And now Logan is…what?
A risk?
A betrayal?
A complication?
My throat aches. “He’s been…good.”
Cameron’s eyes flicker. “Yeah?”
I nod again, quieter. “He’s been good. He’s…here.”
Cameron’s jaw works.
“Is he taking advantage of you?” Cameron asks, and his voice cracks on the last word like he hates himself for asking it.
I freeze.
Then anger flares hot and clean through the numbness.
“No,” I snap. The first real emotion I’ve felt in two days. “Jesus Christ, Cameron.”
Cameron flinches, then his face hardens again, defensive. “It’s a fair question.”
“No,” I say, voice shaking now. “It’s not. Not with Logan.”
Cameron’s eyes search mine, sharp and careful.
I swallow the rest of the truth.
I don’t tell him that Logan didn’t push.
That Logan tried to stop me.
That Logan hesitated like he was terrified of hurting me, of breaking me, even while I was the one pulling him closer.
I don’t tell him any of that.
Because that part is mine.
And I’m not ready to share it with my brother.
So instead, I say the only thing that matters.
“He’s not taking anything,” I tell Cameron. “He’s…giving.”
Cameron stares at me.
The kitchen hums around us. The fridge. The clock. The world insisting on its own rhythm.
Cameron finally drags a hand over his face.
He looks tired. Older.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that,” he admits.
“You don’t do anything,” I whisper. “Not right now.”
