Page 35 of Unspoken

His serious facade cracks, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, okay. It's pretty bad." He snickers, shaking his head. "I mean I’m no art critic but I can tell a good one from a bad one and this, I think, shouldn’t be in this gallery."

"You and me both." I bump his shoulder conspiratorially. "How about this? Next time, we skip the gallery and just grab a pint. Save us both the embarrassment."

Logan's still smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners as if reminding me about his age, reminding me to be careful. "Deal. But you're buying."

"Only because you treated last time," I fire back, a warmth blooming in my chest.

We move on to the next painting, and the next, and the next. When we finally pause in front of the last piece on this wall, Logan quiets. This one is a swirl of dark blues and clean whites, with angry slashes of crimson cutting through the center.

"I like this one," he says quietly.

I tilt my head, considering. "Why's that? I thought abstract stuff wasn’t your thing."

He's silent for a moment, his eyes distant. "Reminds me of when I was a cop. The colors. Blood and uniform." His voice is rough, weighted with memories.

Sometimes I forget the darkness in Logan's past. I don't know the details but I heard Ivan a couple of times talking to other guys back at the house. Logan probably has his own ghosts that haunt him. "What was it like?" I ask softly, curiosity overriding my hesitation. "Being a copper, I mean."

Logan's jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he won't answer. But then he sighs, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. "It was... intense. Always chasing the bad guys, trying to put them away." A wry smile twists his lips. "Guess I never thought I'd end up working for them instead."

I wince, guilt pricking at my conscience. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright," he interrupts, waving off my apology. "It is what it is. I made my choices."

We lapse into silence. I wish I knew how to bridge the gap, how to offer comfort without overstepping and without being found out. But I'm out of my depth here, fumbling in the dark, trying to persuade myself this is just a phase. Hormones. Repressed emotions. Years of pushing it down in order to keep a secret, but the truth is I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing or how to stop feeling the way I feel with Logan around.

Finally, I clear my throat, desperate to break the tension. "So, what made you want to join the force in the first place? Like when did you know you wanted to be a copper…a cop?"

Logan's expression clouds for a second. "My dad," he says roughly. "He was a cop too. Damn good one."

"Is he retired now?" I ask, trying to imagine an older version of Logan, grizzled and gray.

But Logan shakes his head, his gaze locked on the painting. "No. He, uh... he was shot. In the line of duty. When I was twenty-one."

My breath catches, horror and sympathy twisting in my gut. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugs, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clench at his sides. "He never even got to see me become a cop. I was still in the Academy when it happened. He'd always wanted me to have options, you know? Pushed me to do a couple years of community college first, see if anything else caught my interest."

I nod slowly, trying to process the revelation. It's like a piece of the puzzle has clicked into place, illuminating a part of Logan I've never seen before. The pain, the loss, the desperate need to make his father proud. Now I get why he hates this. He doesn’t say it but it’s written all over his face.

"He would have been proud of you," I say softly, the words feeling woefully inadequate. "No matter what. You’re taking care of your mum the best way you can. I bet coppers don’t make as much as you make working for my brother."

"That’s true." Logan's eyes meet mine, stormy gray and filled with a grief that makes my heart ache. "I hope you’re right about my dad being proud," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I really fucking hope so."

I swallow hard, a sudden realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. "Hey, I... I'm so sorry for what I said before. Aboutyou not understanding how it feels to lose a father like that. I had no idea..."

He shakes his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "It's alright, Sasha. You didn't know."

"Still, I feel like a right tosser for saying that. I was just... angry and lashing out. It wasn't fair to you."

"You were hurting. I get it. Believe me, I do."

I nod, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. "Does it ever go away? The pain, the anger?"

"No. Not really. But it gets easier to carry, over time. You learn to live with it, to find moments of happiness in spite of it. It dulls down."

"My turn to say I hope you're right. Because right now, it feels like it's going to swallow me whole."

"You're going to be okay, Sasha," Logan’s voice is gentle but reassuring. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but you will be. You're stronger than you think."

---