My voice cracks. “So what…you’re just giving up?”
His mouth twitches.
“You know me better than that,” he says.
And he’s right.
Logan doesn’t give up. He rebuilds. He grinds. He fights.
Even when it hurts.
Especiallywhen it hurts.
“My plan,” he says, “was to tell you after I had something real lined up. Not just a bunch of ‘maybes’ and ‘I don’t knows.’ That wouldn’t help you at all.”
I swallow. “What real thing?”
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding this too.
“I’ve been looking for an apartment,” he admits.
I blink again. “An apartment?”
“Halfway between PCU and your house,” he says. “Somewhere I can finish my degree, keep training, keep building my leg back up, and still be close enough to—” Hisvoice catches just slightly. “To show up for what matters to me the most. You.”
My throat tightens.
Show up.
Those words are everything.
“Except I don’t think I want an apartment. I can stay at the football house if you want me to, but I’d rather stay with you. I don’t mind making the commute if it means I get to hold you every night,” he says, and I swear if it was possible, I’d be a puddle on the floor.
“Chicago can’t promise me anything next year,” he adds, eyes not flinching from the truth. “They can’t guarantee the same opportunity will exist. They can’t guarantee a roster spot. They can’t guarantee anything.”
My heart beats too hard.
“But I told them next fall anyway,” he says. “Because this—” He gestures subtly between us, like he’s afraid to name it too loudly. “This matters.Youmatter.”
I stare at him.
And suddenly my anger has nowhere to go.
It collapses into something raw and shaking.
“You should’ve told me,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says immediately. “I’m sorry.”
The apology hits harder than any grand speech.
Because Logan Brooks doesn’t apologize unless he means it.
I wipe at my cheeks again, annoyed by the tears.
“You’ve been acting normal,” I say, voice breaking. “You’ve been kissing me, holding me, laughing with me like you weren’t sitting on a decision that could rip me apart.”
Logan’s eyes soften.
