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He pouts. I laugh. River rolls her eyes at us.

“You two are disgustingly cute.”

She makes a fake gagging motion.

“I can’t wait to see you fall in love, River.”

She scoffs, takes another bite, and looks away. And that shadow of something I can never figure out crosses her face for a split second again. I wish she opened up. But that has never been River’s style. She’s like Fort Knox with her secrets.

When we’re done eating, River takes our plates and brings back the coffee pot. She refills all of our mugs and sits down.

“How are you guys, really? On the surface, you two look okay, but I can’t imagine that either of you could shake off what happened so easily.”

I take a deep breath and glance at Logan. He’s looking down at his mug and doesn’t say anything.

River waits. As much as she keeps all her feelings locked up tight and hates talking about herself, she’s superb at getting others to open up. After a long minute, Logan looks up and opens his mouth, but no words are said. He holds the mug with both hands as if drawing strength from it. His shoulders are tense and there’s a slight shake of his head. The internal debate is clear. I don’t want him to feel like he has to do this, and I’m about to speak up when words spill out of him in a murmur. I play the sounds over in my head again to make out what he said.

“I was terrified.”

He looks at me then. He’s answering River, but his eyes never leave mine. The blue is somehow more intense. I see fear in them. And love. It’s an odd combination, but I understand it all too well. In that moment, in that building, I feared for Logan too.

“I was terrified something would happen to you. I knew you were in the building. I was sure of it. Everything in me told me you were there and your life was at risk. When the call came over the radio about an active shooter at Riggins, God, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I don’t even remember the ride there.”

His eyes close and his hands tremble around the mug. I reach out to him and wrap a hand around his wrist.

“When I got to the building, it took everything in me not to rush the place screaming for you. If it wasn’t for all the training I got and my years as a cop, I think I would have done just that.”

Logan laces his fingers with mine and turns to completely face me.

“When I heard the first gunshots, I think I died a little. I ran up to the third floor with the other cops. For a brief moment, I thought we’d be able to deescalate the situation. He seemed to listen to us, but then he just started shooting and we had to return fire and stop him. A man died yesterday, and I don’t know if it was my gun that killed him. Another man took a bullet that was intended for me when he stepped in my way. I’ve never had to shoot at anyone before.”

I can feel my chest constrict.

“I don’t know how or what I should feel right now. Part of me is sick someone had to die and for the role I played in it and that maybe... maybe I’m the one who delivered the fatal shot. Maybe I’m the one who killed him. But the other part, the bigger part knows if I had to do it over, I would. If I thought someone was trying to hurt you, Skye, I’d rip him to shreds, limb by limb with my bare hands. And knowing this scares the shit out of me.”

I stand up, step between his knees, and pull him into me. His head finds the curve of my neck and his arms bring me in closer to him, and we’re pressed together when the first muffled sound of a sob breaks the silence that follows his confession.

I look at River over his head. Quiet as a ghost, she leaves the room.

Chapter Forty-Eight

I don’t knowwhat the hell is going on with me. This. Breaking down like this. Being this open about how I feel is not normal behavior for me.

My head is buried in Skye’s neck and her citrus scent soothes me. The way she smells, the way she feels, does something to me. She’s the cure for a disease I didn’t know I had. And I sound like a fucking pussy for even thinking this. My father would slap me if he ever heard me voice my thoughts. But he’s not here, and I no longer give a fuck about what he thinks. If anything, doing the opposite of what he thinks is a great motivator. But years of conditioning still reach me, and even if I recognize my father’s reach, sometimes, it’s hard to turn it off.

“Logan, you can’t think like that. Even if it was your gun that killed that man, you had no choice. If you and the other cops hadn’t stopped him, he could have hurt dozens of people.”

It’s true, I know. That duffel bag he had with him had enough ammo to take down dozens of people. Still. Knowing it, acting on it, and reconciling it with the knowledge that a human being is dead, and I had a part in it, still bothers me.

I pull away, just enough so I can see her eyes. I need the reassurance they will give me. And I find it. Love, trust, concern for me. It’s all there in Skye’s clear blue gaze.

“I know. I know you’re right, Skye. That guy was FTD the moment he walked into that building loaded with weapons.”

“FTD?”

“Fixed to die,” I explain. “Cop lingo.”

A small smile tugs at my lips.