Page 81 of Under the Mistletoe
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a side hug. It wasn’t romantic in the least, just a friend letting her know she wasn’t alone. The kind gesture seemed to break the last bit of control she had as the tears ran down her face. She buried her face in Greyson’s shoulder. All she wanted to do was help people, but what had she done? It was her fault Easton had heard. She should have explained more clearly to Greyson about Hamilton. She should have had a backup plan if Logan stood her up. After all, this wasn’t the first time.
The door opened and shut again. Greyson dropped his arms, and she turned as she wiped away the tears just in time to see Logan’s eyes darken. Then he made a one-eighty and headed back through the door.
fourteen
“Logan, wait.”
He stopped but didn’t turn. His whole world was spinning.
“Where were you? You said you’d be here an hour early, not twenty minutes late.” Her voice was a bit raw.
He spun to face her. “I’m late, so you fall into Greyson’s arms?”
“That’s not what happened.” Her red-rimmed eyes nearly undid him, as a piece of him wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms and help her fight what had upset her so badly. And yet there was a bigger part, a darker part, that screamed he’d been a fool to trust her, to trust anyone.
It was like he was suddenly on repeat of seeing Jacquelyn with Liam. Deep down he knew Devin wasn’t Jacquelyn. She wasn’t anything like her, and yet he couldn’t quite get past the idea that just like Jacquelyn, in the end, Logan would never be enough for Devin. Maybe she had convinced herself that he was, that he could be. But the minute he’d failed her, she’d turned to someone else.
“Greyson was just comforting me because…well, because my life just blew up and—” She stepped closer to him, her hands on her hips. “Wherewereyou? I needed you. You promised you’d show up. Why weren’t you here?”
He could see it in her eyes. She was begging him to give an answer other than what he had. “Work.”
She flinched and stepped back offering a resigned nod. “Of course.”
“Not of course.” He took a step forward but didn’t touch her. “You act like I’m just blowing off helping you when my career is holding on by a thread. Sorry I couldn’t be here to play Old MacDonald.”
“I’m not playing. This is my job.” Or it was. The pain hit her fresh. “You act like I should know what’s going on with your career, but how would I? You never talked to me about it. You say you want this to work, but part of you is still living locked away in your cabin. Let people in.”
The door to the barn opened and Greyson stepped out. “I’m going to take off.” Then he focused on Devin. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Thanks, Greyson.”
Greyson met Logan’s gaze then. There was a warning there. Like Greyson was sayingDon’t mess this up, man. But Greyson didn’t realize that Logan had already messed it up. He’d fallen short when she needed him. Just like he’d fallen short for the publisher. Because that was what he did. He disappointed everyone.
But it didn’t matter. Here, writing, wherever—in the end, he was always replaceable.
As soon as Greyson’s taillights disappeared down the drive, Logan pulled his keys from his pocket. “I need to go too. I think it’s time for me to return to my cabin.”
Devin’s head whipped toward him. “You’re leaving?”
He actually hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but as the words settled around him, he had no doubt that was what he needed to do. “It’s time.”
“What about Victor Holt?”
“Turns out my editor hated every one of my ideas, so maybe it’s time to let Victor Holt die.”
“You don’t mean that.”
He shrugged. Why did it seem she cared more about Victor Holt dying than him leaving? Good riddance, Holt. Maybe it was time to tell them that they could hire a ghostwriter for the fourth book. He was done. He’d finish out the final three chapters of this stupid serial novella and sign the name off on the next novel. Let it be someone else’s problem.
“Logan—”
“I’ll see you around.” He opened the driver’s side door.
He glanced back, but what was left to say? His emotions were holding on by a thread, and he refused to fall apart in front of her. With one last look at her, he climbed in the Bronco and drove back to his parents’ house.
Thirty minutes later as he sat at his computer, everything washed over him anew. He dropped his head into his hands as the pain pierced him. He’d actually believed for a minute that he could be enough for her. But as much as it hurt now, it would have hurt ten times worse to find out after he’d uprooted his life for her.
He wiped away the moisture and positioned his hands over the keys.
