Page 84 of Whenever You Call

I’d grown too attached. Too reliant. And somewhere in the last forty-eight hours, I’d grown too lustful.

His face mirrored my own, full of unspoken things and far too much pain.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled slowly only to release it all as he said, “I’m so fucking sorry, Hannah. You have no idea.”

I hated the way I still wanted him—how I could still taste him on my lips. I hated that I could never have more of him now. Not after this.

“Don’t you dare follow me ever again. We’re done. Goodbye, Logan.”

With that, I opened the door and left him behind, not caring who the hell saw me fall apart this time or what they had to say about it.

Some things couldn’t be hidden.

My devastation over losing Logan had just become one of them.

Chapter32

LOGAN

What the fuck had I done?

The pain in Hannah’s eyes may as well have been a knife she pushed straight into my heart and twisted wildly. She’d kissed me—fuckingkissedme—and it had been the sweetest kiss my lips had ever tasted. It had been more explosive than I could ever have imagined, and it had the power to destroy me. I’d grown hard beneath her touch. I’d become drunk on her body heat and damp skin. I’d lost my ever-loving mind for a minute too long before that dark cloud of guilt had sucked all the light from, not just the room but my life, reminding me that nothing more could happen between us until she knew the truth.

She deserved that.

Hannah deserved everything this world hadn’t given her. Yet, she got me. An asshole who paraded around like a saint.

“Logan?”

Creed pushed through the door and entered the training room, no doubt seeing me on the floor with my back against the wall, knees drawn up, and the heels of my hands pressed against my forehead as I stared at nothing while he dropped to his haunches in front of me, waiting.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

“Not really.”

He sighed. “She looked pretty upset when she ran.”

Ran?Fuck. The thought crippled me. I wanted to chase her, but she’d warned me not to, making me feel like a fucking creep for doing it the first time we met.

“Did she say anything?” I asked.

“Not a word. Wanna talk about it?”

I dropped my hands and glanced up at him. I must have looked as shit as I felt because sympathy and understanding radiated from Creed’s gaze.

My head fell back against the wall with a thud. I could still taste Hannah on my lips. The scent of her lingered everywhere. My default mode since Dale’s death all those years ago had been to clam up tight, shut everyone out, and deal with shit on my own, but look how far that had gotten me. I was thirty years old, had never been in love, and was fucking tired. Maybe talking to someone about the stuff deep down inside that bothered me and the shit I’d done wrong wouldn’t kill me as much as I’d always thought it would.

“It’s a scary thing to talk about all the stuff going on inside your head,” I said.

“Not as scary as keeping it in and slowly killing yourself over it.”

“You should have been a therapist.”

“I thought about it, but they’d make me cover up my muscles, and I’m too vain to be strapped down beneath a suit and tie,” he said with an obvious smirk.

Rolling my head against the wall, I caught his eyes. “You’re a good man, Creed.”

“That’s what they tell me. Now, about that talking…”

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