“Bellerive must have laws.”
“They do, if he releases them on purpose. He’s too smart to have any leak lead directly to him. But I just…” Her voice cracks on another sob. “I needed you to know.”
My mind is turning everything over, flipping it, twisting it, trying to figure out how Dalton can have the upper hand when what he’s done has caused Sawyer so much pain.
“I believe you,” I say against her temple, and then I press a kiss there. “I believe you.” And if he releases a single photo, he won’t be the only one who’ll have figured out how to get away with a crime. He won’t even see it coming until I’ve buried him six feet under.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sawyer
When I was with Dalton, I was so busy caring about his happiness, his success, that I never noticed until it was too late that he cared very little about mine. It’s like I was living my life in black-and-white shades, and I’ve finally discovered that Technicolor exists. That’s how stark the contrast is.
Like right now, while I’m working on Matilda in a treatment room, Logan is in the weight room amusing Matilda’s son to make my job easier. He has a photo shoot tonight at the arena for some brand deal, followed by a bit for a television commercial, and he’s staying here late with me to make my life easier. When Matilda arrived, Logan said, “I’ll stay to watch him because then he won’t be under your feet.” That might seem like an exaggeration, but sometimes her son literally weaves between my legs as I’m working on Matilda.
“You need to put a ring on that man’s finger and lock him down,” Matilda says, not even bothering to keep her volume dialed low.
When I only laugh, she says, “I’m serious. That video of the two of you at the arena? I’ve watched it an embarrassing number of times. Can’t even believe I’m telling you.”
“People didn’t like me with him, so we made them like us.”
“Like you? They want tobeyou. Every woman fifty and under wants to be Sawyer Tucker. You turned a terse, serious man into someone who glows when he talks about you. When we talk about a glow-up? That’s literally your man.”
I should tell her that we’re not as serious as we’ve made it seem. But those words die in my throat. Every day, it feels more and more like maybe wearethat serious, and when I really consider that reality, it scares the shit out of me. Logan Bishop is supposed to be a rebound, a recovery—he’s not supposed to be heartbreak.
“We’re definitely starting to see some progress in this shoulder,” I say to her. “I’ve got a new set of home exercises that Bituin printed for you before she left. I’ll grab them.”
I duck out of the room, and then I peek into the weight room where Logan has set up mini sticks, and the two of them are on the ground in a full-on battle.
“Think I’ll have to drag him out?” Matilda asks from the front desk.
“Possibly,” I say. “Depends on who’s winning.” I grab the pages from behind the desk and pass them to her.
Matilda comes with me back to the door, and when Logan glances up and sees me there, he grins.
“There it is,” Matilda whispers. “The glow-up in real life.”
“Shh,” I say with a little laugh. But I know she’s right. He so rarely gave real smiles when I first met him, and I get them all the time now.
“All right, little man,” Logan says to Matilda’s son, and he catches the ball that comes flying toward his net. “We’re done for today.”
“Noooo!” the boy cries, turning to stare at me and his mom. “I want to stay.”
“Logan has a busy night,” I say.
“Next time, bud,” he says, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Maybe you’ll even beat me.”
The two of them tidy the mini-sticks set and put it back on the shelf in the closet. Logan bought it after the last time he watched Matilda’s son during a session because he figured he might as well do something they couldbothenjoy.
When the bell sounds to signal Matilda and her son’s exit, Logan sweeps me into his arms and plants a lingering kiss on my lips.
“Be waiting at my apartment when I’m done all this sponsorship, brand-deal bullshit?”
“What’s in it for me?” I ask, nuzzling his neck.
“I got a package delivered today, if you’re still up for experimenting. If not, I totally get it.”
It’s the closest he’s come to alluding to what I told him about the videos and pictures a few days ago. He’s been treating me with kid gloves—extra attentive, even more aware of any cues I give in terms of my mood. Maybe the tender treatment should annoy me because I’m not some fragile thing who can’t cope, but I like his softness more than I would have expected. Months ago when we met, he was a gruff giant who was sometimes borderline rude. Now I see that for what it was. Armor. Self-protection. Someone with this soft of an underbelly can’t go around showing it to everyone all the time.
