I’m so grateful for him, more than I can put into words, but he’s not been the same since we got home. He’s been shuffling around the loft in silence, I’ve tried to cheer him up with jokes and memes, but he’s gone to a dark place. I hate it.
Odin snores softly from his bed, soaking up the late-day sun streaming through the large loft windows. I plan ideas for dinner in my head while Logan reads. Cooking is usually his thing, but maybe if I take care of dinner tonight, he’ll see I’m not as broken or helpless as he’s been treating me.
Logan sets his book and glasses on the nightstand and wraps his arms around my middle, drawing me close. I wince when he makes contact with my injured rib and instantly kick myself for reacting. He flinches, snatching his arm back like I’ve burned him.Shit.
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” I assure.
It doesn’t make any difference, he still retreats to his side of the bed.
Every time it happens, that vein in his neck twitches, and then he jerks away. When I’ve tried to close the gap between us, he stands and leaves the room. It’s been two days of this, and his rejection stings far more than my injuries do.
I strategically place a pillow under me to move into a comfortable position, then snuggle up on my side, my back to his front. I reach behind me and locate his arm to drape it over me the way he tried before, but he withdraws. And I let him.
The silence between us has never felt so suffocating.
I lie on my side, staring away from him, letting the room unfocus and the numbness eat away at my insides. Tears prick the corners of my eyes.
He sits up.
“Please don’t leave,” I whisper.
“What?” His voice is clipped, angry.
“Every time you pull away and I try to pull you back, you get up and walk away.” I ease myself upright, careful to not let any pain show as I turn, but his feet are already planted on the floor. I shift to kneel beside him on the mattress. “I need you.”
He scoffs.
“Did I do something to make you mad?”
Logan glances over his shoulder. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself!”
I roll my eyes. He can’t blame himself for what happened. “You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “You couldn’t!” Neither of us knew until it was too late.
“I could have done more.”
“How?” I snap.
He doesn’t answer.
“Tell me, Logan,” I press. “What signs did you have pointing to her? I’ll wait.”
I give him a few seconds to think . . . Nothing.
“Exactly.” I cross my arms.
“My past almost killed you, Kelly,” he says, his voice wavering. “I couldn’t even save you that day, you had to save yourself.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I uncross my arms. “You did save me!”
He picks his feet off the floor and rotates to face me directly. “She was pouring gasoline down your throat when I got there. I will never get that image out of my head.” His gaze carries a sadness deeper than I’ve ever seen in him. “I never should have let you leave after work. I should have answered my office door when you knocked. I should have done a background check on thewoman you met in Bozeman?—”
“Logan.” I cup his jaw in my hands and tilt his face so he’s looking directly into my eyes. “I would be dead if you hadn’t shown up.” I don’t know how to make this any clearer to him.
He gives a wistful smile. “You did such a good job, Kelly. You were so fucking smart every step of the way. It was the breadcrumbs you left that saved you, it wasn’t me.”
