“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.”
“I’m sorry. I was so wrong.” The words come out before I can organize them. “I was wrong to push you away and to tell you I needed space. But I don't want space, Logan. I want you.”
He doesn't move from the doorway.
My heart is slamming against my ribs. He's not speaking, and the silence is filling the hallway like water rising. What if I'm too late? What if the week I spent pushing him away was the week he realized I'm not worth the trouble?
What if he looked at the wreckage and decided that the cost of loving me is higher than the cost of letting me go? I can survive a lot of things, but if Logan looks at me right now and tells me he's done, I will not survive that. I won't come back from it. Not this time.
I force myself to continue speaking. “Your parents might never accept me, and the team might keep losing. None of that changes how I feel about you. I love you. I should have said that instead of asking you to leave. I should have held onto you instead of pushing you out the door.”
He still doesn't move. His jaw is tight, and his hands are at his sides. His blue eyes are searching my face.
“Say something,” I say.
“I've been sleeping on the couch because my bed smells like your perfume,” he says in a rough voice. “Don't ever do that again.”
Relief surges through me. My eyes flood with tears. “I won't.”
“I mean it, Jasmine. Don't ever push me away because you think you're protecting me. I don't need protecting. I need you.”
He steps forward and pulls me into his arms. His arms wrap around me so tight my feet leave the floor. He buries his face in my hair, and his body shakes, and I realize he's crying. Logan, who doesn't show emotion, who locks everything down, who processes the world in silence, is crying.
I hold him tighter.
We stand there for a long time. When he pulls back, he takes my face in his hands. “Come inside. We have a lot to talk about.”
We head to the kitchen, and Logan makes coffee. When he’s done, he pours it into two mugs and hands me one.
“I have an idea,” he says.
“Okay.”
“The problem isn't us. The problem is that our families exist in separate worlds, and the tension between them is poisoning everything. My parents think you're a threat, and your mother thinks my family is the enemy. Nobody has ever been in the same room.”
“Your mother was in the same room as me two weeks ago, and it didn't go well.”
“That was her territory. Her house, her table, her rules. What if we put everyone on neutral ground?”
“What do you mean?”
“Lunch. Saturday. A restaurant in Long Island. My parents, your mom, you, and me. Everyone at the same table.”
I stare at him. “You want to put Cat Shaw and Lorraine Bennett at the same table in a restaurant.”
“Yes.”
Is he insane? “Logan, they will kill each other.”
“They might. Or they might actually see each other as people instead of villains in each other's stories.”
“This is either the bravest or the most insane idea you've ever had.”
“Probably both. But I'm done letting our families be the reason we can't be together. I'm putting everyone in the same room, and we're going to deal with it.”
Unease has my stomach twisting. “My mother will never agree to this.”
