes. Then my parents realized I had no talent and redirected me to something I was good at.”
I sat beside her on the worn piano bench, close enough that our arms brushed. “Play what you remember.”
She did, hesitantly at first, fingers uncertain against the keys, but then she relaxed into it, playing a soft, simple melody.
When she finished, I rested my hands on the keys beside hers, echoing the tune and adding a few extra chords.
Elizabeth leaned into me slightly. “That sounds better.”
“You just needed some backup.”
She looked at me then, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the world was holding its breath.
By the third day, I knew. I knew this wasn’t just a break from reality. It wasn’t just two people escaping the world for a while.
I was falling in love with her.
I think I already had.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the trees, I found myself saying something I hadn’t planned to. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Elizabeth looked up from where she was curled beside me on the deck. “Okay.”
I gripped my wine glass a little tighter before setting it down. “I told you my dad is sick, but I didn’t tell you what he has.”
Her expression softened instantly. “Yeah.”
I exhaled. “He has Alzheimer’s.”
The words sat between us, heavier than I’d expected. I’d never said them out loud like that.
“For a long time, I was angry. I blamed him for everything. For being cold, for pushing me too hard, for making me feel like nothing I did was good enough. And I carried that with me. Until one day, he didn’t even know who I was anymore.”
I felt my throat tighten. “I spent years trying to prove something to him. But now? He doesn’t even remember my name.” My voice was rougher now. “It’s hard to stay mad at someone when they don’t even know they should apologize.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around mine. “That’s why your behavior changed.”
I blinked. “What?”
She studied me, like she was putting the last piece of a puzzle together. “That’s why everything spiraled last year. Why you went out of control.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
She wasn’t wrong. It had started around then, hadn’t it? The fights with the label. The canceled tour. The reckless decisions that made headlines.
“I—” I exhaled sharply, leaning back against the railing, staring at the darkened trees below. “I guess. That’s messed up, isn’t it?”
Her lips parted, like she was searching for the right words. And then she just shook her head. “No. It’s human.”
Something inside me cracked.
Elizabeth didn’t press. She just ran her thumb slowly over my hand.
And then, like the realization had been waiting just outside my reach, it hit me.
I had spent my entire life fighting against my father’s expectations. Trying to prove I was good enough. Making sure he saw me. And then, suddenly, he didn’t.
And if he wasn’t watching, then why did I need to keep proving myself? I had spent so long bracing for his criticism, measuring every step against his impossible standards, that when his demands disappeared, so did the reason to hold myself together.
But then why had I stopped spiraling?
Why had I been fine these past few weeks? I hadn’t felt that self-destructive pull in days. Not since…
My gaze snapped to Elizabeth.
It was her. She made me want to be better.
Not because I was trying to impress her, not because I was proving anything to anyone, but because, for the first time, being better actually felt like something I wanted. I stopped fighting everything because, for once, I had something worth fighting for.
She was still holding my hand. Still there, steady and unwavering.
And before I could think, before I could second-guess it, I leaned in.
Our first kiss had been perfect, but each one after that was even better.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, like she’d been waiting for this just as much as I had. My hands slid to her waist, anchoring us together, and for a moment, I let myself forget everything outside of this.
The way she fit against me. The way her breath hitched when I deepened the kiss. The way she leaned into me, like she couldn’t get close enough.
Every time our lips met, it was something new, something more. Like we were learning each other one touch at a time.
And I could have kissed her forever.
Then—
A loud knock at the door.
Elizabeth jerked back, eyes wide, breath still uneven.
I muttered a curse under my breath and pushed to my feet, throwing the door open.
A teenage boy stood there, out of breath, like he’d been running. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Richards. I work at the convenience store down the road. A guy named Mick says you need to come back to town. You don’t have service out here, but people are looking for you.”
Elizabeth sat up straighter. “Looking for him?”
The kid nodded. “It’s all over the news. You two are all over the news.”
Elizabeth shot to her feet. “All over the news?” I felt her go still beside me. “We need to go.”
We barely spoke as we packed up, throwing our things into the car.
We drove in silence, winding through the swamp roads until, finally, Elizabeth’s phone buzzed with a flood of missed notifications.
She clicked on the first link.
And there it was.
ROCK STAR’S NEW MYSTERY WOMAN: IS THIS THE END OF LOGAN AND SOPHIE?
Below were the photos of Elizabeth and me in the French Quarter. Her hand on my arm, both of us mid-laugh, standing too close.
Her breath hitched. “Oh, this is bad.”
“How bad?” I asked, gripping the wheel tighter.
She swallowed, scanning the article, her face turning pale. “We just need to get back to the city.”
I didn’t argue. But as I pressed down on the gas, all I could think about was what she’d do when we got back. Would she put that wall back up? Pretend this didn’t happen?
Because now the whole world was watching.
And I wasn’t sure if she would run…
Or if I was finally going to convince her to stay.