Page 97 of The Breakaway

It was that statement, that exact moment that the threads unravelled. Just like those seconds with Rob on stage in the darkened concert hall, I knew. I could never look at Logan the same.

I'd spent my entire life pretending. Pretending I didn’t care that my mom wouldn’t let me wear baggy pants with boxers showing out the top to school. Pretending it was fine that we ate at the Italian place even though I much preferred Asian. Pretending I was friends with Eric in the summer.

I'd become a pro at it. Pretending I didn’t have problems so Logan wouldn’t be distracted. Pretending that I didn't care if Logan didn't attend my concerts because of hockey. Pretendinglike I wanted to have sex when I was exhausted, and it didn’t even feel that good.

And now I was pretending like I didn't want to scream and cry and throw crap across the room after seeing that photo in the newspaper. I was pretending like I loved this gift and that I was excited for him to put his hands on me when all I wanted to do was shove him into the wall and ask him why the hell he thought it was okay to let another girl drape herself over him like a shawl.

I wasn't a marionette. I was a real, live girl, and I was done pretending. "Logan, who was the girl in the newspaper?" I blurted.

Logan frowned. "What girl in the newspaper?"

I clenched my hands into fists, trying to steady my breath. I didn't want to say it. I didn't want to remember the image, but it was seared into the back of my eyelids. "She was blond. She was playing with your medal, and you had your arm around her waist."

Logan's eyes widened. "Oh. That was in the paper?"

“The school paper.”

He laughed and leaned toward me, but I held out a hand. He stilled, raising his hands in surrender. "I think you're talking about Marta. She was one of the translators for our team. We were all at the bar after our match against Sweden."

"Why was she playing with your medal?"

He shifted his weight, his hands flexing at his sides. "I don't know. She was just having fun."

"And you had your arm around her."

Logan's lips pursed. "It was no big deal, Shar. We were just celebrating."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "Celebrating."

Logan nodded. "Yeah, we were all buzzing after the win. She was excited for us."

"She was excited and you were . . . buzzing."

Logan reached for my hand. "I missed you, Sharla. I'm here now, okay? Whatever you saw in that picture, it didn't mean anything." I tried to pull my hand back, but Logan held on. "Hey, it's okay." He brushed his lips over my knuckles.

I pulled my hand away. "Logan, I can't."

He frowned. "What do you mean you can't? I’ve been gone for over two weeks. I missed you."

I swallowed, my mind racing. What did I mean? I stood and stepped away from the couch. I needed air.

Logan jumped up and stepped forward, putting his hands on my hips. “Babe.” He pressed his lips to my neck, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. "I want you."

I pushed him back. "Logan, stop."

He frowned, his hands dropping to his sides. "Sharla, what the hell?"

I drew a deep breath and met his eyes. "Were you with other girls over there?"

“With?” Logan scoffed. “No, I wasn’t ‘with’ other girls.”

My eyes narrowed. He wasn’t meeting my eyes. “Let me be a little more specific. Did you touch other girls like you did Marta?”

He gave me a look. “I told you?—”

“I sent you emails. I told you real, difficult things that were happening in my life, and you never wrote me back. So. Now that you’re right in front of me and not busy, I’m asking you a question, and I expect a real answer. Did you kiss her?”

His face blanched. “Babe?—”

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