Page 5 of 21 Week Hiatus

“Savannah?”

My eyes rake over him, mentally checking to see if he’s okay. Which is absurd because, of course he is. He’s donning his usual sharp business attire looking delightfully sinful in his light grey suit and black shirt that I would love to just tear off him right now. I don’t even know what I was expecting to find coming here. If anything, he looks surprised to see me. “Trent knows.”

Well done, Savi.Just blurt it right out.

I wince inwardly at my lack of filter. The words fall out of my mouth before I can catch them, like a bad case of verbal diarrhea.

Logan’s chiseled features contort from startled to somber from one second to the next. His strong brow furrows, creating a deep "v" between his piercing grey eyes. I feel a pang of guilt swell in my chest for just dropping it on him like that instead of easing him into it with a conversation. “About us,” I go on to clarify. “Trent knows about us. Jesus, Logan, I’ve been calling you, why haven’t you been answering my calls? I must have left you like seven hundred messages.”

Logan's gaze bores into me, his expression somber. “I left my phone at home this morning when I rushed out the door. I had meetings all dayand just now came back to retrieve it. Wait a minute, did I hear you right? You said Trent knows about us? How?”

Without waiting for an invitation, I stride through the front door of his house and stop in the foyer. Logan follows behind, closing the door and approaching me with concern etched on his face. “According to Suzan, yes he knows. She’s claiming that she saw us kissing at your Gala dinner the other night. I’m guessing she followed one of us upstairs and saw us leaving your study together and you kissing me. And of course, being the cunning hag that she is, she didn’t waste a moment and went running to tell your ex-wife who then must have told Trent.” I explain apprehensively and notice his expression morphing to one of annoyance.

He lets out a string of colorful curses before striding past me towards the staircase leading to the first floor, likely to retrieve his phone. I watch him bound up the steps with his long, muscular legs taking two at a time. It takes me a full three seconds to gather my thoughts and follow him upstairs.

I make it upstairs and round the corner to find him pacing back and forth in his bedroom, phone in hand. His left thumb is swiping over the screen, scrolling through the messages and missed calls that he's received. I can only see the side of his face, and from the position he’s standing it's difficult to decipher his thoughts. So, I opt for standing in the doorway, quietly observing him.

Logan’s face is tense, brow furrowed in concentration. Every now and then, he lets out a sigh or runs a hand through his hair. I wonder what it is he’s seen on his phone. Is it a message from Trent or his ex-wife.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he stops pacing and looks up, meeting my eyes. The turmoil in his gaze is plain as the nose on your face. God, I really hate that I’m the reason behind that look. I can see the struggle to keep the lid on his emotions. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, he just shakes his head and turns away, unable to find the words to express himself.

And I get it, this is harder on him than me. I have nothing to lose. All I lost was my job. Whereas he has more at stake. Even if neither of usintended for things to come this, this can and likely already has, wrecked his already fragile relationship with his son.

I’m unsure what to do. Do I go to him? Or do I wait till he calls me over? I’m itching to go over there, to comfort him, but his tense demeanor and the crestfallen look on his face all tell me he needs space right now. So, I stay where I am, waiting till he’s ready to talk. It’s clear he needs time to process.

Logan sighs before sinking down to sit at the foot of the bed, his forearms resting on his thighs, his eyes cast down and his head hung low.

Guilt starts to gnaw away at me. I can’t bear to see him so disheartened. The longer we sit in silence, the heavier my heart feels inside my chest.

Come on Logan, please, say something. Give me a sign, a tiny indication that we’re going to be okay.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Logan looks up at me. I tilt my head to the side and rest it against the door frame as we lock eyes. He sits up straight and gestures for me to come to him with a nod of his head. Without hesitation I walk over and he opens his arms for me as a gesture to sit on his lap. A flutter of emotion runs through me as he envelops me in his muscular arms and nuzzles into my neck. I wrap my arm around his broad shoulders, gently caressing the short hairs at the back of his head.

This should be reassuring, right? Him seeking comfort from me is a promising sign for our relationship.

So why does it feel like we're on a one-way path towards an inevitable goodbye?

Fucking Christ.

I stare unblinking at the number of missed calls, texts and voice messages on my phone and my heart takes a dive into my gut.

Savannah 10 missed calls and 7 voicemails.

April 3 missed calls and 5 text messages.

Son 17 missed calls.

April:

‘Call me. NOW.’

April:

‘Logan, this is urgent.Call ME!’

April:

‘Seriously, Logan? You’re ignoring my calls? What you’re too ashamed to pick up the phone now your filthy secret has been exposed? Screwing a tramp half your age is one thing, but to screw your son’s girlfriend? When did you become such a pervert?’

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