Page 65 of Somewhere Without You
Logan’s hands settledfirmlyon my shoulders.“What the hell do you have to be sorry for?”
“This is all so fucked up,”I sobbed.“I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”
“You didn’t drag me into anything,”he insisted, his face inches from mine.“Ichoseto be here.Andthank God Iwas—because if Ihadn’tbeen, whoknowswhatcould’ve happened.”
The thought paralyzed me. Iknewexactlywhat would’ve happened. Loganknewtoo.
“I’m staying the night,”he saidfirmly.
“You don’t have to dothat,”I argued.
“Yes, I do,”he replied, already heading toward the hallway.
“You’re overreacting,”I insisted.“I’ll be fine.”Itwasa lie—and we bothknewit.Butthe idea of him sleeping over stirred something in me Iwasn’tready to face.
Logan grabbed a pillow and blanket from the linen closet and tossed them onto the sofa. “I’ll sleep on the couch,”he said without looking at me.“I’ll be gone by morning. You won’tevenknowIwashere.”
I rolled my eyes.Yeah right.Still, as much as I hated to admit it, the thought of him close by,justin case, eased the fear and anxiety mounting in my chest.
“Fine,”I relented.“Butthenwhat? You can’t sleep on my couch every night trying to protect me.”
A brief image of Logan sleeping over, hair tousled and shirtless every morning sent a warm flood through my veins.
Logan turned to face me.“You’re right. I can’t.ButI don’t like the idea of you being out here alone.Especiallywith. . .”He paused.“Your situation.”
“Mysituation?”I repeated, surprised.“I’m not some damsel in distress, Logan. I don’t need you to rescue me.Forfuck’s sake, how do you think I’ve survived this long?”
“I don’tknow, Emily!”he snapped.
His sudden anger caught me off guard and I flinched.
Logan exhaledslowly, the fire in his brown eyes dimming.“I don’tknow,”he repeated, softer now.“Andit scares the hell out of me.”
Thirty Eight
ThefloorboardsgroanedasI crept downstairs. I couldn’t sleep with the scent of Jackson’s possible intrusion still thick in the air.
Every creak needled my nerves. Every shadow made me flinch.Evenwith Logan here, the idea of Jackson lurking outside gnawed at me like something feral. What if Ihadn’tlockedthe door? Would he have hurt Winston? Ransacked the house? Waited in the dark to attack me once Iwasalone?
ButJackson didn’t want confrontation. He wanted control. To leave his mark. To violate me in a way only hecould. Thiswasa game to him—one he intended on winning.
This househadonce been a refuge. A sanctuary. Now itfelttainted—robbed of everything it once offered.
Logan didn’t stir when I entered the living room, his face cast in soft amber hues from the fire crackling in the hearth. At some point in the night,he’dbuilta fire. The stones on the floorweregone, and for a brief moment, Iwasoddlyirritatedthathe’dmovedthem back.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” I asked, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
He shook his head, lifting a half-empty glass of wine.“I hope you don’t mind. Itfelt. . . necessary.”
I settled into the worn armchair across from him.“Actually, I think I’ll join you, if that’s okay?”
“The more the merrier,”he murmured, tilting his head back for a slow sip.
Passing me the bottle, Islowlyraised it to my lips and let the bitterness burn its way down my throat.
The flames crackled, throwing soft amber light against the walls as the silence stretched. I wasn’t sure who would speak first—maybe neither of us would. Maybe we’d just sit here, pretending the past wasn’t clawing its way to the surface.
“You ever wish things had gone differently?” I asked finally, my voice barely louder than the crackling fire.
