Page 94 of Keeping Kasey
“What can I say? You make me a better man.”
My throat burns, and I take a long breath to steady myself. “When will you be home?”
“We’re finishing up at the hospital now, then we’re coming straight home. Should only be a few hours.”
The reminder of why he left in the first place hits me with another wave of guilt.
“How is Ford?”
“Awake, but out of it. He’s been with doctors nonstop since he woke up. We’re having him transferred to a facility in Chicago, so he’s leaving now, too.”
“Does he remember anything?”
“Just flashes. The doctor said his memory may or may not come back, not that it will change much anyway.”
“Right,” I say with a sigh that too closely resembles relief.
“What about you?” Logan asks after a brief hesitation.
“Whataboutme?”
“Have any of your memories come back?”
“I already told you what happened,” I remind him.
“I know, but you could still get some memories back,” he says. “You’ll tell if you do, right?”
“Of course,” I answer instinctively, and the ease with which the lie comes is the last straw. “I have a massive headache, so I’m going to have Damon take me home now. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Can’t wait,” he says, and I end the call.
“Is everything okay?” Damon asks, eyeing me with concern.
“I’m in a lot of pain. Can you take me back to the manor?”
He studies me for a long moment before nodding. “Yeah, let’s go.”
We walk to the garage, and it isn’t difficult to feign my headache. Iamin intense pain—just in my chest.
With every step, I wonder what will happen to me when Logan finds out—and hewillfind out.
I can’t lie my way out of this. Logan is smart, and he’ll figure it out, one way or another.
The only question is, will I still be around when he does?
It’s just past eight when Logan opens the door to my bedroom. As he does, Kane runs into the hallway, and I hear James’s excited greeting as he calls for the dog to go outside with him.
If things don’t work out between Logan and me, James may be the most heartbroken of all.
As Logan closes the door, I am struck by his ability to effortlessly captivate me with the most mundane actions.
His tie is undone, slung lazily over his shoulder, and the navy-blue coat is wrinkled from having been worn all day. His hair is mussed, and his eyes have dark circles beneath them as he appraises me with awe and admiration.
Even the way Logan walks to me—so self-assured—is intoxicating. He holds himself with a confidence that suits him so well, even if it does make him an insufferable ass sometimes.
I soak in every detail of him—relishing being the object of his attention.
I’ve spent hours lying in this room, contemplating my situation over and over again.
