Page 51 of Best Kept Secret (The New York Thunder #3)

MILLIE

I check my phone, yet again. Nothing. Where the hell is he?

He was supposed to come straight home after his event at the children’s hospital.

But that was hours ago. My brother and Emily are due to be here at any minute, and I’m going to have to explain the extra cut of prime rib sitting on the tray ready to be cooked.

Dallas has a big appetite; maybe I can just say it’s for him.

I take a few big gulps from my bottle of Bud right as the intercom buzzes. Shit.

Hurrying to answer it, I press the button, Dallas and Emily appearing on the small screen.

“Hey, Sis, we’re here,” Dallas says into the speaker.

“Hey, come on up!” I respond, pressing the button to let them in.

Running back down the hall, I take one last look at the space, my gaze landing on the table.

Fuck. I run around the sofa, making quick work of removing one of the settings, carrying everything into the kitchen and tossing it into one of cabinets under the island.

Flustered, I pause, taking a big breath right as there’s a knock on the door.

I check my phone one last time, not surprised to see no new messages. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I school my composure and head back down the hallway to answer the door.

Emily enters first, fawning all over me. “Oh, my God, look at you, pretty. I didn’t realize we were dressing up!”

I look down at myself, dressed in a cute little dress that, in hindsight, is probably a little over the top for dinner at home with my brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law, but I wanted to look nice and totally put together to deliver the news.

But now, seeing Emily dressed in jeans and a sweater, and my brother wearing sweats and a flannel shirt, I realize I didn’t exactly think this through.

“Oh, yeah,” I say with a light, obviously nervous laugh, looking down at myself again, thinking of a lie. “I met a friend for lunch and… haven’t changed yet.”

“Are you good?” Dallas looks at me like he can tell something is up.

“Yeah.” I shrug, adding another, more nervous laugh.

He wraps an arm around me, hugging me before letting himself inside.

I close the door, trailing them, shaking my head at myself. Get it together, Millie.

“Where’s Logan tonight?” Emily asks, placing her purse down onto the side table.

“Um, I have no idea,” I say quickly, and unfortunately not a lie .

“Hot date.” Dallas chuckles, wandering across to the glass door and walking out onto the balcony.

Turning, I walk through to the kitchen, pulling a face at his quip. “Do you guys want a drink?”

“Beer me,” Dallas calls from outside.

“I BYO’d knowing you hate wine!” Emily smiles, walking into the kitchen holding a glass of rosé.

“Oh, I actually got some, just for you,” I say, opening the fridge to show her the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I picked up from the liquor store today .

“Aw, you’re too sweet.” She wraps her arm around me, squeezing me tight.

I get to work, grabbing Dallas a beer, a wine glass for Emily, and pouring myself a tequila and soda because Bud Light is just not going to cut it for the state of my nerves right now.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” Emily comes up beside me, nudging me with her hip.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, nodding, but not looking at her. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Lie . My gaze flits to my phone on the counter. Still nothing. My stomach twists.

“What’s for dinner?”

I look up as Dallas walks inside, coming up to the island. Handing him his beer, I offer him a sweet smile. “Juicy prime rib—that you’re gonna cook.”

“Was this your plan all along?” he guffaws, taking the beer from me. “Invite me over for dinner just so I can cook?”

“I mean, why else would I invite you over,” I retort.

Emily laughs.

Taking a swig from his beer, Dallas shakes his head. “Zero out of five stars, do not recommend,” he sasses, walking around the island to where I have the pan ready to go on the cooktop.

With a conspiratorial wink, Emily holds her wine glass up at me in cheers, and I force a smile I hope appears genuine, clinking my glass with hers.

“Do you know when you start with SNN?” Emily asks.

“Not yet,” I say, cutting into my perfectly cooked medium-rare steak. “I’m waiting for the contract to come through, but probably the next week or two.”

“What will you be doing?” Dallas asks between bites of his corn cob.

“Assisting with talent release forms, NDAs, that sort of thing.” I shrug. “It’ll be interesting. ”

“That sounds kind of exciting,” Emily says with a smile. “Imagine all the famous athletes you’re going to meet.”

“Wasted on Mils,” Dallas scoffs. “She wouldn’t notice Michael Jordan walking past her on the street.”

I quirk a brow. “Michael who?”

Emily snaps her head up, eyes wide.

“Kidding.” I laugh. “I’ve seen Space Jam .”

“Oh, my God,” Emily snickers, shaking her head.

“So,” Dallas begins, wiping his mouth with his napkin. And I can tell by his pause and his tone that he’s about to say something he knows I’m not going to like.

I heave a sigh, placing my knife and fork down, meeting his eyes across the table.

“How much longer you planning on staying here?” He makes a point of looking around at the apartment.

