Page 206 of Keeping Kasey
As if I needed one more reason to feel pain slicing through my core. Quite frankly, it’s getting annoying.
“The old Pac-Man program,” I tell him. “I found the deleted messages.”
Realization settles over Logan’s face. “You were never supposed to read those.”
“On the contrary, they were explicitly written to me,” I say lamely.
He shakes his head. “Maybe at first, but—I was angry. I never meant—”
“You’re going to marry her,” I say, a statement, not a question.
“The hell I will.”
“What? But Damon said just this morning you—”
“This morning, I was trying to get my siblings off my back,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’ve been promised to Isabella for years. My father put the timing of the proposal in my hands, and it’s a task I’ve been more than happy toneglect. When I was just the underboss, it didn’t matter as much. Now that I’m the boss, the expectation to have my own heirs is more pressing. I’vebeen able to use my father’s death and the search for Mason’s men to postpone it, but you left and took my only ticket out with you.”
“The list?”
“Forget the stupid list,” he says with a soft, helpless laugh. “When you left, I lost the only woman I could ever love. Isabella was chosen for me, but you? You weremadefor me, Kasey. There’s nothing in this world I care about more than that.”
Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them back. There’s been enough crying today, and expressing this contentment isn’t something I’ll squander on tears.
“You’re not getting married?” I ask, desperate for him to say it out loud.
His hand gently brushes over mine, slowly caressing my ring finger.
“Not to her.”
The relief is so pure, it almost makes me forget the injuries covering most of my body.
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
Logan leans in, taking my lips in a featherlight kiss. I’m barely able to reciprocate, but that doesn’t take away from the intimacy of his lips moving against mine. His taste, his scent, his touch—everything about Logan feels like home.
I reach up, wanting as much of him as I can get, but a sharp stab in my ribs holds me down.
“Are you okay?” Logan asks, searching for the cause of my gasp.
“I was hoping you could tell me.” I look down, and from what I can tell, it doesn’t look good.
And it definitely doesn’t feel good.
“How bad is it?” I ask after a moment of his assessment.
“You’re going to be okay.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Logan swallows hard. “It’s bad, baby. Really bad.” He gestures to some bloodied rags and a bottle on the floor beside him. “Antiseptic was all I could find in this place. I tended to the few cuts and popped your shoulder back into place.”
That would explain the stinging and throbbing that woke me.
“Not as sweet as your good morning earlier today,” I note dryly.
“Sorry about that.” He leans back on his heels to look over me again. “From what I can tell, you have a broken nose, a black eye, a lot of bruising, and I’m assuming a broken rib or two. I haven’t looked further because I didn’t want to make it worse. How are your legs and ankles? Do you think anything is broken?”
I carefully flex my legs to feel for injury. My right leg is sore, and I can feel a particularly tender spot where a bruise must be. My left leg is a different story. The second I try to bend my ankle, a whimper cuts past my lips.
