“Oh. Right.” Her eyes sparkle. “You fought my brother.”
I groan into the pillow. “That is not what happened.”
She rolls slightly closer, propping her head on her hand. “Mm. So Cameron just…aggressively loved your face?”
I bark out a laugh before I can stop it. The sound surprises me—raw, real, like my body forgot it could do that.
Sloane’s smile softens immediately at the sound, like it’s a victory.
Like she’s glad I’m still here.
“Did it hurt?” she asks, quieter now.
I meet her eyes. The teasing is still there, but underneath it is something careful. Something that knows this is bigger than a bruise.
I shrug one shoulder. “I’ve had worse.”
“Logan.”
The way she says my name drags me into honesty whether I want to go there or not.
“It stung,” I admit. “Mostly my pride.”
“That’s fair.” Her mouth twitches. “He’s kind of terrifying when he’s emotional.”
“Terrifying isn’t the right word,” I murmur.
She studies me for a second, then reaches out again—this time sliding her palm over my cheek, the unbruised side, like she’s balancing out the damage.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly.
I shake my head. “Don’t be.”
Her eyes narrow. “I can be sorry if I want.”
“Yeah?” I challenge, keeping my voice light. “You gonna apologize on his behalf too?”
Sloane’s mouth tilts. “Absolutely not.”
I snort.
She shifts closer again, warm and sleepy and stubborn, and then she presses her forehead to my shoulder like she’s done arguing.
For a few seconds, the room is quiet.
Not heavy-quiet.
Just…morning-quiet.
I can hear the house. The soft hum of the fridge down the hall. A faint creak in the floorboards, like the Rhodes’ home is stretching awake. Somewhere outside, a car passes. A dog barks once and then stops.
Normal.
I almost forgot what normal sounded like.
Sloane inhales, then exhales against my chest. “So,” she mumbles.
“So,” I echo.
