Page 91 of Never Sleigh Never
“Nothing,” I blurt. Which, let’s be honest, is basically everything.
“Quit yapping! We can’t hear the numbers!” someone else hollers.
My jaw clenches and I twist around. “B-five!”
“Your reaction doesn’t say ‘nothing,’” Willa says.
“O-sixty-nine,” the caller announces.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Chances are Brie’s going to tell them what I did anyway. “I messed up, okay? I need her to hear me out, and she won’t answer my calls.”
“Still can’t hear!” someone else shouts.
Willa leans in. “Give her time. She’ll come around. But you better get out of here. Someone may shank you with their pocketknife bingo dabber.”
“That’s a thing?”
“Do you want to stay and find out?” Sloane adds.
I huff. “Fine. If you see Brie, tell her I need to talk to her.”
“Sure thing,” Willa says.
I turn around and stomp toward the exit. “I’m leaving. You can go back to bingo.” The entire bar applauds.
Back in my truck, I scrub a hand over my face, contemplating driving to Brie’s house, pounding on the door, and demand she talk to me. What do I even say? “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Already tried that, and she’s still icing me out. Fuck it. Willa and Sloane say she’s at home, so that’s where I’m going.
Standing at her doorstep, I lift my hand and knock on her front door. “Brie! I know you’re home. Please open up.” I knock again. “Brie!” My forehead drops against the door, the wood cold against my skin. “If you won’t open, then maybe you’ll just listen. I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I said it. It was an accident.” The ache in my chest goes hollow. I spin and slide down the door until I’m sitting on her “Merry AF” doormat. With my elbows resting on my knees, I rake through my hair. Snowflakes fall from the sky and accumulate around me. “Moving back to Mount Holly has been one giant change,” I murmur into the night. “Hell, the past three years have been nothing but change. But this past month with you? Brie, you were the change I didn’t know I needed. You made me believe I could… breathe again.” My breath fogs white into the cold, vanishing as quickly as it forms. “Brooke will always be a part of me. I can’t erase that. I’ll always love her. But she’s my past. Maybe I’m still healing, but being with you has been the first time I’ve felt alive in years. I don’t know if I’m the man you deserve, but damn it, I want to try.” I sit up and lean my back against the door. For the first time, I actually feel how numb I’ve been.
Above me, a click echoes. The door creaks open—and suddenly I’m flat on my back in Brie’s entryway, staring up at the ceiling while the doorplate digs into my spine.
“Oh!” Brie jumps back, then crouches beside me. Her eyes are puffy and red, and guilt slams through me. She’s been crying. Because of me.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, scrambling upright. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Her lips press together, trembling.
“I like you. A lot. And I don’t want to throw this away.”
Her eyes flicker with something soft before hardening again. “I like you too. But now isn’t the best time for us. I appreciate everything you said, but I think it’s best we put the brakes on this.” She waves a hand between us. “It’s been a lot and fast. I understand Brooke will always be a part of your life, and that’s okay. But also, I need to look out for myself. The last few days of the festival are the most important, and that’s where all my attention needs to be.”
I nod because what else can I do? She’s right. She deserves more than I can give her.
“I’m sure we’ll see each other around. It’s Mount Holly, after all.” She huffs a laugh that’s half-hearted at best, then pushes to her feet. “Thanks for coming over.”
“Thanks for listening.”
She rises to her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my cheek—sweet, final. I lean toward her lips, but she pulls back. “Bye, Logan.” The door closes, leaving me outside in the dark.
Not the ending I wanted. Hell, I don’t even know what ending I wanted. But at least it’s better than her ignoring me altogether.
By the time I slump into my truck, the ache in my chest has settled into something sharp. I drive on autopilot to my parents’ house, the whole ride one endless loop of what ifs and if onlys.
I rap my knuckles against the door before pushing it open. “Hello?”
My mom peeks her head around the corner. “Hey, Logan. Come in.”
