Page 99 of The Breakaway

“It’s about everything, Logan. You didn’t wash out my water bottles, you didn’t make the pancakes, you didn’t come to my concerts, and you sure as hell didn’t make me that mix tape.”

Logan blinked. "What?"

I forced myself to draw a full breath, then slowly let it out. “Why didn’t you tell me about the mix tape?”

Logan sat down on the bed. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Hmm.” I nodded once. “It seems you don’t think a lot of things matter.” I turned and opened up my dresser drawer,grabbing out a few pairs of underwear and socks, then moved to the closet.

I expected the wave of emotions to keep swelling, building within me until the dam broke, but as I pulled out a sweater and a pair of jeans, the opposite happened. The storm inside me calmed.

Logan wasn’t any different now than when he’d left.

I was the one who’d changed.

As messed up as it sounded, a little compassion trickled through me. Logan was expecting to come home to the same girl he’d left. The one who shoved everything in her life to the side to make sure every single one of his needs was met. The one who worshiped the ground he walked on. The one who needed his attention to feel whole. To feel special. To feel worthy.

Logan was used to being able to do exactly what he wanted. In no way did that excuse the behaviour he was rationalizing. But it did make sense. He wanted a hardcore fan. I wanted a relationship.

I dropped my clothes in the suitcase and looked up at Logan, resting his head in his hands. “I changed while you were gone.” Logan looked up. “I still care about you, Logan. I do.” Logan started shaking his head, but I put up a hand. “You are an incredible hockey player, and I know you’re going to have every opportunity after all this. I’m so happy for you. But I need to be more than the tagalong.”

“Shar, you were never the tagalong.”

I zipped up the suitcase and walked into the washroom, scooping my toiletries into my case. I walked back into the bedroom and gripped the handle of my bag. “I’m taking your truck.”

I turned and exited the room, walking as fast as I could without breaking into a run. I grabbed his keys from the island counter, then pulled my coat from the hook.

“Shar. I’m sorry. Take a drive, and I’ll have dinner ready when you get back tonight. We can talk about this and?—"

"I made you a week of dinners."

Logan sucked in a breath. “You did?”

“I did.” I gripped the suitcase handle. “I’ll come back for the rest of my things once I figure out where I’m staying.”

Logan’s mouth twisted. He pointed to Rob’s empty room. “You could stay there for now. You don’t have to leave.”

I looked at the open bedroom door, and my heart twinged. No. I couldn’t stay in that room. Because the only person I wanted to see right now had moved all of his things out of it.

Logan opened his mouth, but I shook my head. I couldn’t give him false hope. There was nothing he could say or do to fix this because it wasn’t just the girl in the paper that broke things.

I needed to rip off the Band-Aid. "We're done, Logan." I pulled the door open and dragged my suitcase out into the night.

Chapter

Thirty-Two

I gripped the steering wheel,my hands ten and two and knuckles white as I pulled Logan's truck to the curb. I stared at the big brick house ahead of me. I turned off the engine, and the sudden silence amplified the pounding of my heart.

This was it. I’d spoken the words, but if I got out of this truck, I would be putting the final nail in the coffin on my relationship with Logan.

It wasn’t that I worried I’d change my mind. I knew I wouldn’t. But even though I knew it was the right choice, it was still scary as hell. A month ago, I thought I knew what my life would look like. I had it all planned out. Instead, starting with this moment and all the seconds, minutes, days, and months ahead of it, I was staring at a blank sheet of paper.

I slumped forward, resting my forehead on the wheel as tears spilled over onto my cheeks. I grieved the end of that relationship. The end of the life I’d envisioned and the person I thought I was. The end of my living situation with that nice townhouse and my own washroom. That part was petty, but it was still depressing.

Now, all I had was a suitcase and a headache. I had no idea where I was going to live or what I was going to do.

I sucked in a breath and took inventory.

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