Page 36 of All Bets are Off

Logan

God, I wish I could switch my mind off and rest. Just forget the last several days. But I can’t. They play through my mind like a movie. The horror of seeing the difference in my mother when I arrived in Atlanta. The struggle of trying to talk her into the move and then giving up and just telling her the way it’s going to be. The sleepless nights—especially last night, when Mom refused to lie down and go to sleep.

Staring at the whirring ceiling fan over my bed, I wipe at the tears rolling down the sides of my face. I don’t want West to see them. When he walks into the room, closing the door behind him, I summon a happier expression, but I can’t fool him. Placing the plate of food on a table, he sits on the bed beside me.

“Hey.” He looks around, probably for tissues, since the tears are coming again. Finding none, he wipes my face with his fingers. My breath catches in my throat at the tenderness of the action. “It was that bad, huh?”

“Worse,” I say, lips wobbling. I take a shaky breath. “She was a mess when I got there, wearing pajamas I think she’d had on for days. Her hair was dirty.”

“Not like her at all,” West mumbles.

I nod. “She was upset I was there, and when I told her I wanted her to move here, she had a fit, yelling and throwing things.”

“It’s hard to imagine Gloria acting that way,” West says. “She’s normally so calm.”

“I know.” I swallow my tears and wipe at my face. “Sorry. I’m just overwhelmed, I guess.”

“Since when do you have to apologize to me? Are you up to eating something?”

“Could you just…lie here with me for a minute?” I ask him, feeling silly, but that’s all I want—West’s comforting presence.

“Sure.” Kicking off his shoes, West stretches out next to me. He smells of sun and surf.

Turning my head toward him, I study his features. Other than a line or two around his eyes, he could still be that impetuous twenty-five-year-old I met on the first day of security forces training in Chesapeake, Virginia. I vividly remember the first day I saw him—as golden as the sunlight that shone down on us that morning.

“What are you thinking?” West asks me, fingers brushing through my hair.

“About the day we met.”

“Yeah? If I recall, you thought I was a real dick.”

“You were.” I laugh. “But I thought you were beautiful.”

“I thought you were a know-it-all,” West says, and I smile because we’ve talked about this many times before. His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, and his eyes meet mine. “But I also thought you were hot.”

“What?” Frowning, I rise on my elbow and stare down at him.

West shrugs. “I’ve had a thought or two like that in the course of my life. I just ignored them. I thought it was normal. It’s time for me to be honest, though.”

Scooting back to lean against the headboard, I mutter, “What the hell’snormal, anyway?”

I look down when West reaches for my hand, watching our palms press together and long fingers entwine, thinking there’s something very beautiful about it. When West lifts our hands and kisses the back of mine, then goes on to press a kiss to each of my fingers, my eyes fill again.

“I love you,” I say hoarsely. It’s the first time I’ve said it, other than the occasional, “Love you, man,” over the years. This is different. The words feel heavy in the room.

After a moment, West squeezes my hand. “I love you, too.”

I look at him, then—really look at him—and see my own feelings reflected in his eyes.

“We’ll get through this together, Logan. Your mom, the change in our relationship, everything,” he promises.

I nod jerkily, then slide down to fit in his arms, head resting on his broad chest. He presses a kiss to my hair, and we stay like that in silence for a long time until my stomach makes a growling sound that’s difficult to ignore.

“Time to eat.” Rolling off the bed, West gets the food.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, we practically inhale the fish, scallops, and corn on the cob.

“I think this is the best meal I’ve ever had,” I tell him, licking butter from my fingers.

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