Jess
I stare at Logan as he leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other like we’re discussing something casual.
His expression is cold. Detached.
I’ve seen that look before, in conference rooms, dealing with problematic clients, when someone tried to push him too far.
I’ve just never seen it aimed at me.
I guess this is the Logan people are scared of.
“You don’t mean that,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t answer.
He just keeps looking at me with that same dead, unreadable stare.
The silence stretches until I start squirming in my seat.
“We have kids, Logan,” I try again, my voice shaking no matter how hard I fight to keep it steady. “You can’t just be done with me. You can’t dump me like we’re high school sweethearts. We’re married.”
His jaw tightens.
“The kids are the only reason I’m here right now,” he says. “The only reason.”
He says the words so calmly, he’s nearly whispering. I’d almost prefer yelling. At least yelling would mean he still cared enough to be angry.
Swallowing, I force myself to ask, “So what, you’re going to move out?”
“No,” he says flatly.
I blink.
His eyes harden. “Why would I? I’m not the one who slept with someone else.”
The way he says it makes me flinch.
“So, you want me to move out?” I ask, my chest tight.
“No. I’m not asking you to move out. I understand that I don’t have the right to tell you to leave,” he replies.
Something about his tone raises my hackles. It’s careful, rehearsed.
He continues, calm and clinical. “I’d never keep you from the kids.”
The way he says it, like he’s repeating a line from a script, makes unease crawl up my spine.
“Did you…” I hesitate. “Did you talk to a lawyer?”
For the first time, his expression flickers.
“I didn’t go to one,” he says.
Relief starts to bloom in my chest.
“But,” he adds, “it’s not my fault one sat down next to me.”
My stomach drops.
