Logan pursed his lips. “He might’ve been fine if my dad hadn’t shown up at the gallery and slashed my mom’s paintings.”
I gasped. “He didn’t.”
“He sure did.”
I laughed out of shock. “I’m sorry, that’s not funny.”
“It’s kind of funny.”
“A little sad though. Those paintings were amazing.”
Logan nodded. “My mom showed up. Cleaned the mess. I’ve never seen her so calm.”
“Is your dad still—?” I wanted to say having a mental break, but didn’t think that was helpful.
Logan’s mouth twisted. “He’s a mess. Angry. Hurt. He keeps trying to pretend nothing’s wrong as long as he can until he explodes. We still haven’t had a real conversation about it.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, wondering if all this was my fault. Until I remembered I wasn’t the one kissing Norman Marcus in his office.
“But I talked to my mom,” Logan went on. “Really talked. For the first time in . . . probably ever. About how their marriage has been hard for years. She felt like she had to be the spiritual glue for all of us, and somewhere along the line, she forgot she was allowed to want anything.”
“One minute!” My dad’s voice filtered through the closed door.
Logan’s throat worked. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. It was a lot?—”
“No, I totally understand.”
“I still should’ve called. I just wasn’t—” He drew in a shaky breath. “I’ve never missed anyone like this. Not a teammate. Not an ex. Not anyone. I don’t want to go on road trips without you, and I know that’s ridiculous, but every away game, every hotel room, every bus seat—I just sit there thinking about how I wish you were there next to me.”
His hand tensed against my neck. “This scares the shit out of me.”
I nodded, sliding my hands around his waist. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”
Logan made a noise in his throat, his fingers trembling. “Crys. I—” He took another second, composing himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever said this and meant it, but?—”
“TWENTY! NINETEEN!” The countdown started in the other room.
“I love you.” Logan’s voice splintered. “You said you cared about me at the gallery, and I don’t know if that’s the same, but I needed you to know that’s how I feel. And I get that I still have a lot of work to do. I’m probably still going to be an ass sometimes, and I wish that wasn’t true, but I’m going to keep asking questions, and?—”
I pressed my fingers to his lips.
“ELEVEN! TEN!”
Logan’s eyes lifted, landing on mine. He looked terrified. Desperate. Because he’d just stepped off the edge of the cliff with me.
“I love you, Logan.”
He kissed my fingers.
“SEVEN! SIX!”
“I want to be at every game, every tournament, every bus ride.”
“FOUR! THREE!”
“I don’t expect you to be perfect because I sure as hell won’t be. I just want you and?—”
Logan was kissing me as my family screamed, “ONE!” and the noisemakers and poppers exploded along with the shouts of “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
