Page 45 of Best Kept Secret
“Thank you.”
After saying goodbye to Maverick and locking up, I hurry back through to Logan’s bedroom. He’s still on his side, facing away, legs pulled up as much as someone of his height can pull their legs up. I hesitate a moment, wondering if I should call someone. Dallas? Hannah? But then, when I realize he needs someone right now to help pull him out of the darkness, I kick off my Uggs and climb onto the bed.
Nestling up against the pillows, I roll onto my side and face him. His eyes are open but they’re empty, staring right through me like I’m not even here.
“Hey,” I say softly, reaching out a hand and ever so gently placing it against his cheek, allowing my thumb to stroke his heated skin. “I’m here. Just follow my voice.”
As if he’s only just noticed me, Logan startles, sucking in a sharp and stuttering breath.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, cupping his stubbled jaw. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
When I see the telltale shimmer of tears well in his eyes, it takes everything I have not to wrap my arms around him. Instead, I continue stroking his cheek, my eyes bouncing between his, watching as he blinks hard, a tear slipping out and sliding down his face and onto the blue pillow.
I breathe in deep through my nose. Box breathing, like I learned all about when I took up meditation during my senior year as a way to help manage my stress. It didn’t help. Not even a little bit. But maybe it’ll help Logan?
“Breathe in,” I whisper, encouraging him by doing it too. “Hold.” I watch him follow my instructions, breathing in and holding his breath. “And breathe out.”
When Logan is successfully managing breaths in and breaths out, I offer him a small smile. “That’s it. You’re doing so well, Logan.”
He continues breathing—four seconds in, four seconds held, four seconds out.
I study his beautiful, handsome, tormented face, my browsknitting together as an unfamiliar rage courses through me. “Who did this to you?”
I wait to see if he says anything, but he doesn’t, my question left unanswered as he just lies there, staring at me, his body trembling with the breaths he’s trying to take.
“It’s okay. I’m here,” I remind him softly. “It’s just you and me. No one else. Come back to me.” I stroke his cheek again, gently swiping away another one of his tears, his lashes fluttering before his eyes close.
And, for a long moment, I just lie here, closing my eyes, my fingers lightly raking through Logan’s hair, allowing my nails to drag against his scalp, listening to the way his racking breaths slowly start to calm. I assume he’s falling asleep, but then, he speaks.
“Red?”
My eyes fly open, and I meet his kaleidoscope gaze. “Hey,” I whisper with a smile. “There you are.”
He stares at me, and I wait patiently for him to tell me whatever it is he needs to say.
His brows knit together, forehead wrinkling with obvious confusion as he finally croaks, “Why do you look like that psychopath fromTexas Chainsaw Massacre?”
My face falls, deadpan. Really? After one of the worst panic attacks I’ve ever witnessed, that’s the first thing he says? I can’t help but laugh. “It’s a face mask,” I explain, reaching up and gently patting the sheet melting into my cheek.
Logan says nothing, just continues looking at me, his gaze scanning the mask dubiously.
“Do you need anything?” I ask after a moment, cupping his stubbled jaw.
Logan’s eyes close on a steady exhale, and he places his hand over mine, holding it against him. “Just you.”
I swallow around the lump that’s suddenly burrowed itself into the back of my throat. And I know I shouldn’t think too much into that right now—he’s just come out of a seriousanxiety episode—but the fact that out of everything,everyone, he needs me… I can’t help but allow myself to get carried away.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him. And with a soft, unintelligible murmur, I feel Logan’s entire body sag, and I know that despite my ongoing worries that I might have made a huge mistake moving out here, right now, I am exactly where I need to be.
CHAPTER 22
MILLIE
My lashes flutter against a gleam of bright light. I open my eyes, momentarily blinded by the sun shining in through the wall of glass. It takes me less than a few seconds to remember where I am. And when I realize that I’m not in my bed, that I’m in Logan’s bed, I don’t freak out like I probably should. Instead, with his mouthwatering scent wrapped around me, I snuggle deeper inside the cocoon of his soft duvet.
Smiling contently, I roll over to see if he’s awake, to check that he’s okay, but when I’m met with nothing but a mess of tangled sheets, I startle, sitting bolt upright and searching the room.
“Logan?” I rasp, my throat dry and croaky with sleep.
