Page 110 of Snared Rider

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I wakethe next morning with a splitting headache. I’m not sure if I was upset about Logan’s confession, about ending things with Alistair, about Dean being mad at me, or about potentially losing my job.

I choose to ignore all of it and concentrate instead on getting my arse out of bed. I shower on autopilot and get ready for the day without thought. Once I finish dressing, I free my phone from the charger and see three messages from Alistair as well as a missed call.

I read through the texts, barely registering the words. They are all apologies for his behaviour, but I can’t stand to see them. I shouldn’t be mad at him; I have feelings for another man, after all. I have no right to judge his behaviour, but I can’t help it; I am angry. His last text asks me to call him. I don’t. I slip my phone back onto the bedside table and head downstairs in search of coffee.

I have so much tumbling through my brain I don’t know what to tackle first: the fact my relationship is dead in the water, or the fact that the love of my life lied under the delusion of being noble.

Christ.

My life is a shit-storm.

Logan’s confession gave me some closure. At least I now understand why he left me, and I know it was not my fault. Underneath that understanding I’m livid. His deception, his lies—even if he thinks they were for my benefit—brought us to this mess. It kept me away for years, made my heart harden, and pushed me into meaningless relationship after meaningless relationship. I’m not stupid; I know I’m not innocent in all this, but I never intentionally hurt anyone. Neither Logan nor Alistair can say the same.

I’m pissed off with them both, but most of my anger is for Logan. He was the catalyst that caused all of this. I would never have moved to London and I would never have got with Alistair if he been truthful.

But what would that have achieved?

Would I really have stayed faithful to a man who would never breathe free air again?

I don’t know.

I loved Logan. Christ, I still love Logan despite everything, but could I have become his old lady knowing we’d never be together?

He wasn’t wrong when he said there were some good things that came from his deception: I left Kingsley. I got a good education. I got myself a good career. These are things I probably would not have done if I’d stayed in town. Most likely I would be married to him now, his property patch on my back, a gang of kids at my feet.

Despite what he thinks, this is not a bad picture.

I wanted Logan. If I’m being honest with myself I still want him, but that trust he eroded can’t be rebuilt overnight. I’m not sure it ever can.

When I slip into the kitchen I find it—thankfully—empty. I’m not in the mood for company. I just want to get food and head back to bed to mope.

Pity party for one.

I halt when I hear voices coming from the dining room and slowly angle towards the serving hatch between the two rooms. Wade is sitting at one of the tables with Logan and Jem.

Isn’t that fucking fantastic?

Quietly, I move to the fridge, grab the milk and make up a bowl of cereal. Despite my attempt at stealth, Jem’s head suddenly appears in the hatch. I slop milk over the counter as I draw in a sharp breath.

Jem doesn’t notice nor does he apologise for the fact he just gave me a heart attack. He just grins at me, and I find myself matching his smile. His joy is infectious, and annoying.

“I thought I heard someone moving about in here. How’re you doing, Little Bee?”

That he’s still using this nickname has my eyes rolling. “Stop calling me that.”

“Not a chance.” He peers down at my bowl. “Are you going to join us while you eat that filth?”

I stare down at my dish. “Cereal offends you?” I avoid the other part of his statement because the last thing I want to do is sit in that room with the awkward tension between me, Logan and Wade on display for Jem to see.

“Cereal offends me, Little Bee,” he confirms, but offers no reason why.

I don’t push, even though I’m curious. I want to get the hell out of the kitchen and away from Logan. This choice is taken away from me when Jem leans through the hatch, grabs my cup of coffee and says in a cheery tone, “Come on.”

No, no, no. This is a bad idea.

“Jem!” He ignores my whine. “I was going back to bed.”

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