Page 24 of Revenge Cake

“Hi,” I say softly.

His wide eyes locked on my face, he blinks rapidly. “I just had the craziest dream.”

I smile. “Tell me about it.”

His green eyes drift to the ceiling, growing unfocused as he speaks. “There was a huge earthquake. Everything was on fire. I could even smell the smoke. Lauren was with me, except for some reason she was a little kid, and I was so worried she was going to get crushed by all the debris. Things were falling from the sky, and I kept having to knock them away from her. We were at Coronado High School at first and then we ended up in downtown Santa Barbara. State Street was decimated. It was crazy…” Suddenly, his eyes lock with mine. “I was looking for you and I couldn’t find you. I kept seeing girls who looked like you, but whenever I got close, it wasn’t you.”

He looks a little bewildered as he stares at me. Warmth fills my belly as I run my fingers through his soft hair. “You were whimpering.”

“Was I?” An abashed smile tugs at his lips. “I was scared. I thought you were dead, and I’d feel so relieved when I thought I found you, and then want to scream when it wasn’t you.” His eyes narrow in indignation. “It was you too, but the faces would change into someone else when I got close. You know—that shitty dream trick. Oh man, I was so relieved when I woke up and saw your face.”

He continues to stare at me with that rueful smile, as if his admission was silly and he’s waiting for me to tease him, but I can’t.

Something inside me shatters. My chest is gripped with an almost painful ache of longing. I hold my breath in an effort to keep the hovering tears from falling.

I’ve lost the battle of resisting him. I love him. How could I not fall in love with him when he’s the opposite of what I most loathe in myself?

I don’t want the kind of love that I’m able to give. I don’t want the kind of love that’s earned slowly over time—handed out in small, greedy doses—and withdrawn piece by piece for each mistake. I want love like Logan’s—free and big-hearted and achingly sweet.

And I’ll keep taking it without giving back because I’m terrified to compromise. Afraid that the moment I do, he’ll flee.

I’m a coward, and there’s only so much time before he realizes what a bad bargain he made.

“Are you crying?” he asks, sounding utterly incredulous. The look on his face would be comical under any other circumstances. His bewilderment is so visible I almost wonder if he thought I was incapable of tears.

“No, I’m not crying.” I wipe the bottom of my eyes with the pads of my fingers. “You’re crying.”

The edges of his lips lift slightly. He waits a moment before asking, “What did I say to make you cry?”

The apprehension in his voice makes me hate myself. That he doesn’t know these are tears of love only shows just how greedy I’ve been. Out of principle, I have to admit at least a part of what’s in my heart.

“Nothing. You’re just so wonderful I can’t stand it sometimes.”

When I see triumph ignite behind his green eyes, I know it was the right thing to say. His eyes locked on mine, he lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ears, as if to give himself a better view of my face. “Really?”

“Yes!” I shout, several tears dripping down my cheeks.

The victorious gleam doesn’t wane as his eyes roam all over my face. He’s enjoying my tears and he can’t hide it.

I forgive him. He deserves them after all I’ve put him through.

I want to tell him I love him but I just can’t get the words out. Instead I just hold his stare with ugly tears running down my face. He smiles tenderly as he lifts a hand and wipes under my eyes with the pad of his thumb.

CHAPTER 9

Present Day

Leilani

Brenna takes a large gulp of her margarita before setting it firmly on the table, a splash of yellow liquid spilling over the edge. She grabs her cloth napkin and wipes the frosted glass. I glance at the small drop on the table she overlooked.

A waste.

If it were my margarita—if I had just one—I’d consume every sip, even the watery stuff at the bottom. I’d make sure my stomach was nice and empty and…

No. Because it wouldn’t be just one. I’d need at least three to even come close to the mindless bliss of Ativan.

And I’m done with all of that.

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