Page 77 of Kings Fear No One
“Don’t panic,” he says knowingly. “That’s why I said we’ll run his record. It could be Abraham behind what happened. Or it could be somebody else. The club’s got no shortage of enemies. Neither do I.”
“That’s actually worse.”
“Point is, it was me he was after. I went to his house. He saw me. Today could’ve been him settling the score and that’s all.”
But as Logan reassures me, he doesn’t even sound certain. He takes another bite of his burger, then he washes it down with coke.
We return to silence, though it’s a different kind. A sense of unease edges through me, tensing up my spine. It feels like being pulled by invisible puppet strings that have me sitting straighter. Less relaxed, more alert.
After the day I’ve had, it’s its own kind of torture.
I prop my elbows on the counter and bring my hands together in a prayer.
My lips mouth the words without realizing they do.
When my prayer ends, I find myself on the receiving end of his probing stare. He’s finished his meal from Beef & Bunz and has taken up watching me from across the kitchen counter.
“Does it help you feel better?” he asks. “To pray like that?”
“Yes… usually. Sometimes more than others.”
“I figured.”
“You think it’s silly.”
“Didn’t say that. Do what you need to to feel better.” He digs into his jean pocket to retrieve my broken gold cross necklace. It rests in the middle of his open palm as he holds it out for me to take. “We didn’t get a chance to take it for repair.”
Warmth invades my chest. It dawns on me why he’s handing it back. He’s offering it up because he thinks it’ll make me feel better. The corner of my lip tips up in a small smile.
“Keep it. Hold onto it.”
“You sure?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I like the idea of you having it on you.”
His thick fingers close over his palm, then he returns the broken chain to his pocket. “I’ll get it fixed before I give it back to you.”
“My husband’s more considerate than he realizes he is.”
It’s a silly tease that I’m aware could backfire. But I’m clinging to the lighter mood that’s developed, hoping we can use it to forget about our terrible day. I’m expecting Logan to shut me down or scold me for daring to use the ‘H’ word.
Instead, his naturally severe expression twitches—the crease of his brows shift, his jaw losing some of its tension. He flirts with a grin that almost manages to make it onto his face before it’s gone entirely in the next blink of an eye. Standing up straighter, he walks around the kitchen counter and grabs my hand.
“It’s been a long day. We both need to blow off steam.”
Startled by what’s happening, I let him lead me into the living room. Logan throws himself onto the sofa, tugging me down with him. We crash down at each other’s side as he scoops up the remote and turns the TV on.
He wants to watch TV on the sofa. Just like any other regular couple.
Like any other husband and wife after a long, tiring day.
I try to keep my smile from spreading, but it’s useless. A giddy, fluttery feeling invades my belly.
Things could always be like this if we gave ourselves a real shot. If we really tried to make things work.
Logan just needs to see it like I do.
“My beautiful believer is more special than any other.”
