"Then I'll know what kind of man he is." I pull on my coat. "But I need to give him the chance."
Elena crosses the room, pulls me into a fierce hug. "Call me after."
"I will." I squeeze back, drawing strength from her solid presence. "Thanks for last night."
"That's what I'm here for." She steps back, hands on my shoulders. "Be brave. But also be smart."
"I'm terrified," I admit.
"Good. Means you're paying attention." She releases me. "Now go."
I check my phone one more time. No new messages. I picture Logan in his bed, sleepless and alone, waiting for a call that never came.
My thumb hovers over his contact. A text feels inadequate, but I'm not ready to hear his voice yet. Better to do this in person.
I type quickly:I'm coming over. We need to talk.
Almost immediately, three dots appear.
Logan:Thank you.
Just that. Two words carrying relief and hope and maybe fear.
I slip the phone in my pocket, turn to Elena. "This is crazy, right? Going to him at dawn when his whole life just exploded?"
Elena smiles slightly. "Yes, but so did yours."
She opens the door for me. "Go get your answer."
The hallway is silent, just the thrum of the elevator descending. My reflection in the polished doors shows a tired young woman in rumpled clothes with a determined jaw. Hardly the put-together woman from the gala. But maybe that's better. No pretense now. Just truth.
The lobby's empty except for a sleepy doorman who nods as I pass. Outside, the air bites cold. Dead leaves skitter across the pavement. My breath fogs white.
My Uber is waiting and I jump in.
As the city slides past—just filling streets, dark windows, the early commuters—I run through scenarios. What I'll say. HowI'll respond. But I know it'll come down to his eyes. His voice. Whether my gut says he's telling the truth.
In my classroom, I can spot a lie instantly. Kids' bodies betray them—too many details or not enough, eyes that won't meet yours. Logan's face and body last night make me want to believe he’s telling the truth. The shock was real.
Unless he's a better actor than any five-year-old I've ever caught in a lie.
The Uber slows, pulls up outside Logan's building. I step onto the sidewalk. My pulse thuds in my throat.
The tower stretches above me, glass and steel catching the first hint of sunrise. Somewhere up there, Logan awaits.
I could still leave. Call and say I'm not ready. Protect myself from whatever pain might come from walking into his complicated new reality.
But I think about Tyler. About Logan's face on that stage. I need to know.
Courage doesn't mean you're not afraid. It means you're afraid and you do it anyway.
That’s what I told Logan not long ago. Time to take my own advice.
I push through the lobby doors, give my name to the concierge. He calls up, listens, nods.
"Mr. McCoy says to send you up."
The elevator rises. My stomach drops with each floor. By the time the doors open into Logan's apartment, I can barely breathe.
