Page 34 of Best Kept Secret
“Oh, no,” Emily laments, cocking her head to the side. “Doyou want us to leave so you can get some rest? We can do girls’ night another time.”
Great, now I feel like an asshole. In my defense, I didn’t realize tonight was some unofficial girls’ night. I thought they were just helping me move in. “No.” I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. It’s just this fucking job.”
“Not a vibe?” Fran asks.
I groan. “Unless thevibeis 1960’s girl Friday to an office of misogynistic dude bros, then no… definitely not a vibe.”
“Ew, that sounds horrible.” Fran grimaces.
“We won’t stay long,” Emily assures me.
“I can’t stay too late, anyway. I have to meet a client tomorrow morning out at Montauk to look at a place he’s thinking of renting over the summer for a mere forty-five thousand dollars a month,” Fran deadpans.
“It is absurd what some of these athletes get paid,” Emily sighs.
I smile, but honestly, I’m not really listening. My mind is far too consumed by the fact that the woman I caught Logan with red-handed after flying half-way across the country is about to show up for an apparent girls’ night. As if we’re besties or some bullshit.
Maybe I should have stipulatedheras one of my house rules when I set them with Logan. I said no women, but perhaps I should have been more specific. What if this is the norm? What if she’s always here?
“I’m just going to put my things in my room,” I announce, turning quickly, in desperate need of a moment to mentally fall apart.
“Let us help,” Emily says from behind me.
I stop, spinning around and forcing a smile despite not meeting her eyes. “No. I’ve got it. Why don’t you see if you can figure out the television so we can watch the game?” I suggest with a shrug, turning again before she can insist.
I open the door at the end of the hall, flicking on the light, thespace illuminating in a soft, low glow, and as I step inside and take it all in, my momentary Hannah-panic starts to subside. The room is small, but it’s nice. An entire wall of built-in shelves and cabinets, all white. A big bed with a mountain of pillows, all creams and whites, light grays and pale pinks. The closet is small, but I don’t have a lot, so that’s okay. I open the door to the right and peer inside to see the bathroom; it, too, is small, but there’s a rainfall shower big enough for at least three of me, a beautiful vanity, and a window that looks out over the city. Closing the bathroom door, I pad back through the bedroom. The carpet is thick and plush, my socked feet sinking into it, and honestly, it’s a gorgeous bedroom, but probably most beautiful of all is the wall of glass with a door that opens up to a small east-facing balcony that will catch the sun rise over the East River. It’s dark now, nothing but city lights shining against the blanket of night sky, but I bet in the morning it will be breathtaking.
With a ragged exhale, I take a seat on the edge of the bed which is when I spot a big gift-wrapped box that sits on an armchair in the corner. I reach over and grab it, my brows knitting together. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open the card on top, shocked to see a handwritten note.
Welcome home, Red.
I know you’ll feel anxious sleeping here for your first few nights, especially on your own, so I hope this helps. But just remember, I’m only ever a phone call away.
Loges x
Shocked by his sweet words, I clamp my bottom lip between my teeth. Tugging on the white ribbon, I lift the top off the box, my mouth falling open on a soft gasp at what’s inside. Tearsprick my eyes as I pull out the heavy, thick looped wool, reveling in its softness. I stand, allowing the big weighted blanket to unfurl, and I pull it up to my face, rubbing it against my cheek, my pesky tears winning their battle and spilling over.
It isn’t just that Logan bought me a weighted blanket; it’s that he remembers back to when I told him that I hate being alone at home, and when I am, I can’t sleep. I’d called him late one night when my roommates back in Ann Arbor were all out of the house. It wasn’t common; five girls living in one house, there was usually at least someone home with me. But that night, I was all alone and I was terrified. So, I called Logan, and despite him having just played a game, and that he was due to be awake early to fly out somewhere new the following morning, he stayed up and talked with me for hours. All I remember is waking up to my phone resting on the pillow beside me with one unread text message time stamped four thirty-two a.m.
L: Sweet dreams, Red x
I think that was the moment I knew Logan was more. And it was then that I realized when he told me he would fight for me, that first night in my bedroom, that’s what he was talking about. He wasn’t talking about physically fighting, although I don’t doubt that he would physically fight for those he cares about; Logan was talking about fighting for me any time I needed him to. And that night on the phone, talking to me until I fell asleep, he was fighting the monsters I’d made up in my mind.
By the time I manage to get myself together, I walk out from my bedroom to the sound of laughter coming from the living area. I glance sideways at the front door as I pass, noticing a foreign pair of boots and a coat that wasn’t there earlier. My heart drops into pit of my gut.
I knew I’d eventually have to face being in the same vicinity as Hannah, but I’m nowhere near prepared enough. Plus, I’m an actual mess, dressed in a black sweat suit, my hair still damp from my earlier shower after work and thrown up in a messy pile of knots. Hannah is a literal beauty queen. I did my reconnaissance. Hannah Draper, daughter of New York Thunder head coach and two-time Stanley cup winner, Lance Draper, won Miss Teen America when she was sixteen. When I was sixteen, I had braces, acne, a flat chest, and, thanks to my brother, there was a rumor going around that I kept my ear wax in a jar.
Tugging down my sweatshirt, I lift my chin a little higher and walk through the entryway, seeing Emily, Fran, and Hannah sitting on the rug, surrounding a mammoth pizza on the coffee table while the pre-game lead-up plays on the television.
“Oh, hey, girl.” Fran smiles at me, holding up a slice. “Come on over here before there’s none left.”
“This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Emily mumbles around a mouthful.
“Sure about that?” Fran smirks, nudging her conspiratorially.
I make a point of clearing my throat, spearing Fran with a warning look as I walk around the sectional. I don’t need them to carry onthatconversation in my presence.
Sitting down on the throw cushion next to Emily, my gaze flits across the coffee table to Hannah. She’s watching me, a tentative smile ghosting her lips, and I force one right back at her with a muttered, “Hi.”
