Chapter Forty-Seven
Logan
I felt low and spiraling even further than I had in years.
Deep down, I knew I’d done everything I could for Mom. What she had done was her choice. It wasn’t like I’d forced all those pills down her throat and then made her drink the whole bottle of vodka afterward. I knew this. I knew all this.
But it didn’t matter right now. I was fucked up in the head, and my mental state was shit. I felt like the worst human being to walk the planet.
My mom had committed suicide because she felt lonely and wanted my dad.
She’d fucking still had me, and I wasn’t enough for her to want to live.
I knew that. God, how I knew I wasn’t enough. But her actually leaving this life with me still breathing in it hurt. It hurt so much that I didn’t know where the pain began inside me and where it ended.
I was worthless, and she’d proven it.
Parts of me tried to remember my training—that I was enough, that I wasn’t worthless. But I gave those parts the middle finger and kept on falling down into the rabbit hole.
The drink in front of me did little to calm my thoughts, as did the people around me, saying their condolences about my mother and father, having been so close in deaths.
I tried to smile, to offer them some kindness that the sun would shine again, but I kept drinking instead and wandered off where hopefully no one would talk to the piece of shit that nobody loved.
“Not true. Your friends and Mia love you,” I said aloud as if talking to another of myself.
“Love is complicated, Logan. Take a fucking look around at what love did to this family. She loved him so much that she killed herself and left you. You aren’t fucking lovable.” I sneered at the words that had come out of my own mouth. They tasted worse than the liquor. So, I washed the flavor away with more from my glass.
“Logan?”
Well, this was going to be great.
Insert sarcasm here.
“What are you doing here, Mia?”
I turned to see the goddess behind me, wearing a modest black dress and matching shoes. She was staring at me, absorbing my current state with an expression of concern.
“I wanted to be here for you. Callum and Tate are here, too.”
My friends were dicks, bringing her here, into this shithole of an existence.
“I’ve got it under control.” I lifted my glass and walked past her into the living room of my dead mother’s house to find my so-called friends.
They were talking with my cousin Leighton, their eyes widening as they saw me approach.
“I told you I was fine, and you brought her here?”
I wasn’t happy about this at all. Mia didn’t need to see me like this, and truthfully, after what had happened here with Mom, I wasn’t feeling right about Mia. All my relationships with love were complicated as fuck and ended in disaster to my heart.
“You need her,” Callum was the first to answer.
Tate was staying silent since he was the one usually known to get a rise out of me, and now wasn’t the time to do so.
I scoffed, refusing to rely on anyone right now. Even them.
Mia walked up behind me, her hand touching my shoulder in comfort that I didn’t want right now.
Before the words could be sent through theshould I speak or notsection of my head, I was sputtering out something that should have been sorted into thenotspace, “I don’t need you here. This is what I meant when I said complicated. This right fucking here.”
