This kitchen.
“I like your place,” I offered. “You could use a decorator.”
“Had one. Threw out half the shit he got.”
“Then he wasn’t good at his job.”
He led me to the kitchen and cut me a slice of barely touched chocolate cake, placing it almost professionally onto a plate and whipping out a tiny fork.
I laughed. “Thanks,” I said, squinting to see the fork. “I should finish this cake in about four weeks.”
He laughed along with me and took one out for himself holding it up. “There is a utensil for everything. A cake fork,” he pointed a finger to demonstrate, “is specially designed for deep, moist pastries.”
Holy hell why did that sound hot?
He grinned as if he knew what I was thinking and I blushed, plunging said special fork into my plate.
He reached over from the other end of the counter and dipped his, scooping up a piece.
With a mouthful of awesomeness, I moaned. “You’re right, Tisch picks out horrible cake. I should just take this off your hands.”
Logan set his fork down and walked around the counter to stand beside me. I swallowed at his proximity. “Thank you for coming.” That voice again. The one that sounded like he remembered his night before I got here.
I set my fork down next to his and turned to him.
“I know what it's like to lose family. Even when you’ve found a healthy way to move on, you’re basically forced to relive it every year. Remembering the how and the what ifs.” My eyes trailed away from his at some point, but his were glued to mine.
To look at him up close now, I could tell he hadn’t been drinking. It was easy to tell for someone like me. He also probably wasn’t planning on sleeping today.
It keeps away the nightmares.
That was what I would tell myself the nights I refused sleep. When things started feeling fresh again. When the pain was back.
“Who did you lose?”
“My parents. Both of them. They were just a few miles from home when…when they were hit. Jax was three.”
He reached out to touch my cheek, then moved it away after a stroke to my hair and leaned in to kiss my forehead. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t come here to talk about them. I just wanted you to know I understand and I’m here to listen. I know it might be the last thing you want, but…”
He took my hand and guided me into his living room. We sat on a luxuriously soft black microfiber sofa.
“I haven’t been drinking,” he said finally. “I know that’s what you were worried about.”
“No. Well yes, but I didn’t judge you for it.”
“I don’t drink on this day, Rayne,” he said with some harshness from deep in his throat. “My brother was killed by a drunk driver.”
I opened my mouth and gave a single nod.
“We didn’t grow up in the best of neighborhoods. Cars sped down that road all the time. He was outside after hours, playing street hockey—by himself. Usually he’d just wait out there, sitting on our building steps,” he paused, and I knew all too well what that pause was. The“what if.”
“But I don’t know, I guess he was afraid to fall asleep or something. He was so determined to stay awake for him. To see him home. He must have been so tired.”
Logan’s eyes were glassier and redder than a few moments ago. And I wondered if I was helping or hurting. He was also trailing off the story.
“Who was he waiting for?” My voice was soft
