To the store we go!
As I turn the corner onto our street, my brain is spinning with a full day of cases, so I don’t notice the car slowing to a stop in front of our house. Not until I’m right behind it, and a big, male body emerges from the back seat.
A big, male,scowlingbody.
I brake hard and hop off my bike, yanking at my helmet as Logan Granger turns around and pins me down with a furious look.
The easy warmth from New Year’s Eve is gone. His bearded jaw is tight, his eyes are hard, and there’s a tension radiating off him that takes my breath away.
Of course he’s angry. I’m not surprised he tracked me down, although I didn’t think it would be before the end of the hockey season. I knew this was coming, Iknewthere would be consequences, but I’m still not ready.
I grip my bike helmet tighter, using it like a shield to protect my foolish heart. “Logan. Hi.”
“Hi?” He takes a step toward me. “That’s all you’ve got?”
My palms are slick and my mouth is dry. I need to get ahead of this, need to make it clear that I know exactly what this is and that he doesn’t need to waste his breath explaining why our marriage was a mistake. I can be mature about this. Professional.
“Look, I know why you’re here,” I say quickly, lifting my chin. “And you don’t need to worry. I already have a plan to?—”
“Youleft,” he growls roughly.
I blink. “I... yes. I had to.”
“No you didn’t.”
I frown. That’s not what I was expecting him to say. “I didn’t want to have this conversation when my father was down the hall. I don’t want to ever have this conversation, to be honest, but I understand?—”
“You made that choice for both of us.Iwanted to talk. Itriedto talk and you left me standing there in atowel.”
“You had morning skate. I was on a floor full of hockey players. I didn’t know where my father was. And…I thought that would be easier for both of us.”
“Easier?” His laugh is sharp and humorless. “You thought sneaking out before I woke up and stealing our marriage license would beeasier?”
“I didn’t steal it, I just—” I cut myself off. This is not the argument I should be making. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I understand the situation we’re in, and I agree it needs to be cleaned up. You don’t need to be here.”
He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I don’t need to be here?”
“I’m happy to handle everything with the lawyers. You can just... go back to your life and pretend this never happened.”
Something flashes across his face—hurt? anger?—but it’s gone too quickly for me to identify. “Is that what you think I want?”
“Isn’t it?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended, defensive. And I have nothing to be defensive about, because I didn’t know who he was until it was too late. “I know how this story goes.”
His expression shutters completely as Sloane’s voice cuts through the tension. “Frankie? You okay?”
I turn to see both my roommates standing on the front porch, clearly having heard raised voices. Liz looks ready to physically remove Logan if necessary, even though she’s just as short as I am, while Sloane is studying him with undisguised curiosity. Recognition will surely follow, because I texted them his photo just a few nights ago.
“I’m fine. We’re fine here.”
Logan pulls on a mask of easy charm that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a scene. I’m Logan. A friend of Francesca’s.”
“From Vegas.” There it is, the trap of my own making. “You’re the birthday boy.”
“That’s me.” His smile is perfectly pleasant and completely fake.
The silence stretches uncomfortably.
We should move inside, probably, to avoid making a further scene. But inviting Logan Granger into my home feels dangerous. Not for my safety, but for my fragile sense of self.
