He shouldn’t have to deal with me. He shouldn’t still betrying to give me space when I’m the one who built the distance.
But I can’t face him. Not like this. Not after hearing my dad call him aphase.
So, I sit there on his floor, slowly falling apart, the voicemail still replaying in my head until every word burns.
I swallow hard and scrub a hand over my face, fighting the sting behind my eyes. “God, what did I just do?”
Outside, the rain starts slapping against the window and thunder rolls closer.
Inside, all I can think about is the sound of Logan’s voice earlier, soft and sure—You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to shut me out.
But I think I already have. And it hurts.
The rain’s louder now, tapping against the window in uneven rhythm, like it’s keeping time with the pounding in my chest. I don’t even realize I’m still clutching the phone until my fingers ache.
When I finally stand, my legs feel unsteady. The hallway light spills through the cracked door, and I catch the faint sound of movement—Logan’s voice, low and careful. He must be talking to his mom again, probably trying to convince her that everything’s fine. That I’m fine.
I wish I were.
By the time I step out, he’s alone—leaning against the wall, arms folded across his bare chest. His eyes find mine immediately, searching my face for an answer I don’t have.
“Did he…” He swallows. “Was it bad?”
I shake my head, even though the truth sits like lead in my stomach. “He’s not…happy.”
Logan nods slowly, gaze flicking down to my hands. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
He studies me for a long beat, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wants to believe it, but he doesn’t. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“I’m not pretending,” I lie, voice too tight, too thin. “I just need to figure things out before—before this ruins everything.”
“This?” he repeats softly. “You mean us?”
I open my mouth, but the words snag on the lump in my throat. I want to tell him no, of course not, that nothing could ruinus.But the image of that photo—the bright lights, the headline, my dad’s voice—flashes through my mind, and it’s like the walls close in again.
“I mean the team,” I say finally, hating how small my voice sounds. “My future. Yours. We have to think of that.”
He laughs, but it’s soft and hollow, nothing like the sound I fell for. “You think you’re protecting me?”
“IknowI am,” I whisper.
“By shutting me out?” His eyes shine, just barely, and it guts me. “Todd, we’re supposed to be in this together. I don’t need protection because what the media says doesn’t define me. It doesn’t define us, what we are to each other. Only we do that.”
“I can’t—” My voice breaks, and I force the words out anyway. “I can’t talk about this right now, okay? I just need some time.”
Logan stares at me for what feels like forever. Then he nods, jaw tightening. “Time. Sure.” He steps back, and the distance feels more than physical—it feels like an ocean of emotion between us. “Take all the time you need, Shaw.”
He turns toward the stairs before I can breathe out anapology, and I watch him go—barefoot, shoulders tense, his back muscles bunching with each step.
The sound of his footsteps fades, but the ache stays, hollowing out my chest until it feels like there’s nothing left but the echo of him saying my name.
I press a hand against the doorframe to steady myself.
Because I know, deep down, this is the moment everything starts to break.
And the worst part? I’m the one doing it. I’m destroying what we are, what we have.
