Page 69 of Wicked Devotion
25
LILY
Logan didn’t come back together with Charlie. He wasn’t around for dinner, and when he did come back late at night, he went straight to the bedroom instead of joining me and the others on the patio.
Max told me to wait it out, but it’s getting harder and harder.
I don’t even know why Logan’s antics hurt me so much. From the beginning, he had made it clear that this is a deal. A simple agreement that does not include talking, especially when he doesn’t feel like it, and certainly no emotional connection. It’s my own foolishness that led me to interpret some of his actions as affection.
And instead of being happy about the way Max treats me and enjoying warmth and hugs and kisses and the fact that this man would carry me through life if asked, I am greedy. I want more, something not even Max seems to get from Logan, and maybe Brady was right about the things he said to me.
I wakeup in an empty bedroom. Voices and laughter come from behind the door, Logan’s among them.
What if he isn’t the problem, but I am?
I don’t fit in. Not with Max and Logan, and even less in this little family they have. My job is boring. I’m not rich, and I don’t have a lot of exciting stories to tell. One could argue that I caused a fair amount of drama, but most people I know prefer to watch telenovelas on TV over living in one.
A part of me wants to go back to bed, forever, if possible. To my own bed, in my own home, back to a reality that wasn’t so damn confusing.
But if one of the others has to come to lure me out of this room like I’m a pouting teenager, I have to add deadly embarrassment to the already mile-high pile of self-deprecating thoughts in my head, and I don’t think there’s much space left before it’s going to explode like the Hindenburg.
Since Logan told me that my poker face is pathetic, I try to work on an expression that says, ‘Of course, I’m fine' while I wash my face and brush my teeth.
The look turns out less than convincing, and once I’m dressed, I sneak out of the bedroom, hoping I don’t drag too much attention toward me as I enter the living room where everyone is sitting around a table filled with so much food there’s barely a sliver of wood visible.
“Good morning,” Ruby says with a bright smile, and now all eyes are on me. “Max said you like chocolate pancakes, so we made some for you. Come over and sit down. They’re still warm.”
She pats the free chair next to her, and somehow, this makes me feel even worse because it’s obvious that no one, apart from Logan, doesn’t want me around.
“Thank you,” I say quietly as I sit down.
The others continue their conversation and address me directly every now and then, but every time Logan’s eyes meetmine, it’s like someone’s tossing ice cubes down the back of my shirt. It makes my sentences trail off into nothingness, and after the fourth one-word answer, everyone seems to think I’m simply not in the mood for small talk.
“Someone called me last night,” Ruby says, putting down her cheese sandwich.
“Who gave you this number? Why did you call?”
Her grumpy guy impression is spot on.
“So I said I want to talk to Damon, and the asshole on the other end just hung up on me. Unknown caller ID, before you ask."
“Plan C, prison break,” Max says nonchalantly while digging into a stack of pancakes that’s more chocolate chip than pancake. “I could put something together, small and discreet, with a big enough impact… We just need to find a way to get it in there. Shouldn’t be too complicated, I bet Vinnie knows a guy.”
“Jesus Christ, Max, no,” Rockwell says. “No prison break, no homemade explosives.”
“Are they really homemade if I’m professionally trained?”
“Max, no. That’s plan Y, if anything.”
When Charlie starts to bring some of the dirty dishes to the kitchen, ignoring Ruby, who keeps on telling him that she and Sam are going to clean up later, I take the opportunity to leave the table and join Charlie in the kitchen.
“Is everything okay? You look a little pale,” he says while he picks up a few scraps of lean ham. He feeds them to Mochi, who wags her tail so eagerly that it looks like she’s going to take off soon.
“Mhm,” I mumble.
“I know it’s a lot.Theyare a lot. But we’re grown-ups, and I can see something’s bothering you. Just speak your mind. I promise all of us can take it. I understand—“
“No, I don’t think you do,” I say, dropping a few spoonsin the dishwasher with too much force. “You don’t know how it feels when your whole life breaks apart or how it feels to find out you’ve been lied to for years.”
