Page 131 of Meet Me in the Valley
It wasn’t about me anymore. I’d already found the answers I was seeking and with them, a kind of peace I didn’t know I needed.
That was hours ago.
And now, the pull to drive to Torren’s dock presses on me with a quiet, relentless force.
It’s so strong, I move without thought—throwing on a sweatshirt from the closet, slipping into my sneakers, grabbing my keys and heading for the door.
I’m already halfway to my car when I stop cold, drawing in a deep inhale as fall in California settles in the air, the remnants of summer gone.
Not just want—need.
The thought lands like a punch to the chest. My knees nearly give out under the weight of it.
I miss him so fucking much it hurts.
My hand clenches around the keys, sharp edges biting into my skin, grounding me in the ache that’s finally breaking through.
Because now that I’ve made space for Nora, for Cali, for Mom and Dad, there’s nothing left holding the walls up.
And in their absence, all that’s left is him.
Logan.
Every beat of my heart feels like it’s calling for him, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand the silence.
I fumble with my phone, pulling it from my pocket, my fingers trembling as they hover over his name.
It’s been so long since I’ve heard his voice. Ineedto hear it.
Without another thought, I tap his name and press the phone hard to my ear. I pace the length of my parent’s driveway, each step syncing with the steady thrum of my pulse.
It rings. And rings. And rings.
With every echo, my nerves fray, hope unraveling thread by thread.
Then, finally, the ringing stops.
There’s a shuffle on the other end—sheets maybe, or the rustle of movement—and then I hear him.
“T?”
“Hey,” I breathe, a small chuckle escaping before I can stop it. Like hearing him just healed something in me I didn’t know was broken.
“Hey. You’re up late. Missing me or something?”
His voice is low, rough with sleep and just a hint of tease. Warmth curls around the edges of every word. It slides through me like a match struck in the dark, sparking something I thought I’d buried back in Vegas.
I’m blushing and he’s barely said a handful of words.
“Or something,” I say, biting my lip to keep the smirk from fully forming.
His low chuckle rumbles through the line, and I feel it everywhere. The ache from missing him slowly shifts to something darker—hungrier.
“It’s so fucking good to hear your voice, T.”
“You have no idea,” I whisper, drifting toward the front of my car and climbing onto the hood. The metal is cool beneath me, but I’m burning from the inside out.
“Oh, trust me. I do.”
