Page 76 of Whenever You Call

“Sounds great,” I said, grateful for the excuse to turn away and hide everything I was beginning to feel.

It didn’t take me long to switch outfits in his tiny cream bathroom that had everything a human being needed and nothing more. After folding my clothes, I refused to look in the mirror, knowing I’d see a red, puffy face I’d already grown tired of seeing at just twenty-nine years old. Instead, I made my way out into the main studio, dropping my folded clothes onto the kitchen island before stopping to take in the scene in front of me.

Logan lay on one side of his bed, and for a moment, I froze, not knowing whether to join him on the other side or take the couch.

He caught me, lost in thought.

“It’s up to you,” he said, already knowing my dilemma, but in true Logan fashion, refusing to apply the pressure either way.

Part of me wished he would. At least then I’d know which way he leaned toward. A nod to the couch would tell me that he spotted my mouth-gazing earlier, and he thought it best we stay apart. A nod to the bed, however, would tell me to stop overthinking. He didn’t care about any of that. He didn’t see me that way.

Either one, I found I’d be disappointed with.

In the end, I found my courage and climbed into the opposite side of the bed, pushing my bare legs—which were only half covered by his baggy shorts—under the thin comforter while he laid on top of it, on his side.

“Are the clothes okay?” he asked, his attention on the television as he flicked through the channels, refusing to look at me.

I really wanted him to look at me.

“Great, thanks.”

“I still say you looked better in the leggings.” He smirked.

“Stop trying to make me blush, Logan Thomas.”

“Never.”

It was our second time in bed together in less than twenty-four hours, and even though my thoughts should have been on the way my life was falling apart around me, I found myself relaxing into the pillows anyway.

If Earth had a safe space for each of us, in bed next to Logan was mine, and I had no idea what that meant for either of us.

Or how we’d let it happen so quickly.

Chapter30

LOGAN

Hannah slept beside me—her peaceful face aimed my way, lit only by the shadows the moon cast through the thin curtains I hadn’t pulled together properly.

She wore no makeup, and her face still had different shades of pink dotted around it, thanks to the tears that motherfucker had made her shed. Even with those, she looked perfect, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her or the way her small hands were pressed together, wedged under her cheek.

The things she’d had to go through all because of a man who didn’t love her enough to keep his ego in check. I couldn’t fucking bear it.

I lay on my side, my arm above her head, and the very edges of my fingertips running through the stray strands of her hair. Despite wanting to, I wouldn’t wake her. She needed this sleep. She needed to rest, and it should have made me feel good to know that she felt safe here with me.

Instead, all I felt was more fucking guilt and more fucking shame.

I swear I wanted to confess today,I told her in my thoughts.I wanted to get things out in the open and let you decide for yourself if you forgive me or not. But how could I do that this morning? How could I do that tonight when your feelings for him are all messed up? When your anger toward him could have allowed you to forgive me too easily?

I wanted to purge myself of this rotten fucking feeling that was eating me alive, telling me I’d become no better than Cole with the way I chose what she should know and when she should know it.

My fingers continued to brush over her hair, and I wanted to bury my hand in it, fist it tight, make her eyes open, and bring her lips toward me more than I’d ever wanted any fucking thing in my entire life.

But I couldn’t take what wasn’t mine.

I couldn’t ask for what I didn’t deserve.

I couldn’t last another day like this, wondering how everything would turn out once she finally knew the truth.

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