Page 45 of Unspoken

"Can I ask—" I hesitate, but curiosity is a persistent itch. "The chap at the funeral. Tall, blond, was he your brother?"

"You mean August?" Logan's voice softens for just a second, a crack in the armor. "No. I’m the only child."

"Ah."

"We were...involved, once upon a time."

"Involved?" My pulse quickens, surprised by the revelation.Logan was involved with a man!And he is quite open about it. Doesn’t seem like it’s a big deal for him.

"Yes, as in seeing each other."

"I know what 'involved' means."

"Well, then why do you look like a third grader who’s just heard a new word?"

My mind is spinning. Because in my world, in the place where I come from you can get maimed or even killed for saying that you’re dating another man.

"Why did it end, if you don’t mind my asking? I remember you said the girl you dated, who taught you Spanish, wanted something different. Was it similar with him?"

"Sort of. Things were complicated between us from the start." The statement is like a door slammed shut, but I see the key left dangling in the lock.

"Because of the job?" I pry a little, my own secrets feeling like stones in my pocket.

"Partly," he admits, as fat drops begin to splatter against the windshield, an atypical case of rain in the desert this time of the year, at least what I’ve been hearing. "I couldn’t be out on the force. Not if I wanted to make detective someday."

"That's rubbish," I say, my accent thickening with emotion. "Having to hide who you are." Coming from me it sounds very hypocritical.

"Reality, Sasha. Prejudice might be quieter these days, but it's still there, lurking." Logan flicks the wipers on, the rhythm mismatched to the staccato of my racing heart. "August wanted more. I couldn't give it to him. Not then. I wanted to wait and he didn’t."

"Sounds like you were stuck between a rock and a hard place." I watch the beads of rain race each other down the glass, my reflection distorted in their paths.

"Something like that," he acknowledges, and our conversation fades into the sound of tires on wet asphalt, leaving us both stranded in the vastness of unsaid things for the next few minutes.

The rain drizzles down like a soft reminder of home, of London's perpetual gray skies—a stark contrast to the blazing sun that usually scorches my new home.

I think about Alfie and all the wild things we once intended to do together after graduating from uni. Backpack through Europe. See the African Safari. Maybe spend a summer in Bali or Thailand. And now, those plans are ruined and I’m to blame.

"Did you pick the casino to start?" Logan’s voice says next to me, pulling me out of my regretful headspace.

"I don’t care," I tell him.

"Alright then, let’s hit Mandalay Bay first and then go from there."

We circle around the building and pull up to the casino’s entrance where Logan lets the valet attendant take care of theNavigator. It’s still drizzling and the inviting neon lights of the Strip blink hazily through the mist.

"Perfect," I hype myself up, stepping into the lobby. "This is going to be fun." I don’t know if it will be, but I want it to be. For Logan.

He follows me inside, his shoulders slightly hunched against the heavy dampness of the city.

"I’m sure," he mutters a response, a gruff edge to his voice that doesn't quite mask the underlying grief.

The casino swallows us up as soon as we hit the floor. The ding-ding-ding of slot machines and cheers from the tables hug us like a gaudy, over-perfumed aunt. The air is filled with traces of cigarette smoke and the clink of coins. And desperation and hope hang in a delicate balance here.

I watch Logan's eyes flicker across the room, absorbing the chaos with a keen professional gaze. I have to remind myself he grew up here in this city and the novelty of the casino atmosphere is nothing new to him.

"First things first," I say, "I need to buy me some chips."

"Okay."

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