Page 66 of Puck Love

“Van,” I say, reaching out to grab his arm, but he yanks out of my grasp. He grabs a pair of jeans from his walk-in closet and throws them on. He pulls out a worn Henley, and puts it on, struggling with it over his injured shoulder. I resist the urge to go to him, to help pull the material down over his large chest. It seems too personal after what just happened, as though the paps are stillwatching.

The doorbell rings again, and I stare at Van. Silence hangs heavy between us. There’s nothing more to say, really. I think he knows that too, because when the doorbell rings a little more insistently this time, he walks out of the room and hurries downstairs. I follow, because I’m afraid he’s going to do something stupid again like break more paparazzo face, but when he swings the door back, it isn’t paps we’re faced with. It’s something muchworse.

“Shit,” I mutter, and both men glance atme.

Van snarls. “Who the fuck areyou?”

“I’m LoganBryant.”

“And?”

“He’s here for me.” I step out from behindVan.

“Who the fuck is this?” Van demands, “Why is he here,Stella?”

“Why areyouhere, Stella?” Logan says. He’s angry, which kind of comes as a surprise, because Logan is usually so unaffected by everything. Unless it means his ego is taking a hit. “Do you know how crazy I’ve been going, not knowing where you are? I almost had to cancel three shows of mytour.”

“Who is this jackass?” Van demands. Bile rises in my belly as I meet his gaze, and I’m sure guilt is written all over my face. “Stella?”

I’m not prepared for the hurt I hear in his voice. I’m not prepared for his questions or the way his pretty blue eyes beg me to tell him thetruth.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Heat claws at my cheeks. My breathing comes in shallow pants, and that crushing anvil feels as if it’s sitting on my chest again, weighing down my heart with panic until I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating on emptiness, on regret andfear.

“I’m her boyfriend,” Logan hisses. “Who the fuck areyou?”