Page 101 of Snared Rider

Logan.

Logan is standing on the step.

I blink at him, as if he’s an apparition. My relief at seeing him whole and well is doused as I take him in properly. He looks dreadful.

Black circles rim under his eyes, and he’s pale and drawn. He doesn’t smell great either, which is unusual for him, and his hair is on the greasy side. This concerns me because while Logan isn’t a man who is obsessed with his appearance he is big on hygiene.

“Can I come in?” he asks, and the hesitancy in his voice sets me on edge. I try not to worry or panic because I don’t want to come across as hysterical, but I feel that way. Where the hell has he been?

I step aside to allow him entry and close the door behind him as he moves into the hallway. My stomach is in knots. Something is wrong, very wrong. I should give him down the banks about missing my birthday, but fear stays my tongue. I don’t know what I’m scared of, but I can sense something is not right.

Instead, I lead him into the kitchen without asking the questions burning through me. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, I’m not staying long, Beth.”

This breaks through my dread and I feel my anger mount. He’s been AWOL for three days, with no word and he’s not staying long? I don’t focus on this transgression first.

“You missed my party,” I accuse.

“I know.”

“You didn’t show.”

“I know,” he repeats.

“You promised you’d be there.”

His tongue dips out to run across his bottom lip. I follow the movement, which would normally leave me a panting mess but fear stops everything. All I can focus on is the overwhelming sense of dread crushing me.

“I’m sorry.”

I try for a casual shrug but fail. I don’t feel casual, or like I can just forget he missed an important event—an event we were supposed to be declaring our relationship during.

“It was my birthday.” My voice wobbles and I hate that it does. I don’t want to get upset. I don’t want him to see how affected I am by his actions. I don’t want to give the bastard that satisfaction.

But I can’t hide my feelings because they are so strong and I’m so hurt. I expect some reaction from him, but he doesn’t give me one. His face remains hard and unyielding, and not Logan.

“I know,” is his infuriating response.

It doesn’t explain his absence. It’s not an apology. It’s nothing.

“Did you lose your phone?” I demand, hoping like hell there is a good reason for his silence over the past few days.

“The battery died.”

Relief.

It hits me and then passes by because his phone has died before while on a Club run, and he still found a way to contact me then.

“You couldn’t have borrowed another phone or used a payphone to let me know you weren’t coming?”

“Beth—”

I lean forward and hiss at him, “I thought you were lying in a ditch somewhere.”

He has the decency to at least look contrite. It’s the first hint of emotion I’ve seen from him, and it lasts for less than a minute before the steel shutters come down.

“This isn’t going to work.”

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