“Too young,” Logan agrees, his voice low. “What the fuck were my parents thinking, letting me date? Immature little shit that I was.”
I give a watery laugh. “We would’ve dated anyway. It would’ve made sneaking around twice as exciting.”
He smirks. “True.” Then his face softens again. “It haunted me for years—your disappearance.”
I reach for him then, to echo the comfort he provided me. My fingers scrape along the edge of his jaw, over his satiny cheeks, up the thin blade of his nose.
“When I found out you were alive, that you just left me and never looked back…” He continues shakily. “I was furious. Always angry. Seth and my siblings avoided me. My parents threatened to kick me out. Then I realized—of course. Why would you contact me when I acted like that? I was horrible. And if I didn’t change, I’d lose everyone I cared about.”
“So you put in the work.” My thumb smooths over his eyebrows. His eyelids flutter, then he nuzzles my hand with his cheek.
“I did. I asked my family for help. It was the most humbling experience of my life. You say you’re in awe of me, but it’s been so hard. I push the anger down, I find outlets, but…I’m angry all the time,” he confesses in a tortured whisper. “I don’t think it ever really goes away. Still, I swore I’d change.”
“And you have.” I stroke around his mouth, not quite touching his lips. The skin there looks so soft and tempting.
His hand covers mine, halting my exploration. “Sierra, I never thought I’d see you again, but now that you’re here… Can you forgive me?”
I don’t answer right away. I can tell he wants me to mean it. “I forgive you, Logan.” The tension sweeps out of him, and his heavy exhale lowers both of us.
His relief feels out of proportion to what he did. To what I did.
I hear what he’s saying about me being an impressionable kid. I was. But I still feel like a bad girl at heart. I caused so much damage. Hurt him, his family. John’s family. That same reckless girl is still here, within me, and like his angry self, there’s nothing I can do to exorcise her.
I shift away from him, suddenly uncomfortable at how close we are. His arms tighten as he senses me pulling away.
I wag my finger at him playfully. “You realize it’s pretty egotistical to think you were the only reason everything went wrong,” I say lightly. “Yes, you had anger issues, but you weren’t the sole cause of my bad decisions. You may be the Golden Boy of Sagebrush, but that doesn’t mean it’s always the Logan Show. Maybe it’s the Sierra Show sometimes. Herewe are, locked in because I convinced you to play hooky on the night of your big event. I deserve to star in my own fuckup-scheme episodes.”
Logan lets out a startled laugh. “All right, all right. I’ll give you credit for this one. But maybe we both need to learn how not to be so hard on ourselves.”
I cast him my most contrite expression. “I am sorry about this.”
“Eh,” Logan says, smiling. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be on a Saturday night. I’m cuddling with my favorite person in the whole wide world in one of my favorite places on earth.”
I smile at the unexpected, sweet memory that triggers it. That was one of his top ways to describe me when we were teenagers. “Your favorite person in the whole wide world, huh? How did I earn that honor again?”
“You never lost it.”
I frown. “Even though…”
“You never stopped being my favorite person, Sierra,” he says firmly.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond. Which is good, because I’m so full of so many conflicting feelings, I don’t know what I would say if he did.
He rolls us over onto our sides, tells me, “Get some rest,” and gives me a quick peck on my lips.
Just like he used to do when he was my boyfriend.
Confusion roils through me. Tonight, we had a come-to-Jesus moment, complete with tender face-touching and cuddling like we did when we were lovesick teenagers. He called me his favorite person and baby, his preferred term of endearment when I was his girlfriend.
Oh, my god. Did we just get back together?
Giddiness, elation, terror, guilt, denial. I run the full gamut. Wanting him. Knowing I can’t really have him, that I’ll have to leave again once the town marshal knows I’m back, that I’m on borrowed time with him. His hand slowly strokes over my hip, as if he can sense my emotional turmoil. And then, the exhaustion finally becomes too much to fight.
Just for tonight, I make my peace with accepting that I want this.
I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be either.
Fifteen
