All those years ago, my father made a phone call that likely saved his life. A phone call that got Logan out ofhisfather’s custody so that he wouldn’t be hurt anymore. I’d always assumed that he was happy after that, but now looking into his eyes, filled with so much pain, I started to realize how absolutely naive I’d been.
Logan never really had a relationship with his mother, and his father’s abhorrent behavior in raising him was something he’d had to endure alone for twelve years. But his pain didn’t just stop there. He’d had to carry all of it—the horrors of his past and his likely fears for the future—every single day of his life.
“Logan. Ofcourseyou’re okay,” I declared, with every ounce of confidence and assurance that I had. I felt hot tears stinging in the corners of my eyes but I blinked them away, refusing to show him any weakness when what he needed from me in this moment was my strength. “You’re one of the fucking good ones, Logan. One of the very best. And I have no doubt that you’re going to be one of the greatest men that this world has ever seen. You’re not him, and that isnotyour future.”
I could feel my knuckles tightening around the steering wheel, praying like hell that I could be enough for him in this moment. That I could give him what he needed. What he deserved from the second he was born on this earth. Unconditional love. Understanding. Faith. Belief.
Silence enveloped us again in the darkness of the car, the visual pulse of street lights beating against us as we approached our sleepy neighborhood. I was about to make the turn to bring him to the house, thinking he’d want to sleep the night off in Adam’s room, but as if he could read my thoughts, he quietly said: “I’ll go back to my house, if that’s okay.”
I nodded. “Yeah, of course.” I turned the car in the other direction, to the street that his grandma lived on instead.
Two minutes later, I parked in front of the small, Victorian style house that looked like the before photo of a home renovation. I opened my door and hopped out of the SUV, making my way over to join Logan on the other side where he’d also gotten out and was leaning against the passenger door, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He seemed much more sober than just a half hour ago when I’d picked him up.
“Hey,” I said, meeting his tired eyes with my own. “You’re okay.” I nodded my head, attempting to double down in convincing him that hewasokay.
He gave me a small smile in return, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes—but it was enough to make me breathe again. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath. “Thank you, Millie.” He looked down at his feet, kicking a rock on the gravel. “Could you maybe, not, tell Adam about this?”
“Sure,” I replied, keeping my voice casual. But I was surprised at his request. I’d assumed that Logan only called me and not my brother tonight because Adam was away at school. He was staying on campus at CSU, which was an hour north in Fort Collins. I had been the much closer option for a ride home.
Would Logan have still called me, even if Adamwasaround? Had he really been looking formeto be there for him tonight?
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Logan reached his hand for my waist, watching his own fingers as they pinched a piece of fabric from the old shirt I was wearing. He held the material between his fingers, as if exploring the feeling of cotton for the very first time. “I’d give anything to see you in one of mine,” he murmured, his voice low.
I froze. Air fully stopped entering my body, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I watched as his eyebrows furrowed.
His eyes flicked up to mine, his honey irises now darkened. His gaze was dangerous. It was a moment that stopped time, as we hung suspended in each other’s eyes. I could feel my heart pounding so ferociously within my chest that it had to have been audible to him. The fingers that were clutching my shirt loosened, and I felt Logan’s hand open as his palm pressed lightly against my hip before it slowly slid to the small of my back. My skin burned in its wake, engulfed in fire beneath the shirt.
He was suddenly closer, towering above me as he no longer leaned against the car. He looked down at me with a curious intensity that left me reeling. His expression held a question as he pulled me closer, giving me the opportunity to stop him, until I saw his pupils dilate as his gaze traveled down to my lips half a second before his pressed down against them.
It was like a bomb detonated inside of me.
I was suddenly more awake and alive than I had ever felt my entire life. I’d never been kissed before, and for Logan to be my first was more than I could have ever dreamed of. My body absolutely lit up at his touch, moving where he moved, meeting him with fire. The kiss was hungry. Wild. Desperate.
Our lips fit together perfectly, two halves from the same whole. As if we were made for this. As if we should have been doing this all along. We shared the same hot air, giving each other life as we breathed together. His nose grazed over mine to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue inside of my mouth, exploring. He tasted like whiskey and something sweet. Honey? The shock of feeling his tongue inside of my mouth sent a jolt of electricity through me, a delicious tension growing low in my belly.
The hand on my back lightly traced up my spine until it was tangled in my hair. His other hand grazed up my thigh, slipping under my shirt and over my butt, which was covered only by a pair of black bikini underwear.
He moaned into my mouth at his discovery, and I felt myself become engulfed by roaring flames at the sound. I wanted to shine so brightly for him, so brightly that I could chase all of his shadows away. In this moment, I wanted to give him everything, every piece of me. To trade my vulnerability for his so I could flush out his pain and banish it with my touch.
His mouth separated from mine as it moved down along my jaw to my neck and I relished the feeling of his tongue on my skin, licking and sucking as his hands continued to roam. It was intoxicating. The delicious rush of a first-time high. Needing more, I whispered his name, a desperate plea, “Logan . . .”
As if I’d flipped a switch inside of him with my voice, it was over in an instant. I felt him go rigid against my body, his shaking hands coming to a stop. His breaths were wild on my neck, the hot air from his mouth snaking down my skin.
He took a swift step backward, clumsily hitting the heel of his shoe against the fender of the SUV. I ached at the loss of him, my body still burning for more. More of him. More of his touch. I felt the urge to get him back, but the look I found in his eyes gave me pause. He was fighting for control, fighting against his obvious desire to simply devour me. I watched as the need in his eyes was slowly replaced by guilt. Replaced by something that looked a lot like shame. No, no,no. . .
It was like a sucker punch to the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I couldn’t bear for him to look at me like that. Like this was a mistake. An accident. My mind swirled as I felt dizzy. I reached for him, but he maneuvered his shoulders to dodge my touch, as if I reallyhadburned him. “Logan, what’s—”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, before he moved around me—so careful not to touch me—and walked, head slung low, in the direction of his house. He reached the entrance and let himself in, the door shutting behind him with finality.
He never even looked back.
Fifteen minutes later,I was back in my own bedroom. I threw my purse down on my dresser and kicked off my shoes before throwing myself back into my bed.
It was three in the morning at this point, but I was wide awake.
My whole body hummed with the aftershocks of being touched so desperately. My lips were sore and swollen as I traced them with my fingers, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling above me.
Logan Davis hadkissedme. And not just kissed me. That was like the grand finale at the end of a fireworks show. Dangerous, manic,filthy.
