Page 24 of No First Kisses

“Yes,” he tells me honestly. “Because it was my fault. I led us down that alley. I’m the one who should have been shot. It was my fault. There’s no arguing that.”

I knew he’d say that. Just like I know that no matter how much I want him, I can’t have him.

“Nothing’s changed, Logan. I’m pregnant, that’s all. We can live together. We can raise our baby together. But I can’t let you break my heart again. Until you realize that you need to forgive yourself, that’s all there can ever be.”

Even with his warmth surrounding me and our baby growing in my stomach, I know I’m right. Nothing has changed in our situation.

I’m still the woman he watched die. The one he can’t keep but doesn’t want to lose. There’s nothing that I can do except wait for the next time he panics and leaves me. I’ve given him every single part of me. I’ve fought and argued and given in when my body demands him and no one else.

Except… I have nothing more to give him. I have to save every single piece of myself for our baby.

And there’s nothing he can say that will ever make that not true.

8

LOGAN

“How in the fuck did you convince her to move in with you when a month ago you couldn’t even be in the same room together without one or both of you yelling?”

Remy, one of the men I’ve roped into helping me pack all Poppy’s shit and move it either to my house or into storage, stares at me like I have the answers to everything he could ever want to know. He’s got a point, asking me that question, because I still don’t know why Poppy said yes.

“I have no clue,” I answer honestly. “But don’t you dare jinx it, or I’ll have to murder you and bury your body in my backyard.”

We are currently standing in the living room of Poppy’s house, loading boxes into my toy hauler after she spent the last two days telling me what she wants to keep and what she wants to get rid of.

Ian walks out of the kitchen with Poppy’s massive KitchenAid mixer in his hands and a strained look on his face. “I picked this thing up thinking it might only weigh a few pounds. Why does it feel like I’m carrying a car over here?”

I snort, unable to help myself. “That’s a top-of-the-line professional mixer that chefs use in restaurants. I’m pretty sure the box said it weighs close to seventy-five pounds. You’re supposed to use two people to lift it. Shit’s heavy as hell.”

“Why does she have it?” He huffs, holding it in his arms awkwardly as he walks by us and out the front door. “She’s a dispatcher, not a chef. I don’t think anyone needs this. I feel like it should be mounted on wheels and in a museum somewhere.”

“Because she can cook better than anyone else I’ve ever met in my entire life,” I tell him. “And she creates new recipes when she’s upset or stressed to help her get out of her own head. So I got her this for her birthday a few years ago because if I’m gonna spend money on something, I want it to be the best. Not just something to get by. I want it to be something that she’ll keep forever. And it has to come, because I need to know that when I piss her off, she has something to do.”

“Great.” Remy claps his hands together and moves to the other side of Poppy’s couch. “That means she’s gonna be cooking all the time while she’s putting up with your idiocy.”

Linc walks out of the kitchen with the last box of Poppy’s dishes and laughs while he passes us standing there. “Good one. But we all know Logan’s gonna do whatever he can to make sure he doesn’t piss her off. He won’t want her to leave him like he’s left her over and over.”

“Haha.” Rolling my eyes, I go to the other side of the couch and pick it up. “She’s not gonna leave. At least I don’t think so.” The uncertainty I feel while we carry the couch out isn’t a surprise.

I wake up every morning convinced that Poppy is going to leave me. That I’ll open my eyes and she’ll be gone. Or I’ll come home from work and her stuff won’t be scattered around the living room, where it’s all sat since she walked into my house the first time after the incident.

Our house.

Because what I haven’t told her, or anyone else, is that I built that house for her. For the life that I promised her when she was sixteen. Someone needs to slap me or stab me with a spork, because every single decision I’ve ever made has been with the hope that one day I’d be able to claim her the way I want to.

On the outskirts of Birch Harbor, less than a half mile away from Dom’s massive farmhouse, I bought a huge chunk of land. Technically, I owned my land before he bought his. Over the last decade, I’ve spent every minute I’m home building our dream house. From the cured concrete countertops that she saw in a magazine as a teenager to the exact type of bathtub that will hold both of us.

Even the colors on the wall are inspired by Poppy.

And the thought of her seeing me, being with me, and then leaving me alone in the place I’m most vulnerable makes me want to throw up.

But I did this. I caused this.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to her that I’m not leaving.

“Has anyone actually been to Logan’s house?” Linc leans against the trailer, his arms crossed over his chest. “I was trying to figure it out, but I don’t think I have. And Kennedy said that she hasn’t ever been there.”

“Nope.” Remy shakes his head and smiles at me. “Why is that, Logan?”

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