Logan’s mouth tightens. “He left.”
Of course he did. The familiar sting rises, hot and sharp.
Not because I don’t understand my brother’s fear. I do.
Because I’m the one who stays.
Always the one who stays.
“He’ll be back,” Logan adds.
I bark a humorless laugh. “You don’t know that.”
Logan holds my gaze. “Yeah,” he says calmly. “I do.”
My arms cross tighter. “Why?”
He shrugs like it’s obvious. “Because he loves him. And because Cameron can run all he wants, but he always comes back to this house.”
That last part lands somewhere deeper than I want it to.
I sip my water like it’s a weapon. “You’re awfully confident for someone who can’t even walk without a stick.”
His brows lift. “It’s called a crutch.”
“Same thing,” I say, because I’m petty.
He snorts. “And you’re awfully mouthy for someone who’s been crying in the shower.”
The mug freezes halfway to my mouth.
My heart stutters.
Heat floods my face so fast it’s humiliating.
“What did you just say?” My voice is low and dangerous.
Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes sharpen. “I said you’re mouthy.”
I narrow my eyes. “No. The other part.”
He looks at me for a long second, like he’s deciding whether to poke the bear again.
Then he says, too casually, “Relax. I didn’thearanything.”
I take one step toward the living room, mug in hand, feeling like I could throw the entire glass at his head and sleep just fine afterward.
“You’re lying.”
Logan lifts a hand. “I’m not?—”
“You heard,” I bite.
His mouth twitches. “Okay. Maybe I heard the shower. Crazy thing, running water makes a sound.”
I glare. “You know what I mean.”
He leans back against the couch, posture loose like he isn’t actively pushing every one of my buttons. “Sloane, I don’t want to fight about this.”