My heart lurches up into the back of my throat. “Um… I-I don’t know.” I shrug. “Logan said there’s no rush…” I feel my cheeks flame, and I pick up my glass and finish the remainder of my drink in one go.

“Hmmm…” Dallas hums in that way that’s all know-it-all and fucking irritating.

“What?” I arch a brow, waiting for him to say whatever it is he obviously feels the need to say.

“I was talking to him today and”—he shrugs—“I don’t know, but I get the feeling you might be overstaying your welcome.”

I know it’s bullshit, but it doesn’t mean his words don’t deliver a sting.

“Poor guy’s a single, twenty-four-year-old professional hockey player in his prime,” my brother continues. “And he has you living here, cramping his style.”

I try to bite my tongue, but I can’t. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe not all professional hockey players are disgusting man whores?”

Emily ducks her head, hiding her laugh.

“Trust me,” Dallas says with a knowing smirk. “Logan Cullen is very much a ladies’ man. He and Happy are probably out right now, bagging chicks.”

Bile rises up the back of my throat, and I’m suddenly no longer hungry. I know it’s not true, but that thought makes me feel physically sick.

Emily makes a point of clearing her throat.

“Do I need to remind someone sitting at this very table that not so long ago he too was quite the playboy? And ex-playboys in glass houses, shouldn’t really be throwing around man whore accusations, now, should they?

” She arches a warning brow at Dallas, taking a long sip from her wine.

Dallas holds his hands up in surrender, turning back to me. “Look, all I’m saying is that maybe you should think about finding your own place to live. I can help you until you?—”

The front door opens, slamming shut, startling us all. Nothing but silence ensuing.

I look at Dallas. Dallas looks at me. Emily looks between us.

“Red?”

At the sound of Logan’s fraught, panicked voice coming from the entry, I push back from the table so quickly, my chair topples to the floor with a heavy clatter.

“Red?” Dallas mutters, glancing at Emily.

Emily shrugs, shaking her head.

I ignore them both, running so fast my feet almost fail me. Rounding the corner of the hallway, I skid to a stop when I see Logan on the floor, slumped against the front door, knees pulled up, eyes squeezed closed like he’s in pain, chest heaving.

“Baby…” I gasp, dropping to my knees in front of him. I reach a hand out, cupping his jaw, moving in so close and gently slapping his cheek. “Look at me, baby.”

He pants, breathless, whimpering quietly between each panting gasp. And my heart breaks. He looks so small, so broken, so lost to the darkness. I find his hands, noticing the purple polish that paints his nails, and I twine my fingers through his, squeezing .

“Logan!” I yell, my tears spilling over and streaming down my cheeks. “Logan, look at me, please.”

“Millie, what the fuck is going on?” Dallas shouts behind me.

Ignoring my brother, I move in closer to Logan, wrapping my arms around him, practically curling my body around his, whispering into his ear, “I’m right here, baby. Open your eyes and come back to me. Please.”

Logan’s hand grips my arm that’s wrapped around his shoulders, and that’s his way of letting me know he’s still here. He can hear me.

I glance back over my shoulder, finding Dallas and Emily standing right there, watching on with identical expressions of shock. I sob, sniffling through my tears. “Help me get him up!”

Dallas’s eyes meet mine, a flash of recognition flaring in his gaze, but he doesn’t move. Emily looks from me to Dallas and back again, landing on Logan before she rushes forward and tries to help.

“Please, Dallas!” I cry. “He’s having a panic attack.”

Snapping into gear, Dallas shakes his head at himself quickly, stepping forward. He moves Emily aside, gently shouldering me away before grabbing one of Logan’s arms and looping it around his neck before craning him off the floor with a heaving grunt.

“Where are we going?” my brother grits out.

I hop up, rushing forward and pushing open the bedroom door. “Here.”

Dallas staggers under Logan’s dead weight, hefting him through the door and into the room, helping him down onto the bed.

He turns to me, looking between me and Emily, who is currently standing next to me, her hand on my shoulder in a show of support.

I run to the edge of the bed, sitting on the side of the mattress and gently sweeping my hand over Logan’s sweat-beaded forehead, leaning in close and whispering to him that I’m here.

From my periphery, I see Dallas turn and storm out, and I look up in time to see Emily following him. She glances at me, and I meet her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I just?—”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, holding a hand up. “We’ll wait outside.” With a kind, knowing smile, she pulls the door closed.

Silence settles around the room, nothing but the sound of Logan’s rushed, shallow, panting breaths. And I climb onto the bed next to him, just like I did the first time this happened, wrapping my arms around him from behind.

“Shhhh. I’m here, baby,” I whisper, dragging my fingers up and down his arms. “Come back to me. It’s just us, Logan. Just you and me.”

After a few long moments, I feel Logan squeeze my arm, his voice low and rasped and broken as he gruffs, “I fucked up, Red…”

My heart breaks at his confession, because what the hell happened to my boy.