Chapter 11
Logan’s hands move to cup my face as our kiss deepens in a passionate, hungry way. Both of our bodies shake with all the longing we’ve kept hidden for far too long. Our bodies press against each other, desperate to be closer, as if trying to merge into one entity.
As our lips meet, my hands instinctively tangle in Logan’s hair, pulling him closer, unwilling to let go. I can feel his heartbeat thundering against my chest, matching the rhythm of my own. Our tongues dance together in a heated exchange, exploring and teasing one another, lost in the moment.
Suddenly, I become aware of all the sensations on me: the rough texture of Logan’s stubble against my skin, the rim of his glasses leaning against the bridge of my nose, the faint scent of saltwater still lingering in his hair, the warmth of his body enveloping me in a cocoon of comfort and desire. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and terrifying all at once.
Is this really happening? Yes, it’s happening. I can’t stop it anymore.
As Logan’s arms wrap around me, pulling me hard against him, I can’t help but surrender to the feelings coursing through me. His fingers weave through my hair, gently at first, but his other hand soon finds my ass and squeezes. I moan against his mouth.
The sound of footsteps shatters our bubble, and his hands slip away as he pulls his mouth away from mine. I can still feel the ghost of Logan’s touch as we step back from each other, our breaths coming in short gasps.
“Ahem,” Yasser clears his throat, standing in the doorway with a raised eyebrow and amused smirk.
“Yasser, hey!” Logan says, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “The boat’s good?”
“It’s fine,” he replies, the corners of his mouth twitching with suppressed laughter. “I just wanted to check in on you two after all that … but I guess you’re all good.” His gaze doesn’t linger long on me; it’s clear he doesn’t want to intrude any more than he already has.
Logan runs a hand through his tousled hair. Without even thinking about it, I do the same. “We’ll live,” he tells Yasser. That’s when he turns to me, his face still flushed. But he’s no longer embarrassed. There’s concern etched into the lines of his face. “We should get you warmed up. You’re shivering.”
He’s right about that. But I’m not just shivering because of the cold.
Yet, much as I’d like to throw myself back at him and shoo Yasser out of his own break room, I can’t ignore the fact that my body is still chilled to the bone from the icy water. The North Atlantic is no Caribbean.
“Good idea,” I murmur, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion bearing down on me. My limbs tremble, caught between desire and fatigue.
“Let’s head to your cabin, then,” Logan suggests, offering me his hand. “You need to get warm and dry. We can talk more later.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I agree, taking his hand and allowing him to lead me out of the break room. Yasser watches us go with a knowing smile but says nothing.
As we walk, I can’t help but replay the last hour in my mind—the exhilaration of the open waters, the terror of the same sea once it unleashed its true self. And now that I know how Logan truly felt about the kiss, the memory fills me with warmth and longing for him.
It was a moment of desperation, but not just for any physical touch. It was a moment where his true desires came out along with mine.
Even though Logan blasts the heat as much as he can in his car, I’m shivering down to the bone. I want to talk, to acknowledge what happened, but I’m too cold to think. Or maybe it’s the adrenaline finally coming down, leaving me defenseless.
Soon, Logan pulls up at my cabin. As soon as he’s parked, I rush out from his car and fumble with my keys. Now I know exactly what I want.
I want him in my cabin, in my shower, with me. That’ll warm us up.
“Come on in,” I say as I open the door, my voice barely above a whisper. I walk inside and turn, leaving the door open.
Logan hesitates in the doorway, his hazel eyes searching mine for a moment before responding. “Avery, I—I don’t think I should come in just yet.”
Confusion clouds my thoughts as I process his words. Didn’t he make it clear this is what he wanted? “Why not?”
“Look,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ve just been through something really intense, and … I don’t want to take advantage.” The way I want him right now, I can’t possibly see how he would be taking advantage of me. “We’re both still processing everything, and I want to make sure we’re both on the same page before …” He weighs his words. “… anything else happens.”
His honesty pulls at my heartstrings, making me appreciate him even more. But at the same time, the desire for him is so strong that it’s hard to accept his reasoning. I bite my lip, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.
And I can’t help but think this could be an excuse. Maybe, now that the adrenaline is out of his system, he doesn’t really want this. Doesn’t really want me.
“Just go get warm,” he continues. “And then we can have dinner at the lodge later? I can pick you up after I’ve …” He gestures to his soaked clothes.
My heart thuds like a drum against my rib cage. Dinner. Okay. We’ll have a chance to talk it out.
“Alright,” I agree, trying to hide my disappointment. “Yeah. Good idea.”
He smiles gently, his hand brushing against mine as he steps back. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay,” I murmur, watching him walk away before closing the door behind him.
I make my way to the bathroom, peeling off my wet clothes as I step onto the cool tiled floor. Stream fills the room as I turn on the shower, enveloping me in a cloud of warmth. The hot water cascades over my body, soothing muscles I didn’t even realize were tense. I tilt my head back, allowing the spray to wash away the remnants of fear and adrenaline that still cling to me like tendrils of seaweed.
