Page 30 of My Girl to Take

She exhales sharply, grabbing her bag. “This isn’t over,” she mutters, moving toward the door.

“It is for today.”

She doesn’t respond. She just leaves. The door shuts behind her.

And just like that, the room feels heavier. Quieter.

I stand there for a moment, my chest tight, my thoughts pulling me backward to a version of myself I hate remembering. The girl who waited for her mother to choose her. Who believed every excuse, every promise, every soft word that never meant anything.

I thought I was past that. But seeing her again cracks something open.

I take my phone out.

I get as far as his name.

And then I stand there in the middle of the living room with my thumb over the screen, and I don’t do it.

Because if I tell him my mother walked into this house tonight, then my mother is in the room with us. She’ll be in the car, in his apartment. She’ll be there in the morning, and I have—I don’t know what I have. Six weeks. A month. Some number he hasn’t told me, and I’m too much of a coward to ask for it.

I’m not giving her any of it.

She has taken enough.

I put the phone in my bag.

I press my lips together and pick up my packed bag. I force the feeling down as I grab my keys and head for the door. I can’t stay here, not with that lingering in the air, not with the weight of it pressing down.

I need Logan.

I don’t need to think much. Because I already know where I’m going.

⁎⁎⁎

By the time I reach Logan’s apartment, the tightness in my chest hasn’t eased. If anything, it has settled deeper.

I knock once. The door opens almost immediately. And the moment I see him, everything shifts.

Relief hits first. Strong and immediate.

Before I can stop myself, I step forward, dropping my bag as I walk straight into him, my arms wrapping around his waist tightly. I press myself against him like I need the contact. Like I need him to ground me in a way nothing else can right now.

He stiffens for half a second, caught off guard. Then his arms come around me just as quickly.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice low and concerned, his hand sliding up my back in a slow, steady motion.

“I just…” I start, my voice catching slightly before I press my face against his chest. “I missed you.”

It’s not the full truth. But it’s enough.

He doesn’t answer right away.

His hand stops moving on my back, and I feel him look down at the top of my head. There’s a pause that goes on a fraction too long.

“Kiera.”

“Don’t.” I don’t lift my face. “Please. Not tonight.”

Another pause. Then his grip tightens.