Page 58 of The Rookie
If he’s not my client, maybe he could be something else. Like my boyfriend or, eventually, my ...
No.I shut that thought down quicker than I can power off my phone.
I am absolutely not allowing myself to think about Logan’s insane proposal right now. It had to have been the post-sex endorphins talking, or maybe he was just living out some sort of weird domestic fantasy of his. Either way, he didn’t actually mean it. And even if he did, I’ve known the man for all of fourteen days.
Fourteen magical, whirlwind days.
My heart swells as each one of them plays through my memory like a highlight reel. From the first time I stepped into that house, there was something about him that I was instantly attracted to. And then that night Jillian sent him to build a fire in my cabin, that’s when I felt the first spark.
But this feeling in my chest now is much larger than that. It’s a roaring wildfire that torched any chance I had at being professional. That was made quite clear last night ... and again this morning.
Heat floods my system at the memory of his strong arms around me, his warm lips at my neck. Last night, I felt like I was living for the first time, not just existing. Maybe that’s what a life with Logan would be like. A life worth living instead of merely going through the motions.
An ache builds deep inside me as the rumbling stops and a weightless feeling builds inside me. Takeoff. I’m officially no longer on Colorado soil. Time to leave it all behind me.
Once we reach cruising altitude, the tears subside, leaving me completely exhausted. At least it means I can sleep through this flight.
• • •
I hardly remember making the decision to sleep, but in what feels like two blinks and a yawn, the rumbling touchdown of the plane in Boston wakes me from my dream about—you guessed it—Logan. You can take the girl out of Lost Haven, but I guess you can’t stop the memories from following her home.
Once we’ve deplaned, it’s only a ten-minute cab ride back to my Southie apartment, where everything is exactly as I left it.
The coffee mug in the sink and the hamper of half-folded laundry remind me of what I thought this trip would be. A quick turnaround, no more than a day or two. Get in, persuade the client to work with me, and get out. I should have been back before the produce in my fridge went bad. It’s almost a funny thought now.
Exhausted, I let my duffel drop to the hardwood with a thud that echoes through the empty apartment, reminding me that, for the first time in weeks, I am really, truly alone.
With a sigh, I set aside my laptop bag, flip on the lights, and sink into the cushions of my couch, flipping on the TV to have some background noise.
The chatter of some sitcom family instantly calms me and simultaneously revs up my imagination. I wonder what the Tates are up to tonight. Maybe Austen built a bonfire and they’re cozied up around it, drinking home-brewed beer and swapping stories about growing up.
I check the time on my phone. It’s early enough that they could still be eating dinner, with Jillian carving up a perfectly cooked venison roast. I’ll bet they’ve already put away that extra chair they pulled out specially for me. The thought stings.
And then it really sets in. The loneliness. And not the usual kind, either. This is something deeper. Heavier.
For so long, I’ve been used to my life, my little studio apartment that I don’t have to share with anyone. I reported the ins and outs of my life to my journal or social media instead of calling my mom, like my friends get to do. I was perfectly content not knowing what I was missing.
But for a short time, I had a family. Friends. A man I was hopelessly falling for. And the hollowness in my gut tells me maybe I shouldn’t have left it all behind.
But it’s too late now. I left. I threw away whatever precious and fragile thing we’d built. It’s over.
And it’s all my fault.
21
LOGAN
Ihead off toward the old barn at the farthest end of the property, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my coat to fight off the November chill.
Too brokenhearted and hurt to appreciate the awesome views of the mountains and frost-covered lake in the distance, I keep my head down and trudge onward.
Ever since Summer left, my head’s been full of nothing but her, and my stomach has been twisted up in so many knots, I can barely eat. Even my mom’s homemade lasagna, which has always been a favorite of mine, has held no appeal.
Summer made me feel things I have no use for feeling. Made me desire things I never thought I’d want. A wife. A little house of my own overlooking the valley. Kids. Maybe a dog someday. Something with a wagging tail and floppy ears that we would laugh at.
But I can’t let myself think about Summer right now. Just the very thought of her affects me, causing a stir of deep longing to pulse through my veins. There’s work to be done this morning, and I’m not ready to face all that I’ve lost at such an early hour.
I need more coffee for that. Or maybe one of those strong cocktails called a mind-eraser, despite it being barely eight in the morning.
