My stomach drops. There it is.
My voice goes lower, shaking. “Tell me what.”
Logan’s gaze dips, briefly, to my mouth, like he’s remembering something, like he’s grounding himself, then returns to my eyes.
“I think you already know, judging by the text Cam sent a few minutes ago. So go ahead,” he says softly. “Say it.”
The invitation nearly breaks me.
Because I didn’t come here looking for permission, but my body reacts like I’ve been starving for it anyway.
“So your plan,” I say, each word sharp, “was to make me fall for you, act like you were all in, like you weren’t going anywhere…and then just leave?”
His jaw flexes. He doesn’t deny it fast, which is somehow worse.
My lungs squeeze.
I swallow hard and push anyway, because if I stop I’ll cry, and if I cry I might not be able to speak.
“How could you let me—” My voice cracks. I hate it. I push through it. “How could you let me fall in love with you if you were just going to leave me too?”
The room goes quieter in that instant.
Not silent. There’s still the hum of the music, still the clank of plates.
But the air shifts.
Like everyone felt the words land.
Logan’s expression changes—not to guilt, not to panic.
To something almost…proud.
Which makes my anger spike.
“What is that look?” I demand, furious. “Why do you look like—like you’re happy I’m falling apart?”
His mouth curves, small.
“Because you’re alive,” he says.
I stare at him like he’s speaking a different language. “What does that even mean?”
“It means this is the first time you’ve blown up at me, and it wasn’t about Pops.” His voice dips, gentle but sure. “This is yours. This isyou.”
My eyes sting instantly.
I blink hard, refusing the tears.
But they keep coming anyway, hot and humiliating.
“I don’t want to be alive like this,” I whisper, voice shaking. “I don’t want to keep losing people.”
Logan’s face softens, and something in my chest tilts.
“I know,” he says. “I know.”
I shake my head, furious at my body for betraying me. “So what’s the truth?”
