Can't Let Go - By Michelle Brewer Page 0,35

into the ground, she turned her head and buried herself in his shoulder. Tears moistened the thin material of his t-shirt, but Logan didn’t dare move—except to wrap his arm around her small frame and welcome her.

It was a difficult ceremony for the both of them. They watched as people lined up to throw flowers on the caskets without really seeing them. Both were lost in the memories of their friends—memories of happiness and laughter. Memories of happier times for them both.

And then it was their turn. Logan went first, dropping his roses as he said his goodbyes.

Abby stood at the edge, looking downward, tears rolling down her face. “Goodbye, Hayley. I love you.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper and she hesitated a moment before dropping the three orchids she held, allowing her heart to ache. And then she touched her fingers to her lips, as if blowing a kiss.

Logan watched her, letting her have her space. As she turned, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground for a moment. When she finally looked up, he was shocked that she immediately found his eyes. She’d spent so much time avoiding looking him directly in the eye, he’d grown used to it—even without her sunglasses. But it was without any reluctance that her green eyes met his gray.

When she neared him, he didn’t speak—instead just offered his arm, as he had done earlier. She sniffled at his side before they walked up the aisle way—a faded memory of a distant past crossing each of their minds. If Logan closed his eyes, he could imagine the salty taste of the ocean in the air and the warm breeze on his skin. It was a day he’d never forget. A day neither of them would.

As they made their way toward the truck, two figures appeared—both wearing long black jackets and very expensive suits. One was an older man, with golden-colored hair peppered with white—the other a younger man, attractive, with brown hair and a subtle tan.

“Dad?” Abby questioned at his side, stopping. Logan stopped too, looking down at her and then back to the two figures approaching them. “Eric?” Logan felt a flood of resentment rush through him as he realized who these men were. “What are you doing here? I thought—”

“I thought I could sneak away for a day without being noticed.” The man named Eric said. Logan noticed his eyes skim over Abby—a look of distaste briefly flashing in them. He wondered if it was because of what she wore—the yellow dress, maybe even his jacket—or if it was the man on her arm. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend here?” Logan couldn’t help the trickle of pleasure that filled his chest as he sensed a note of jealousy.

“Oh!” Abby looked up at Logan, as if realizing for the first time that she was still holding on to him. “Dad, Eric,” she carefully removed her arm from his, but touched him with her hand—so as not to lose all contact. “This is Logan Sheppard.”

“So this is the illustrious Mr. Sheppard.” The older man spoke, stepping forward and shaking Logan’s hand. Logan smiled politely at the man. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Sir,” Logan replied, feeling somewhat awkward. This was the man who had, indirectly, brought about the end of the only relationship Logan had ever wanted a future with.

“Please, call me Marty.” Logan nodded, ending the handshake. Abby next looked to Eric.

“Nice to meet you,” Eric offered his hand and Logan took it—but it was a moment full of tension. Logan suddenly felt very defensive.

“Abby, my girl—you look absolutely stunning. Has anyone told you that today?” The older man—Martin—leaned forward and embraced his daughter, touching his lips to her cheek. “Hayley would be so proud.” Logan watched the tender moment, wondering how it was possible that such a gentle man would have been able to turn his back on his daughter.

“Thanks, Daddy.” And Logan was once again reminded of the reason as to why he’d walked away—and, for once, he was glad he’d done it. Abby stared up at her father with adoring eyes, and her father returned the gaze. A pain filtered through his chest as he watched them, telling himself that he had done the right thing six years ago. Seeing them together now, he knew that nothing was worth destroying what Abby and her father had.

Walking away had been the best thing he could have done for