Page 123 of Logan
Maybe that’s true in some cosmic sense. Maybe someday I’ll look back on this whole mess as a blessed escape, the best thing that ever happened to me.
But right now, raw and bleeding in the aftermath, it feelslike a vital piece of me has been ripped out, a Logan-shaped hole gaping in my chest where my heart used to be.
Before I can spiral again, lose myself in the sticky web of memories and might-have-beens, another message from Emery pops up.
Emery
Oh, Logan Valeur was looking for you.
I freeze, my lungs seizing in my chest. Everything in me goes still and quiet, the white noise buzzing in my head snuffed out like a candle in a gale.
Logan was asking about me? Trying to find me?
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or throw my phone at the wall.
He’s probably just covering his bases, doing damage control, like the efficient leader he is.
I type out a response with fingers that shake with impotent fury, jamming my thumb at the screen like I could break it in half with the force of my rage.
Logan can go fuck himself.
I copy the first message, the sunny lie, and send it to my parents as well. There. Familial obligations fulfilled, concerned parties appeased. Now I can retreat into my cave of sorrows and fester in peace, undisturbed by the outside world and its endless demands.
I shut off my phone, the screen going black. Then, numb and wrung out, I reach over and flip off the bedside lamp as well, plunging the room into a gloom that matches my mood.
I don’t care that it’s barely past dinnertime, that there are a million healthier coping mechanisms than hiding in bed feeling sorry for myself.
I don’t care about anything beyond the ache in my throat, the burn behind my eyes and the awful, echoing emptiness in the cavity where my heart used to be.
My eyes ache, and my head pulsates as I cry until exhaustion takes over.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
I jerk awake, my heart pounding against my ribs.
“Sloane, open up!” The banging continues, insistent and demanding.
What time is it? What’s going on? I wrap the blanket around my body and rise, padding to the door on sleep-clumsy feet. I crack it open, peering out into the dim light of late evening.
The door flies open, nearly sending me sprawling. I stumble back, my eyes widening as Logan steps into the room, his large frame filling the small space, making it feel cramped. Suffocating.
“Logan?” I rasp, my voice rough with sleep and tears. “What are you doing here?”
“Fuck, Sloane.”He strides forward, his eyes blazing. “Don’t you ever run from me again.”
Without warning, he sweeps me into his arms, crushing me against his chest.
Stunned, I stiffen for a moment before melting into his embrace, my resistance crumbling like a house of cards. He feels so good, so warm and solid and safe.
He brushes his thumb over my cheek, his touch gentle despite the tension thrumming through him. Then he curses under his breath. “You’ve been crying.”
I hate him. I hate he can still make me feel this way, even now, even after everything. But I can’t bring myself to pull away.
“I’m not exactly sexy with red, puffy eyes, huh?” I try for a joke, but it falls flat, my voice wavering.
“You’re always sexy to me.” He cups my face in his hands, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. “You’re perfect.” He leans in, his lips a hairsbreadth from mine. “And I want to kiss you until you can’t remember anything but the taste of me.”
He claims my mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing my gasp as his tongue sweeps inside. I can taste the faint hint of coffee and mint, the flavor uniquely his, and it makes me dizzy, makes me weak in the knees.
