Logan’s gaze flicks to my mouth for half a second, and my pulse jumps like a traitor.
I tighten my grip on the folder.
“Last night,” I say, voice sharp, “doesn’t mean anything.”
Logan goes still.
His jaw flexes. “Okay.”
The word is quiet. Controlled. Not arguing. Not claiming.
It makes me feel like I’m losing my footing.
“You don’t get to act calm about it,” I snap.
His gaze lifts, steady. “I’m calm because I’m not going to push you.”
I swallow hard, throat burning. “You should’ve pushed.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Logan’s eyes widen slightly, like he heard the slip for what it was.
My face heats with instant regret.
I straighten my spine like posture can erase it. “Forget it.”
Logan’s voice is low. “Sloane…”
I flinch, then force myself to look at him. “I can’t do this.”
“I know,” he says. “So we won’t.”
My breath catches.
He takes a small step back, giving me space. “I’m not bringing it up unless you do,” he says quietly. “But I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
Because that’s the problem.
Telling him to go would mean admitting I might want him to stay.
I hate that my eyes sting.
I hate that I can’t stop thinking about how he looked when he said he was jealous.
I hate that my father is dying, and my heart is still capable of wanting anything at all.
I hear Cameron come back inside and instantly put distance between us.
“I have to go check on Pops,” I whisper.
Logan nods once. “Yeah.”
I walk past him toward the hallway, and today, he doesn’t stop me.
He doesn’t follow.
