“I thought that after last night you forgave me.”
“Last night was about revenge,” Logan said coldly, his voice utterly devoid of all emotion. “The sex was fantastic—it always is—but that was all it was. Sex.”
Claire knew he was intentionally being cruel, that he used his callousness as a defense mechanism. But it still hurt. She tried her best to maintain her composure, but it grew increasingly difficult. “I’m not ashamed of you, Logan,” she told him again. “That’s not why I didn’t tell my mother.”
He stared. “I don’t care. Save your explanations. They mean less than nothing to me.”
That stung. Actually, the hurt it induced was more than a mere sting. It was an aching pang inside her chest. She turned away from him, slamming the passenger door closed and ducking beneath his arm. “Goodbye, Logan,” she tossed over her shoulder, knowing that if she looked back at him now, she would cave and lose all sense of her pride. She desperately wanted to go back to him, to force him to listen, to iron out their differences. But she was also afraid that if she went back to him, he would continue to shut her out, and she couldn’t go through that again. Especially not with Logan.
So she got in her car and drove away.
Logan watched Claire leave without protest. He stood in the driveway long after she had peeled out onto the main road, staring at nothing in particular, hating himself. Hating everything. He felt empty inside, hollow.
Cursing, he stalked back into the kitchen.
Derek looked up, in the midst of putting his bowl into the dishwasher. Suddenly, Logan was spoiling for a fight.
“Don’t,” he bit out, “come between me and Claire again.”
Derek’s mouth twisted in a mocking grin. “Or what, Logan? You’ll kick my ass? Kick me out? Go ahead. Jesus, when did you get to be such an asshole?”
Logan’s fists clenched. “I could ask you the same question.”
Derek slammed the dishwasher closed. “You’re the one treating the mother of your child like an easy lay you brought home from some bar. You might not be aware of it, but women generally like to feel like they mean more to you than just a good screw.”
“You have a hell of a lot of nerve,” Logan growled, closing in on him. “Stay out of my goddamn business.”
“I’m your best friend,” Derek countered, “and when I see you fucking something up, it’s my obligation to tell you.” He flashed a pretty-boy grin. “And you’re fucking this up big time.”
That clinched it for Logan. He threw the first punch, and a knockdown, drag-out brawl ensued right there in the kitchen. When it was over, Logan had a split upper lip and a black eye. Derek sported a bruise on his right cheek and a matching black eye. They looked at each other, both panting for breath. Two of the barstools had been knocked over in the fight, and a cereal bowl littered the tile in shards.
Logan dragged a hand through his hair, taking in the disarray. “Shit,” he breathed, looking back at Derek. “I’m sorry.”
Derek pressed a hand to his cheek and gave Logan a rueful half-grin. “I’m not really the one you owe an apology, Loge.”
“You won’t give up, will you?” Logan snatched a napkin from the island and pressed it to his bleeding lip. “You’re like a dog with a goddamn bone.”
Derek observed him with a grave expression. “Why are you determined to screw things up with Claire? She’s a good woman. She deserves better.”
Logan balled up the napkin and strode over to the trashcan, tossing it inside with more force than necessary. “Since when did you become an expert at judging character?” He knew it was a low blow when he said it, but he couldn’t help himself. Derek paled, making Logan feel instantly ashamed of himself. “Derek, I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes you did,” Derek said, his jaw clenched. “And you’re right. When it came to Trina, I was probably just following my dick. But Claire isn’t Trina. Hell, Logan, she isn’t like any woman I’ve ever met. She’s genuine, sweet, caring.”
Logan felt himself getting pissed off all over again. Why did Derek insist on extolling all Claire’s virtues? And why, for God’s sake, was he taking Claire’s side in all this? He leveled a savage kick at the trashcan and it tipped over, spilling its contents all over the floor. Hell. Napkins, milk cartons and junk mail skittered across the tiles, mingling with the broken bowl and cereal remnants.
“Christ, what a mess.” He looked up at Derek. “Why can’t you just let this go?”
“Because I’m your friend.” He sighed. “You don’t sit by and keep quiet when I fall off the wagon, right?”
“Right,” Logan allowed, “but that’s different.”
“Not really. Screwing your life up is screwing your life up.”
“I’m not screwing my life up.”
“Yes you are.”
“Damn it.” Logan slammed his fist against the kitchen counter, taking solace in the burst of pain that flared through his hand. “She kept me a secret from her own parents.”
