The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,68
defend your sister, you remind me of another reason why this is a mistake.”
He shook his head. “Guess I’ll take the hint and leave you alone. Just remember, my leaving now has nothing to do with my feelings and everything to do with your attitude. So don’t use it as some kind of proof that you were right about me or us all along.”
Without another word, he walked out of her room and trotted down the steps. She heard the front door open and close, and a minute later, when she peeked out her bedroom window, his car was gone. She turned back around and, at the sight of her unmade bed, let the tears come.
Logan zoomed across the pea-stone driveway to park in the shadow of Arcadia House as his father came through the front door and stooped to get his beloved Sunday Times, having yet to embrace digital media. “Where’s the fire?”
Logan nodded, uninterested in making small talk with his father when his head felt like it might explode.
His dad narrowed his eyes. “Where’ve you been all night? Your mother’s been concerned.”
“I’m thirty-two. Didn’t know I needed to check in,” he groused as he brushed past his father and made his way toward the stairs.
“It’s called being considerate,” his father called after him while he closed the front door.
Midstair, Logan stopped and glanced over his shoulder, swallowing a sarcastic remark. He doubted his mom actually had worried about him last night. Moreover, he doubted his father actually believed she had a right to be concerned. But he loved to play doting husband when it suited him, didn’t he? All Logan’s life, he had watched those two together and still didn’t know if they really loved each other or if it was all choreographed for the sake of the family name. “I’ll apologize after I get some sleep.”
His father shook his head, tucked the paper under his arm, and walked back toward the kitchen without another word.
“Dammit,” Logan muttered before continuing his journey to his bedroom, which was situated in the southeast corner of the house.
He shut his door and went directly to his bathroom to brush his teeth and splash cool water on his face. That scrapbook! No wonder Claire hadn’t crossed over any boundary line of this small town in years. Even worse was how that fear spilled over into everything else, including her relationships.
His body temperature rose two degrees each time he replayed his argument with Claire.
Sleep should clear his mind. He hadn’t gotten much last night. Not that he’d minded. She’d been sweet and warm and willing to experiment. Exactly what he’d hoped for and more.
Every emotion had played out on her face and in those eyes. No wiles or any of the phony things he was used to seeing with other women. Sex with Claire had moved him. He would’ve enjoyed spending the rest of the day—and several more strung together—that way, but her doubts had dampened all the passion and promise.
He crossed to the window and stared at the Sound. To the left, he could just make out the outline of some of the Thimble Islands. Some of his earliest attempts at photography had been of that view, when he’d crawled out onto the flat roof of the side portico and shot photos on warm summer evenings.
At thirteen, he’d thought those islands looked like an idyllic escape from the stress of Prescott life. Since then, time and travel had taught him there’d never be an escape. Whether professionally or personally, his name and family robbed him of his own identity. Even now, his relationship with his sister stood in his way with Claire. Not that he blamed Peyton.
No. Claire was being pigheaded. Period.
He pulled the blinds closed and then tugged off his pants and shirt and tossed them aside before crawling under the covers, closing his eyes, and vowing not to think about her anymore.
A light knock at the door interrupted his slide into dreamland.
“Logan?” Peyton called.
He sighed. “Come in.”
She opened the door. The light in the hallway cast her in shadow. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“What’s wrong?” He propped himself up on his elbows.
She crossed the room and sat on the edge of his mattress. “Steffi just called me with her news.”
“Yes, I know. Ryan told me earlier.”
She smiled. “I’m happy for them.”
“Same.” He stared at her, wondering what else she wanted. His eyelids grew heavier by the second. “Can we celebrate or whatever later? I’m bushed.”