As I stand beneath the pounding water, I can’t help but think of Logan’s hungry touch. The way it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of me. My skin tingles at the thought made more intense by the cold thawing out of me.
I lather my hair and rinse it clean, the scent of lavender shampoo mingling with the steamy air. Smelling this scent feels strange. I haven’t changed my shampoo in a long time, which means this is the same shampoo I use back home. The same shampoo I’ve been using all those years with Jasper. The scent brings back flashbacks of the two of us in the shower together—laughing, kissing, his weight pressing against my back. Oddly enough, the heartache that once overtook my entire being is only a whisper. Now all I want to do is chase this memory away and imagine Logan with me here instead.
When I’ve finished washing away the salt and the cold, I turn off the shower and wrap myself in a plush towel. As soon as I open the door, the steam disperses in the main room, and I see my bed.
I know I should get dressed right away. I’m not sure when Logan is coming back to walk me to the lodge for dinner. But the hot shower only made me more groggy than before.
Exhausted, I lie down on my bed, the soft mattress cradling my weary body. It’s only for a little while, I tell myself, just enough to regain my strength. Just a little catnap.
As I lie there, the weight of the day presses down on me like a heavy blanket. The air in the room feels thick, saturated with the remnants of fear and adrenaline that still linger in my veins. Too tired to fight against the pull of sleep any longer, I let my eyes flutter shut.
* * *
I’m alone on a rowboat with nothing but ocean surrounding me in every direction. Above me, the night sky is clear, and I’ve never seen so many stars. The ocean is still, quiet, leaving room for contemplation of the stars above.
I feel … strangely at peace.
I remain seated in the rowboat for a moment, satisfied to simply take in this moment. Eyes shut. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
“You’ve gotten pretty good at that.” The voice startles me, and I open my eyes. I’m taken aback when I see Dad sitting right in front of me. But I knew it was him just from his voice. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
“I had to.” I cross my arms. “No thanks to you.”
My dad gives me a sad smile. “I know. And you’ve turned out pretty good despite our little family curse.”
“Pretty good?” I fight to keep my voice calm. “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Don’t you?”
He shrugs. “Do you?”
Anger starts rising through me. “Social workers. Psycho-educators. Therapists. I’ve gone through them all. And they all basically say the same things. Give the same tips. And it’s not like you were around much to help me through it. That one time, maybe. Yeah, I’ve gotten better at knowing when the panic attacks are coming, and I know how to mitigate them, but … at what cost, really?” I take another deep breath. “I can’t have a ‘normal’ job. If I weren’t my own boss, I couldn’t do this. I’m basically unemployable. I can’t make friends. Going out where there are too many people is possible, but it’s a struggle, and some days are worse than others. Plus, the man I thought I was going to have kids with left me. And the cherry on top? You left me. So, yeah, I think saying I’m ‘doing good’ is an exaggeration. I’m surviving, Dad. I’m not ‘doing good’.”
He doesn’t say anything for a little while. Instead, he looks at me, his piercing green eyes staring straight into my soul. Then he finally speaks up. “Have you considered you’re not supposed to be doing good right now, honey?”
“What do you mean by that? Didn’t you just say you thought I was doing good?”
“Well, you are, given the circumstances.” He looks out to the sea. “But I think you’re looking at it from the wrong perspective, Avery.”
This is getting annoying. “Are you just going to riddle me to death, or what?”
“You’re trying to go back to who you were. Aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” Then I look back up at him. “But how do I go back?”
“You’ll have to figure that out on your own … All I’m saying is, I think you’re doing good, despite everything you’re going through. I don’t think I would have fared any better, my strong girl.”
“But I’m not trying to be you,” I argue. “So the fact that you wouldn’t have done any better isn’t some kind of milestone for me, Dad. I’m trying to be better. God, I love you, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not trying to model who you are.”
“So, is that what you’re afraid of?” he asks. “You’re afraid of turning into me?”
“No!” I yell back, but I immediately soften. “Yes … maybe? Ugh.” I let my face fall into my hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. All I know is that I want a partner who’s there for me, for our kids. And when I’m there, I want to be fully there. I want to go out and do things, even though the anxiety makes it so, so hard. I don’t want to be the recluse who comes home after work, spends an hour or two in front of the TV, and then hides away in my room while the rest of my family moves on with their lives. I don’t want to be that person, but I feel myself turning into that, day after day, because just existing is hard, and going out in the world is hard, and?—”
“Shhh.” I’ve begun crying, but he’s holding me now. “It’s okay, strong girl. I’m here.”
“But you’re not.” It’s just a dream.
“I know. I know. But he is.”
“Logan?” I look up at him. “I can’t rely on him like that. I can’t live my life relying on someone else to function like a human being. I can’t do that to him.”
“Then don’t.” He strokes my hair, and oh, how I wish this was real. How I wish he was here. “Be a big girl. Work on yourself. But don’t pass up a good thing, either. You can have both, can’t you?”
“Can I?”
“I don’t know, my strong girl. It’s up to you.”