He pulled back fully, frustration sparking in his eyes. “So about my mom? You have to let that go.”
“It’s not only that.”
“Pretty sure it is.” I pushed off the shelf and grabbed his hand, but he pulled it away. Logan continued, “It has nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with me, either. They’re my parents, but they can make their own decisions.”
“No, Logan. The decisions they make affect you! When we’re in relationships, when we love people, we should expect them to be honest. We have to talk about the hard things and fix our mistakes. Otherwise—” I shook my head. “What’s the point? It all might as well be fake.”
His mouth flattened. “You don’t know my family.”
“You’re right, but I know what I’ve seen. What you’ve told me.” I drew a deep breath and pressed my hands to my hips. “What they have . . . it’s not what I want. I don’t want to avoid thetopics that are hard. I don’t want to leave things alone because they’re going to make someone mad.”
“So that’s what you think? That because I won’t confront my mom, I’d do the same thing to you?”
My mouth went dry. “I don’t know, Logan. You tell me. What did your exes have to say?” It was a low blow, but I wasn’t getting through to him, and this was the honest truth. Right now, here with me, Logan still didn’t want to take the hit.
His jaw worked, and I half-wished he’d lash out. Tell me I had no right to use that against him, and cut me deep like I’d just cut him.
But he didn’t.
Logan turned and stalked toward the door, then paused before exiting. “I care about you, too,” he murmured. Then slipped into the hall.
It took me a few minutes to follow, my limbs shaky. Grief washed over me in waves. Was that the last time I’d talk to him? Be close to him?
. . . and when that’s not good enough, you get over it and move on. End of story.
Tears pricked my eyes as I wove through the patrons, their laughter and clinking wine glasses muted behind the ringing in my ears.
Norman stood at the front near the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, I just received news.”
The crowd hushed.
“I’m pleased to share that as of this afternoon,” Norman continued, “the Marcus Arts Foundation has officially secured the full matching grant from the Province of Alberta.”
The crowd gasped, then erupted into applause.
The announcement brushed over me, floating behind as I moved faster through the crowd and escaped through the front doors.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
I wokeup in my own bed, and despite the soft winter light and my warm blankets, I felt anything but comforted. There was no sound of his breathing. No heavy arm slung over my waist. No half-asleep mumble about five more minutes when his alarm went off.
My eyes stung.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling the dull ache under my ribs where last night’s conversation had buried itself. I’d done the right thing, but my heart didn’t seem to care about long-term ramifications.
I thought about calling him. Apologizing. Taking it all back.
Which is why I nearly had a heart attack when the phone rang to life in the kitchen. I bolted out of bed so fast, I tripped on my sheets and slammed my knees into the floor. Muttering curses, I stumbled out of my room and ran to grab the phone before it went to the answering machine.
“Hello?”
“Hey, hey!” Not Logan. Maddie. I exhaled, half relieved, half disappointed.
“Hey, what’s up?” She hesitated, and I filled in the gap. “Shar told you?”
“She only told me that you were having a rough week . . .”
