Page 44 of Unspoken

No!

Vlad wouldn't, I think to myself, fiddling with my earring. But doubt is a stubborn weed once it takes root and it’s hard to get it out of my head now that the seed has been planted. At least until the moment a grim "Morning" comes from afar.

I glance up to see Logan entering the terrace, his posture reflecting the somber mood that's wrapped around him like a shroud since his mum’s funeral. He's a large, unreadable statue in his usual black slacks and a black T-shirt, eyes fixed on some distant, sorrowful horizon.

"Hey," I say, pushing my plate away since my appetite never made an appearance this morning. "How was your week?"

Logan seems lost for a second as if I gave him a complex math task.

"Had better ones," he finally mutters. "That’s for sure."

"You holding up alright?" I ask, even when the answer is clear as day. He just lost his parent and he’s still mourning, and although I lost my mum at a very young age, I think I can understand how he feels. At least a little.

"Ivan took care of you well while I was gone?" Logan questions matter-of-factly, glancing over at the garden outside the terrace. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s pretending everything is fine, but his eyes betray him, showing the raw edges of grief.

"Yeah, he did okay," I supply. "I’m still alive, right?"

The next hour drags by. Logan is sitting in a chair and looking through some reading materials while I’m messing around on my iPad, checking on my mates back in London and doodling some pictures.

We exchange a few sentences here and there. Mostly, he comments on some political nonsense he reads, nonsense that I don’t understand or care about. My breakfast is stale and possibly covered by mold by the time I work up the courage to propose we get out of the house for the day.

"Tell you what, mate," I say, standing and brushing crumbs from my jeans, "why don't we bunk off for a bit? Take me for a spin down the Strip."

Logan looks up from a newspaper and raises his eyebrow. "What’s the catch?"

"No catch." I shake my head. "I haven’t had the real Vegas experience yet." Because I can’t tell him I’m miserable seeing him being this sad. Even if he tries very hard not to show it.

Logan looks at me then, very carefully. "You sure that’s what you want to do? It’s a hundred degrees outside and they don’t have fans on every corner." Logan juts his chin toward a massivecooler set in the corner of the terrace that makes this entire eating outside experience bearable in this heat.

"I want to hit some casinos," I say, mentally crossing my fingers and hoping that this little trip will distract Logan enough from the drab thoughts.

"Last time you hit a casino, it didn't end well."

"I'll behave. I promise."

Logan looks at me long and hard, then finally says, "Alright. You’re the boss."

"Exactly." I grin. "What's Vegas without a bit of sin anyway, eh?"

"Christ." There's almost a laugh there, buried under the weight he carries. "You make it sound like we’re about to bet all your brother’s money on some silly collectible Baby Yoda figurine."

"Brilliant idea. I would have never thought about it on my own. Now I know how to piss off Vlad." A spark of satisfaction lights up my chest as I head inside to grab the jacket.

Maybe, just maybe, I can distract us both from our hell—for a little while, at least.

The city blurs past, a smear of buildings drawn on the desert landscape as we slice through the traffic and to the heart of Vegas. I glance at Logan, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the road like he's trying to outdrive his own shadow.

We've already gone over all the must-do activities to fully experience Vegas. And for the most part, I did all the talking while consulting Google. Logan just nodded and grunted one-syllable words here and there, words I couldn’t decipher. Something very American.

Then we fell into an awkward moment of silence and that silence has stretched up to the point of uncomfortable.

"Sorry about your mum," I murmur, scarcely louder than the hum of the car's engine. The sentence hangs stiffly between us, like an unwelcome passenger in this vehicle.

"Thanks," he says curtly, focus unbroken. "I miss her a lot."

"She sure had plenty of people who cared about you and her show up."

"Yep."

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