Page 98 of The Breakaway

“Answer the damn question, Logan.”

Logan blew out a breath. "Sharla, I was drunk. It was just a kiss."

I blinked back tears.Just a kiss.

Logan's shoulders sagged. "I didn’t?—"

"How many?" I asked. My voice was barely a whisper. I didn’t need to ask how it happened or why. That much was obvious. But he was still squirming, which meant I still didn’t know the whole story.

He looked up, his eyes pleading. "Sharla, it didn't mean anything."

I swallowed hard. "How many, Logan?"

He groaned. "Two. Okay? There were two."

My heart felt like it was going to burst through my chest. "Two girls."Did he even hear himself?

Logan’s grip tightened on my waist. "I was lonely, Sharla. I was there for weeks, and after the games, the whole team was pumped, and these girls . . ."

I shook my head. "So it’stheirfault?”

Logan looked at me like I was the one who didn’t understand. "I didn't sleep with them, Sharla. It was just fun."

"Fun." I tried to keep my voice steady. It was an impossible task. "Logan, do you think it would be okay if I kissed two guys? To have fun?"

Logan's jaw tightened. "You're not . . . I mean, Sharla, you wouldn't?—"

"No, I wouldn't." I slapped his hands away and took a step back, my heart aching. I was lonely, too, but I’d walked away. When I feltthingswith Rob, I made a damn choice.

Logan reached for me, but I stepped back again. "Sharla, please. It was a mistake. It won't happen again. I promise."

Rob’s words in the hall outside the locker room came back to me, this time with a completely different meaning.She doesn’t understand the kind of dedication and commitment this takes, bud.

I didn’t understand. If this was what it meant to be dedicated to hockey, then I was going to take away his focus. Because I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit at home while my boyfriend travelledto different cities to celebrate and “have fun” with his adoring fans.

I didn't respond. I couldn't. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I would scream. Or cry. Or both. I turned and walked down the hall.

Logan followed me. "Sharla, please. Let's talk about this."

I stopped in front of my door, my hand on the doorknob. "Talk? You want to talk now?" I turned to face him. "Logan, you didn't even talk to me when you were gone."

Logan looked away. "I was busy?—"

"Bullshit." I spat the word. "You were out at bars with your team. You were out kissing random girls. You could've made time for me." My voice cracked, and I hated how weak it sounded. "I made time for you, Logan, and I gave you so much credit, I can’t—” I stopped myself, searching for my suitcase.

Logan tried to reach for my hand, but I pulled away. "You can’t, what?”

I shook my head. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

He stepped closer. "What were you going to say?"

I clenched my jaw. "I can’t believe you didn’t make those pancakes."

Logan looked at me. "You’re pissed about the pancakes?"

I pursed my lips. “It’s not about the pancakes.”

“Well it sounds like?—”

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