Page 48 of Somewhere Without You
“What happened, Em?”
My heart lodged itself in my throat. What would he think of me when he learned the truth? My hands trembled as I drew in a breath.
“Jacksonwasabusive,”Ifinallysaid.“Emotionallyandphysically. This last time. . . he almost killed me. As awful as it sounds, Gran’s deathwasmy way out.”
Silence fell between us. I shut my eyes, cheeks burning with shame. HowhadI let itgetthis far? HowcouldI have allowed myself to become so broken?
Logan’s hand settled over mine, and the ease of it surprised me. My first instinctwasto pull away, to retreat behind the wallsI’dspentthe last few weeks building.Butinstead I let him comfort me.
Fora while, neither of us spoke. My confession hung between us like a fragile piece of glass, threatening to break. Part of me wished Icouldtake it back.Butthe other part, the stronger part,finallyfeltrelieved.
“Say something,”I whispered.
Logan stared at the untouched burger,thenat me—his expression a tangled mix of shock and concern. I waited, bracing myself for whatever came next.
“Oh Emily. . .”His voicewassolowIcouldbarelyhearhim.
“Iknowit’s a lot,”I admitted,feelingthe need to explain.“ButI don’t want you to think less of me, or worse,thatI—” my voice faltered “—thatI deserved it.”
His grip tightened.“Icouldnever think less of you.”He let go of my hand, and for a moment, Ifelta quick sting of disappointment.Then, without warning, he slammed his hand against the table.“Thatmotherfucker!”he hissed.
I flinched. Around us, heads turned.
Logan’s face softened the second hesawmy mine.“Shit. I’m sorry. Ijust. . . I didn’tknow.”
“Howcouldyou have?”I asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.“Besides, it’s my own faultanyway.”
“Howcouldyouevensaythat?”He asked, his voice still slick with anger.“None of this is your fault. Do you understand? None of it. He’s an asshole and he deserves whatever’s coming to him.”
I let out a dry laugh.“Isthata threat?”
“Maybe,” he shrugged.
An unsettlingfeelingwashed over me.“You don’t understand. Jackson’s untouchable. He does what he wants, when he wants, to whoever he wants.”
“Everyonehasa weak spot,”Logan repliedstiffly.
“Please don’t,”I pleaded, realizing nowthatLogan mightactuallybeseriousenough to do something reckless.“I mean it, Logan. Heprobablyalreadyknowswhere I am, so it’s only a matter of time before he shows up here. I have nowhere else to go, nowhere else to hide. Please don’t make this worse than it already is.”
“Emily, I can’t—”
“Promise me,”I begged, cutting him off.“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
Iwatchedas his confidence shattered, replaced by a flicker of something I couldn’t quite place.
Logan nodded.“I promise.”
Andsomehow,thatwasenough.Fornow, itwasmore than enough.
Twenty Eight
January 27th, 1864
West Virginia
Dearest Miss Hart,
Night has fallen heavy here. The kind of darkness that settles into your bones and makes even the stars feel far away. The camp is quiet now, save for the occasional cough, the soft jingle of a harness, or the distant rumble of thunder that may or may not be cannon fire. I sit by a dying fire with your letter in hand, the paper worn from how many times I’ve read it.
