Page 46 of Best Kept Secret
Nothing but silence follows, and worry curls around my stomach. Throwing the duvet off, I hop out of the bed and check inside his bathroom, but it’s empty. I hurry out of the bedroom and pad down the hallway, but the apartment is empty too.
He’s not here.
After everything that happened last night.
He just… left.
And I’m equal parts pissed becauserude, but also concernedbecause he was not in a good way last night. Is he okay now? What if he’s not?
I run back into Logan’s bedroom and snag my phone from where I left it on the nightstand. And I don’t even care that it’s way past the time I would normally be riding the subway downtown to the office; Caroline can kiss my ass. All I care about is making sure that Logan is okay, that he’s safe.
Me: Are you okay?
Me: Where did you go?
I sit on the edge of the bed—Logan’s bed—chewing on my nail while staring at my phone, waiting to see if he’s going to reply. The longer I’m forced to stare at my own unanswered text messages, the more I feel my heart climb its way up the back of my throat, lodging itself right there, making it hard to breathe.
Scrolling through my phone, I find Caroline’s contact and call her. Much to my dismay, she answers after the first two rings. Damn. I was hoping for voicemail.
“Mille?” she says, in lieu of greeting me like a normal person.
“I can’t come in today,” I say. “I’m sick.”
“Sick?” she repeats, her tone dubious.
“Yeah,” I continue.
“What’s wrong?”
“Diarrhea,” I say without missing a beat.
“Ew,” she mutters. “Well, did you get that impact assessment done, because I don’t see it in my inbox.”
I bite back my smirk. “Yes. I sent it straight to Jonathon last night.”
“Youwhat?”
I contain my smugness as best as I can. “Yes, I assumed since it wassourgent and already delayed, it would be best to send it straight to him.”
“Fuck,” Caroline hisses under her breath, and it takes all I have not to laugh.
“Okay, well, I’m going to go back to bed,” I say, adding a cough for effect. I don’t know why someone with diarrhea might have a cough, but I don’t have it in me to fake a fart.
“Bye.” Ending the call without waiting for a response, I check my text messages, annoyed and worried that Logan still hasn’t responded.
Me: I’m really worried about you. Please let me know you’re okay.
When my message goes unanswered,again, I huff a groan and push up from the bed, wandering back out in search of coffee because it’s barely eight a.m. and I can already tell today is going to be a whole-ass day.
I’ve consumed two coffees, stood in a steaming hot shower for at least twenty minutes, watched two episodes ofLove Island, and I still don’t have a reply from Logan.
Sitting on the very edge of the sofa, I study my phone, considering my options. And I know there’s really only one option right now, but with every fiber of my being, I absolutely do not want to choose it. But I need to know he’s okay. And right now, Logan’s safety takes priority over my own pride.
Scrolling through to social media, I find her in Emily’s friends, and I look at her profile not for the first time. Her grid is all perfectly curated, aesthetically pleasing photos of herself, her and her dad, the coach of the New York Thunder, a few ice hockey photos, a cute tan dog, a few artsy pictures of places she’s been. Ugh. God, she’s pretty. She’s almost too pretty. Too perfect.
Oh my God, Millie, my subconscious chides me, and I shake my head at my jealous thoughts as I draft a message.
Me: Hey, Hannah. This is Millie. I was just wondering… is Logan with you?
