“I do,” I whisper back. “He wants me to.”
Cameron’s jaw flexes. “Yeah, because he’s Pops.”
“And because he knows me,” I add.
Cameron nods slowly, eyes shining in a way he’ll never admit. “Text me when you’re done.”
“I will.”
He looks at me for a second longer, then mutters, “Drive safe,” like that’s what he can offer.
I turn toward the kitchen to grab my keys, and Logan is there—leaning against the counter like he’s been waiting. Like he anticipated this moment.
He doesn’t speak right away.
He just watches my face with that quiet, infuriating accuracy.
“You’re going to make yourself sick,” he says softly.
“I’m fine,” I snap automatically.
Logan lifts a brow. “You want to quote Pops, or should I?”
My mouth tightens.
Logan’s tone shifts lighter on purpose, like he’s tossing me a rope I didn’t ask for. “You should go. If you stay, you’ll spiral. If you go, you’ll spiral…but with sneakers on.”
I let out a sharp breath that might be a laugh. “That’s not reassuring.”
“Not trying to reassure you,” he says. “Just trying to keep you functional.”
I grab my keys off the counter, fingers stiff.
Then—because my brain can’t help itself—I blurt, “What if Cameron?—”
Logan’s gaze flicks toward the hallway where Cameron disappeared, then back to me.
“What if Cameron finds out?” I finish, voice tight. “About…us.”
Logan’s mouth twitches.
He doesn’t look panicked.
He looks…resigned.
“Then I’ll take my ass beating like a man,” he says, dead serious.
I stare.
He adds, “I mean, it won’t be fun. Cameron’s got reach. But…I’ve taken harder hits than his.”
My lips twitch despite myself. “You’re an idiot.”
Logan’s eyes soften, but he keeps it controlled—keeps it Logan. “Yeah.”
I swallow, then whisper, “I don’t want him to hate you.”
Logan’s voice drops a fraction. “I don’t think he could even if he tried.”
