Page 121 of Snared Rider

There is a long pause, so long I nearly turn to see why he hasn’t left. Then he speaks.

“And just so you know, I’ll die before I let Simon Wilson lay a hand on you.”

His words hit me in a way I don’t expect. My breath lodges in my throat as the last piece of my carefully constructed wall is knocked out. Emotions flood me, emotions I don’t want to deal with. The sensations washing over me are visceral and I can do nothing to curtail them.

Logan still cares about me.

Shit, fuck, bollocks.

The bed next to me dips and I don’t need to turn my head to know it’s Logan. I’d know it was him in the dark.

I should tell him to leave, I should throw him bodily (not that I can) out of my room, but I don’t.

I don’t say anything as he moves closer, nor do I say a word as he moves his back against the headboard. I don’t even protest as he pulls me into his side, my head on his chest, his arm around my back. I say nothing as I slip my hand around his waist.

I also don’t say a word as he wipes the tears I didn’t realise I’m shedding from my cheeks. I just let him hold me, relishing the touch of another human, taking his offer of comfort. I don’t think about the fact it’s Logan and that I’m supposed to hate him (even though he loves me, and I love him). I don’t think about anything but letting out the emotions building inside me. Because I’m struggling to be strong, to keep it together—something the Gin is really not helping with. It’s hard to keep my carefully crafted walls up when I’m under the influence and it’s even harder when I’m in the arms of a man I relied on in my formative years as a friend, a confidant, and later a lover.

“We shouldn’t do this,” I finally choke out.

He runs a hand over my spine as he presses a kiss to my hair.

“We’re not doing anything, Beth.”

But he’s wrong. This whole thing feels so intimate. Too intimate. We’re not ready for this.

“Logan—”

“Just let yourself have this, darlin’. You need it.”

And he’s right. I do need it. I need the reassurance his comfort is providing.

Lying against him like this feels good. It feels right. I can hear the lub-dub of his heart beneath my ear and it’s soothing. I feel my eyes getting heavy as we lie together in comfortable silence, his rhythmic stroking up my back so relaxing I can’t stop from giving into the pull of the booze to find sleep.

And lying in the arms of the man who was once everything to me is the last thing I remember.

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