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He squinted, staring at her as if he had no idea what convenient meant.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” he asked, his eyes bright with what looked like another batch of approaching tears. “Why didn’t you point at me and tell them everything?”

She didn’t know. She’d started out with every intention of revealing him to everyone, but when it came down to it, she hadn’t been able to. It would’ve united them together if she had. Everyone would see her as her brother’s survivor and Logan as her brother’s killer. People would automatically think of him when she was mentioned and vice versa. She didn’t want to share that kind of link with him, didn’t want to share anything with him. It would be too intimate. Too binding.

When he shifted, slowly pushing off the floor and to his feet like a drunk old bum, she skittered a step back, realizing she hadn’t answered him yet. Stiffening her jaw, she tilted her chin up defiantly.

“Who says I won’t?”

Even standing, he continued to lean against the wall. Gulping loudly, he nodded, once again accepting her condemnation. Sweat coated his forehead with an unnatural gleam. He looked like he might be physically ill. But he didn’t beg her to keep quiet about his identity.

Closing his eyes, he asked, “Do you want me to drop out of the grief group?”

“Yes,” she said. No way could she go to another meeting, knowing he’d be there. And she desperately wanted to attend another meeting.

He inhaled a sharp, pained breath but nodded his compliance. A split second later, his expression crumpled and his gaze clashed with hers, begging. “I don’t think I can.”

Her mouth fell open, incredulous. “What do you mean, you don’t think you can?”

“This group has helped me a lot.” He looked embarrassed to admit it.

She shook her head, confused. “Helped you with what? You didn’t lose anyone.”

His jaw bunched as if offended.

Angry heat surged through her veins. “What are you even doing in this kind of support group anyway? No one in your family died, did they? You’ve never experienced loss.” She lifted one eyebrow, daring him to admit he was a total fraud.

His face cleared, and he shook his head. “No,” he confessed quietly. His eyes narrowed almost defiantly. “But all the Murderers Anonymous groups were full up, so I had to make do with the grief group.”

Spinning away, he stalked off, swerving a wide berth around her so they couldn’t come into any kind of contact.

She fisted her hand, wanting to punch him. “Hey,” she growled.

He barely paused. “I’ll quit the goddamn group, all right?” His stiff back still faced her as he jerked around the corner, disappearing.

Paige stared after him, her emotions a confusing mix even she couldn’t discern. She wanted to rejoice in her small victory. She’d gotten him out of the group so she could attend another meeting. But instead of victorious, she felt kind of crappy.

It’s helped me a lot, his rueful confession echoed through her.

As much as the group had helped her already, she had to believe he’d been telling the truth. But the meetings had helped him with what? Who had he lost?

He and Trace hadn’t been close. He couldn’t possibly be mourning her brother too. They’d been adversaries, attending separate schools. The only times they’d ever met up were at ball games, where each of them had been the star player of his team.

She’d loved going to the games when her school had played against Village Heights. Logan Xander had given her brother better competition than anyone else in the division. The games between them had always been exciting, especially since they’d defeated Village Heights more often than not.

Paige had been a sophomore in high school when they’d been seniors, and she’d always viewed Logan Xander as the Village Heights version of Trace, except Xander wasn’t her brother, so he’d seemed a lot more dazzling from afar. Half the girls in her school—her included—had let out a dreamy sigh whenever he would step onto the court.

But the defeated shell of a human being who’d just slunk away from her did not resemble the self-assured pretty boy who’d played in all those basketball games during high school.

She wasn’t sure what was going on with him, but she didn’t like how it affected her. Hugging herself, she retraced her steps back to the Crimson Room, but she didn’t go inside. She found her way out of the building from there and hurried back to her dorm room.

Logan Xander was dangerous on every level possible. It would do her good to remember that. Whatever happened next, she wanted to stay as far away from him as possible.

Chapter Nine

LOGAN PLUCKED THE FRONT of his shirt, letting warm September air stir inside the fabric, barely cooling him. He arrived early for his Sunday evening shift, wishing chillier weather would move in soon, so all his long-sleeved shirts wouldn’t feel so suffocatingly hot.

When he passed the front entrance of the juice bar on his way to the back door, he noticed the help wanted sign was still posted in the window for the fourth day in a row, which surprised as much as it depressed him. He had thought the position would’ve been snagged within the hour around this neighborhood. Shoulders sagging a little heavier, he wondered how short-handed they’d be tonight. Would he even have anyone else around to help him?