Page 66 of Somewhere Without You
His eyes didn’t leave the flames. “Every damn day.”
I swallowed hard, unsure if I was relieved or devastated to hear it.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Me too.”
He took a long drink then finally turned to face me. “Eleven years,”he saidfaintly.“Sincethe last time wesaweach other.”He placed his now empty glass on the coffee table, and I refilled it without asking.“Not once did I thinkyou’dactuallyleave.”
I sighed. He wanted to do this now? Fine.
“You left first,”I challenged, but the stingwasn’tthere.
“ButI came back,”Logan countered, his voice thick.“I came back, Emily.Foryou.IfI’dknownyouweregoing to leave. . .ifI’dknownit wouldbe over a decade before Isawyou again—I never would’ve left.”
I swallowed hard, the warmth from the fire suddenly too much.
“You didn’t give me a reason to stay,” I whispered.
Logan leaned back, the couch sighing beneath his weight as he sank into it.“Iwasn’tthe same man when I came back, you know.”
The fire popped, sending up sparks like fleeting stars drifting into the night.
“I did things,”he went on.“Things I can’t take back. Things I’ll never forgive myself for. The training, the deployments. . . they strip you down. Numb you. Chipping away until all that’s left is reflex and survival.”
He stared into the flames, haunted by memories I couldn’t begin to understand. Icouldfeelthe weight of his pain pressing down on me like a storm cloud ready to burst.
“Butyou made it through,”I said, a sad attempt at comfort.
He noddedslowly.“I did.Andthe only thingthatgot me through—the only light in allthatdarkness,wasyou. The idea of you. Coming home to you.Thatwaswhat I clung to. On the nights when my thoughtsweretoo loud, the days when I didn’tevenfeelhuman. . . itwasalways you.”He paused, his expression tightening.“Andthen. . . fuck, youwerejustgone. No letter. No goodbye. Nothing.”
“Logan. . .”I tried, but the words collapsed inside my mouth. HowcouldI answerthatkind of pain? HowcouldI measure his suffering against the glamourous, albeit, violent lifeI’dbuilt?
I reached toward him, my hand hovering across the coffee table, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch him.Therewasan invisible barrier between us now, between the yearsthathadswallowedus whole.
“Why didn’t you call?”I asked,eventhough I alreadyknew.
Helookedat me, his face worn.“Youknowwhy.”
“Tell meanyway.”
Logan exhaledslowly.“I almost did.WhenI first got back.Fora second, I let myself believemaybewecouldpick up where we left off. Iknewyou’dmoved away, but I thought. . .ifIcouldjustseeyou, talk to you,maybeyou’dcomehome.” He paused, jaw tightening. “ThenI found out youweremarried. To Jackson Bishop, of all people. HowwasI supposed to compete withthat? My headwasa mess. Iwasa mess.Andyou. . . youhadeverythingyou’dever wanted. Youwerehappy. All Ihadto offerwasa broken man and some distant memories. What kind of a life isthatto give someone? What kind of love?”
Tears stung my eyes, blurring the edges of the room. My silencewasn’thesitation—itwashabit. A wallI’dbuiltover years of swallowing my voice, brick by agonizing brick.
“Why him, Emily?”Logan asked, his voice strained.“Andwhy didn’t you leave when things. . .”He broke off, unable to say the rest out loud.
I couldn’tlookat him.Instead, I traced the wood grain of the coffee table with an unsteady finger, trying to ground myself in something solid.
“Hewasn’talways likethat,”I admitted after a pause.“In the beginning, everythingwasperfect. Too perfect.Thenitwasn’t. I didn’t want to admit it, but the pictureI’dpaintedof us started to crack. His protectiveness turned into control.Thencame the isolation, the gaslighting, andeventually, the physical abuse.”
My heart slammed against my ribs like a frantic bird trapped inside a cage of bone. Thiswasit.Therewasno going back now. The truthwasa festering woundthathadsilentlypoisoned my life and Iwasdesperate for an antidote.
“Katherine warned me—begged menot to marry him.ButIwasalready in too deep.Andbythen, walking awaywasn’tsimple. He made sure ofthat.”Ifinallymet Logan’s heavy gaze, my eyes red rimmed, my lips tripping over my confession.“Andthe worst part? He made me believe I deserved it.”
Logan’s face darkened, rage splashing across his features like fire burning over dry brush.
“You should’ve called me,”he said, voice sharp.“You should’ve let me help.”
“Lookaround you, Logan,”I said, my voice catching on the lump in my throat.“Protecting me from him wouldn’t have stopped any of this.”I motioned toward the shattered window.“He didn’tjustbreak and bruise my body, he broke my fucking spirit.”
