at the front desk. I’d grown up visiting my mom at work. The receptionist waved as she saw us go past, down the hallway. That was when we heard the first gunshot.
“Taylor?”
I started. My hands jerked, and the plate went flying. “Shit.” I reached for it, but Logan got there first, his eyes on me.
“Bruce, you okay?”
I relaxed instantly. It was stupid, but my last name put distance between us. It gave me space to think, feel, breathe. I wouldn’t do anything stupid. I nodded, relaxing the rest of my body as best I could. “Yeah. I’m good.”
It was probably obvious I wasn’t. After a brief moment of silence, Nate coughed and stood up, his plate in his hand. “Think I’ll head to bed for the night.” He picked up the empty quesadilla platter and his beer, as well as the one Logan had emptied. I had a beer in front of me, but I hadn’t touched it.
He paused, looking down at it, but moved past. “’Night, guys.”
I wanted to disappear.
If Logan waved or any silent messages passed between the two, I didn’t see it. My head was firmly folded down, my chin against my chest. Once I heard the patio door slide open, then closed, Logan adjusted his legs. His feet rested next to mine, and he tapped my shoe with his.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s your damage?”
My head flew up, and I was ready to fight. But I stopped as soon as my eyes found his. He’d delivered no derision with that phrase. I’d reacted too soon. He was steady, calm, and waiting for me to answer. He’d just been trying to lighten the mood.
“Sorry.” Even my jaw was tight. Goddamn. My hands had balled into fists. I forced them open. “I have these moments where…” I go insane. “I remember things…from before.”
“Yeah?”
God. A storm of everything ravaged me. Guilt. Shame. Anger. Betrayal. And, I swallowed tightly, even relief. I survived. My mom hadn’t. And I was sitting here, trying not to kiss this guy because he could break me.
What the hell was I doing?
“Hey.” Logan leaned closer. His elbows rested on his knees. His head came close to mine, and his fingers tapped my leg. “Look.” He straightened. “I know some shit went down last year with your mom. I’ve got no idea what, just that something happened. If you think I care what it is, you’re wrong. I can see it’s hurting you. That’s the only thing I care about. So if you want to talk, I’m here. If you don’t, I don’t either.”
The more he said, the more tension left me.
His voice softened. “We’ve all got shit in our past.” He gestured to the house. “Those people in there? Mason, Sam, even Nate—they’re my family because we’ve had our own battles go down. I love my parents, but I didn’t grow up because of them. I grew up because of Mason. So whatever went down with you last year—I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess you can hold on to it if you want, if that does something for you. Fuck.” He expelled a breath. “I don’t say shit to anyone either, so who am I to encourage all the sharing?” He stood, holding his beer bottle so tightly his knuckles were almost white. “I suddenly want to get rip-roaring drunk.”
I expected him to pass by, head for the house, and my gaze went back to the ground. But his feet never moved away. I looked back up, and he held his hand out to me. “You coming?”
I couldn’t look away. “To get drunk?”
He shrugged. “For whatever, but yes, I’d prefer if booze was involved.”
I looked up into his eyes then. The storm that raged in me was there too. The joking, playing side of him was gone. This was the real Logan, and there was a whole lot of darkness there. I took his hand, felt myself standing with him, and I followed him inside. Everything said yes to me. Yes, I wanted to hold his hand. Yes, I wanted to get drunk with him. Yes, I wanted to tell him what happened. Yes, I wanted to go wherever he was taking me.
I stopped thinking. I would probably regret it, but I was done thinking, analyzing, worrying. I was done being afraid. I was going with the feels, and as Logan went inside, he grabbed a bottle of Jack. The feels would be dangerous to me that night. I embraced them.