I sit on the edge of my bed and press the bracelet to my palm.
My stomach flips.
I stand up so fast my head spins.
Then I do the thing I never do.
I walk straight to Logan’s room.
His door is cracked.
I knock once anyway, because I’m not a barbarian.
No answer.
So I push it open.
Logan is sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off, brace visible, ice pack balanced on his knee. He looks up sharply, surprised.
His gaze flicks to my face, then down to my hand—where I’m gripping the gift bag like evidence.
“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately.
I narrow my eyes. “Did you put this on my bed?”
Logan stills. “Yeah.”
My throat tightens. “Why?”
He blinks, like the question is obvious. “Because it’s your birthday.”
I glare. “Don’t act like you didn’t write a whole speech on that note.”
Logan’s mouth twitches faintly. “It was two sentences.”
“It was annoying,” I snap, because it’s easier than admitting it made my chest ache.
Logan watches me for a beat, losing the battle of controlling the smirk that’s taking over his face. “So you liked it?”
I hate that my face warms. “It’s fine.”
Logan snorts softly. “Sure.”
I step closer, then stop in the doorway like there’s an invisible line between us.
“Just like you keep leaving the water on my nightstand.” I grip the gift bag tighter. “Why do you do that?”
Logan’s eyes lift back to mine. They’re steady. Honest. “Because you wouldn’t let anyone take care of you if they asked permission.”
My throat tightens so hard it hurts.
“And because…” he adds, quieter.
I freeze.
Logan’s gaze drops to my bracelet, then back to my face. “Because you take care of everyone else. All the time. And for some reason, you think you don’t deserve someone to take care ofyou.”
The words hit like a punch, my eyes instantly burning with tears that want so badly to break free.
