I wake up, and Logan is gone.
Evening light streams through the sliding glass door, deep golden, bathing me in warmth. I roll, and my hand flops over the side of the couch; something wet touches my fingers, and I make a startled noise in my throat. A brown nose appears, followed by whiskers, liquid brown eyes, floppy ears. Cocoa. Before I can even register her presence, she’s licking me.
“Yes, oh my God, Cocoa, yes. Hi. Yes, girl, I love you too.” I stop her from licking me but don’t push her away.
She rests her chin on the edge of the couch and just looks at me. As if she sees into my soul and does not find me wanting. The innocent, complete love of a dog is such a wonderful thing.
I nuzzle against her, rub her ears, her soft fine fur.
“What do I do, Cocoa? Huh? It’s all so impossible,” I murmur against her neck. “There’s no end. There’s no way out. But he needs me, you know? And I need him. But then, there will always be Caleb. And now Jakob? How do I reconcile the two? There’s no way. And I might never get another glimpse at Jakob. Because, really, I feel like they’re two different people, Caleb and Jakob. But Jakob, he’s a part of Caleb that he keeps buried way down deep. So deep I don’t think that part of him will ever come out again. Which is sad, because that’s a part of Caleb that I could have maybe—no. No. I can’t go there. Can’t think that way.”
Cocoa whines, yips gently, head tilted to one side. As if to say,Yes, I’m listening.
I lower my voice to a whisper so quiet it is nearly inaudible even to me, nearly subvocalization. “I love Logan, Cocoa. So much. I really, really do. So... how did I let that happen, again, with Caleb? How can I be that weak? I hate myself for it.”Yip, ruff, yip,Cocoa talking back to me. “Will he forgive me? I don’t know. I want to believe he will, but... I don’t know. Do I even deserve it?”
A doorknob twists somewhere, and I sit up. Logan, a towel wrapped around his waist, emerges from the bathroom. Bandaged, but otherwise incredible. Lean, sharp, gorgeous. “Talking to the dog?”
I smile and nuzzle Cocoa, who pants a couple of times and then licks me once before trotting over to Logan. “Yes. She’s an excellent listener.”
“Isn’t she? Never argues, never gives shitty advice.”
“Exactly.”
I glance at him, frowning. “You’re not supposed to take showers, Logan. You can’t get your dressing wet.”
He waves a hand in dismissal. “I didn’t shower; I took a bath. Didn’t get my dressing wet. My hair is gonna be greasy until I can take a normal shower, but I needed to feel clean. Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course I’m going to worry about it.”
He seems about to argue but then takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and smiles at me. “I know you are, and I’m grateful that you care enough to worry.”
“I care so much it scares me sometimes, Logan.” I gesture at his hair. “See, if you’d let me help you, I could have washed your hair without getting the bandage wet.”
“Next time, then. I’m just... I’m not used to asking for help in anything. It’ll take time, that’s all.” There’s a moment of silence, and then he reaches down and rubs Cocoa’s ears. “I didn’t hear what you were saying to her, by the way.” He’s telepathic, apparently. “I just heard Cocoa making that noise she makes when she’s talking back to someone. I swear she understands what we’re saying, you know?”
“I do. It did seem that way.”
I want to run my hands over his body. Taste his skin. Feel his muscles under my palms. Take his hardness into my hands, feel him love me the way only he can. I don’t move, though. I can’t do that to him. I don’t deserve that with him. Not anymore. Not until I’ve come clean, admitted my sins and begged him to forgive me, if he can, for betraying him, cheating on him. That’s what it was, betrayal, infidelity. I love Logan.OnlyLogan.
But I am addict. Weak, hooked, unable to control myself.
Logan must see or sense my inner turmoil. He grips the towel and moves to kneel beside me. “Hey. What’s up?”
I shrug. “It’s just a lot.”
“What is?”
I laugh, a bitter, humorless sound. “Everything, Logan. My life. Just... everything.”
He sweeps a palm across my cheek. “Talk to me, Isabel.”
I shake my head. “Why? The last thing you need right now is to take on my stick-in-the-mud angst. You need to rest. To heal. Not to worry about me. I should be worrying aboutyou.”
He blows out a breath. “Isabel, why don’t you get this? I amgoingto worry about you. I amgoingto care about your problems. They’re my problems, because I want them to be. It’s what you do when you’re in a relationship.”
In a relationship.My gut lurches. “I don’t know how to do that. How to be... that.”
“Who does? You make it up as you go, babe.”
