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Would he show up? Would he pretend none of it happened? The memories of last night replayed in my head like a film on loop—the rain, his touch, and the way he’d left.

My stomach twisted at the thought of facing him again. What if he acted like nothing had changed between us? Would he laugh with someone else while I stood there feeling exposed and raw?

“Are you with us, Holly?” Mrs. Talbot’s voice broke through my spiral of anxiety.

“Yes! Sorry.” I blinked back to reality, catching their curious looks. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

The conversation continued around me, but I barely heard it.

I pressed my palms against the cool surface of the table to steady myself. The tension hung thick in the air, wrapping around me like a shroud. What did it mean that I wanted him here just as much as I dreaded it?

What was wrong with me?

As the meeting wound down, I forced myself to focus on the committee head wrapping up his points.

“All right, everyone, thank you for your input. Let’s aim to finalize the roster by Friday. We need everything in place for the donor dinner,” he announced, tapping his pen against his notes. “Holly, please make sure you coordinate with Damien and get back to us.”

I plastered on a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Absolutely,” I replied, though my stomach churned at the thought of reaching out to him, knowing he’d probably continue to avoid me.

“Great. Let’s make this charity game a success!” He beamed at us before dismissing everyone with a wave of his hand.

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor echoed in the meeting room as my fellow students filtered out one by one. I could hear their chatter—excited plans for summer outings and casual remarks about who was dating whom on campus.

“See you at the game!” one girl called over her shoulder as she rushed past me.

“Yeah, can’t wait,” I muttered under my breath, already feeling a sense of dread settle in my chest.

Once I was alone in the room, I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. The quiet felt suffocating after all the noise. Crestwood’s summer campus stretched out beyond the windows, bathed in sunlight but cloaked in an eerie stillness that matched my mood.

The trees lining the walkways swayed gently in the breeze, casting dancing shadows on the paths below. Bright flowers bloomed in carefully arranged gardens, their colors vibrant against the soft green grass—so unlike how I felt inside.

I could see students lounging under shady oaks or tossing frisbees across empty lawns; laughter echoed faintly through open windows from nearby dorms where they had gathered for lazy summer afternoons. It should have felt welcoming and serene—but all it did was amplify my anxiety.

The familiar sight of Crestwood should have brought back fond memories, yet all I felt was uncertainty gnawing at me like a persistent itch beneath my skin. What would happen when I faced Damien again? Would he pretend nothing happened? Would we slip into our old rhythm or remain tangled in this mess?

I barely took two steps before someone called my name.

“Holly!”

I turned, and my breath caught in my throat. Logan stood there, fresh out of the hospital. His dark hair fell over his forehead in that tousled way—rough around the edges, but undeniably strong and magnetic. The hospital gown had been replaced by a fitted black t-shirt that hugged his muscular frame, accentuating the defined lines of his shoulders and arms.

But it was his face that stopped me cold. Bruises mottled his jaw and cheek, remnants of the fight that landed him in the ER. A bandage peeked out from under his shirt at the collarbone.

He looked at me like I was the one who’d gotten into trouble. His eyes were sharp and intense, filled with a mix of concern and something deeper I couldn’t quite decipher. It felt like he could see right through me.

“Logan,” I managed to say, forcing a smile despite the panic surging through me.

He stepped closer, brow furrowing as he studied me with that piercing gaze. “You okay?” His voice was low, gravelly yet warm—a voice that could easily pull you in if you let it.

“I’m fine.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue as I waved it away with a dismissive gesture. “Just... busy with planning for the charity game.”

His expression shifted slightly, shadowed by worry. “Right,” he replied slowly, eyes narrowing just a bit as if weighing my words carefully.

The moment stretched between us—a taut line drawn in the air that felt fragile under the weight of unspoken truths and unresolved tension. I could still feel Damien’s presence lingering behind me, like an echo of chaos reminding me of what had just transpired.

“Listen,” Logan continued, stepping even closer so I could catch a hint of his cologne—a mix of cedarwood and something warm that grounded me despite everything swirling in my head. “I know things have been... complicated lately.”

I nodded slightly but kept my mouth shut; words eluded me as I grappled with conflicting emotions—relief to see Logan alive mixed with guilt for what had happened between Damien and me just hours ago.