Page 20

TWENTY

MJ

When my eyes lifted and met Logan’s, something had shifted. Tension and frustration pressed on his shoulders like a bad omen. He looked miserable and handsome at the same time, with his brows pinched down and his large frame coiled tight.

When he settled in the seat next to me, I leaned over. “Is everything okay?” I whispered.

The silence between us wasn’t just heavy—it was suffocating. My chest tightened with each second he avoided looking at me.

Did I say something wrong? Was he regretting inviting me?

My mind spiraled, searching for an answer.

His jaw was set, and he only nodded before taking a long gulp of ice water. I didn’t want to pry—maybe it was nerves for the upcoming match. Logan took his job as captain seriously, and the rest of the team seemed like they were eager to have a wild night, despite their match in the morning.

Everyone was talking and having a good time, but Logan’s silence beside me made me uncomfortable.

Maria gasped, and I looked up to see the waitstaff carrying in trays of little desserts. I’d already consumed my weight in sushi and teriyaki noodles, but when the server placed a small plate in front of me, I couldn’t resist.

“Madagascar vanilla bean crème br?lée with calamansi gelée,” the server announced.

I didn’t have a clue what calamansi gelée was, but the dish in front of me looked like a standard crème br?lée. I hoped calamansi wasn’t some kind of fish, but I plunged my spoon into the little white pot anyway. I quickly eyeballed the crème br?lée and gave it a quick sniff. It certainly didn’t smell like seafood, but rather warm vanilla with a hint of citrus.

I bravely stuffed it into my mouth and moaned. A quick giggled followed as my fingertips pressed into my lips. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Don’t be.” Maria laughed and took her own bite. “This is better than sex.”

“Hey!” Maria’s husband’s face twisted at her comment. She had once explained that his position on the team was something called a prop , and Joe was absolutely massive.

Maria bumped into his gigantic shoulder. “Try it and tell me I’m wrong.”

With a disbelieving scoff, he took a bite off his wife’s spoon, and his eyes went wide. “Oh, damn.”

Together we laughed, and I tried to lean into the moment, but beside me, Logan was still tense.

I gestured toward the untouched ceramic dish in front of him. “Not a dessert guy?”

He shook his head but didn’t look at me. “Just not hungry.”

He pushed the dish an inch toward me, and with a shrug I hooked my spoon onto the edge and pulled it toward me. The entire time I devoured my dessert—and his—Logan was still and quiet.

The second my spoon rested beside the crème br?lée pot, he leaned in. “Ready to go?”

I glanced around the room. Everyone was still mid-conversation, laughing and refilling their wineglasses.

I brushed the linen napkin across my lips and set it beside my plate. “Sure.”

My hand found Maria’s back. “We’re heading out. See you at the game?”

Her eyes flicked from me to Logan and back again before she smiled. “Good night, you two.”

A hint of playfulness in her voice made my cheeks heat. I waved and quietly said my goodbyes as Logan practically dragged me out of the restaurant. He was broody and tense as he stomped past the other tables and jabbed the elevator button with his finger.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine.”

He was definitely not fine. Maria had warned me that professional athletes get moody and superstitious and weird before big matches. Maybe this was just how Logan dealt with the pressure.

Still, somehow it felt like his frustrations were directed at me , and I didn’t like the sinking feeling it created in my stomach.

I definitely didn’t need that second crème br?lée.

I rubbed my aching stomach, willing the tightness to go away. When the doors opened, I was relieved that we weren’t alone in the elevator. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, but I also didn’t feel like I had done anything to warrant the silent treatment he was dishing out. When the elevator stopped on the ninth floor, Logan’s wide steps quickly outpaced my own.

“Wait up,” I called, my annoyance stacking like angry little bricks.

Logan used his key card to open the door and held it for me with one hand.

I brushed past him, then turned with my arms crossed. “Did I do something wrong?”

Logan sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “No.”

My eyes narrowed. “Are you sure, because the whiplash I’m experiencing right now is really confusing?” He wouldn’t look at me. “Was the phone call bad?” I stepped forward when a terrible kernel of a thought wedged into my brain. “Is Arthur okay?”

“ Fuck ,” he muttered. His green eyes lifted to meet mine. “Arthur is fine. It was Trent. He was asking about tomorrow’s game.”

Hearing Trent’s name fall from his lips was like a slap, angry and stinging. The walls of the room seemed to close in, squeezing the air from my lungs. I thought I’d buried him—buried what he did—but the sound of his name dug it all back up.

I had worked doubly hard to separate the two men in my mind.

In reality, I preferred to forget Trent ever existed.

He took one small step forward. “I would like to talk about Trent.”

I would very much like to never talk about that. Especially with you.

My cheeks heated, and the walls closed in around me. Even hearing his name out loud sucked the air from the room.

I lifted my chin. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Logan shook his head. “Yes, Julep, I think there is.”

Self-preservation and pride reared its ugly head, slamming a wall between Logan and me. I had worked too long and too hard to go back to that dark place. The air grew uncomfortable, and I inched back, my body screaming for me to run and hide. The last thing I wanted to do was flay myself open and admit the mistakes that had allowed Trent to do what he had done.

Anxiety clawed up my spine. Logan was staring back at me, his expression stricken. If I wasn’t so frantic, I might almost think he looked concerned .

He took another step forward, and I retreated with my hand in the air. “Don’t.” I couldn’t focus on him—my thoughts muddled and tripped over each other.

Logan’s hands were in the air in silent surrender. “I spoke with him tonight. He remembers you.”

A disgusted scoff rattled in my throat as tears burned my eyes. “Oh, well, that’s a relief.”

“Look,” he said, and his stern voice had my gaze whipping up. “I’m not at all happy with the things he said, but it doesn’t change the fact that you slept with my best friend.”

Dread pooled in my stomach. I thought I could be the kind of woman who could keep sex and feelings separate. I thought I could do casual.

“This whole thing was a mistake.” I wasn’t entirely sure whether I was talking about the trip to Kenilworth, staying with him at the hotel, or whatever was blooming between us— everything.

My vision blurred with unshed tears. I needed to leave before I shattered completely, before Logan saw how deep my cracks ran.

I brushed past him, heading straight to the walk-in closet, where my duffel bag was lying empty on the floor. There wasn’t much to pack, so I quickly stuffed my clothes into the bag and hoisted it onto my shoulder. It was a long drive back home—far too long for a rideshare, but worst-case scenario I could call one of my brothers ... not that I would look forward to that conversation.

I’ll call JP. He can keep his mouth shut and knows how to clean up a mess.

And, fuck, this had quickly become a mess.

When I moved to leave the room, Logan was blocking the doorway. He looked down at my bag and stepped aside.

His shoulders were slumped, and a single, frustrated tear betrayed me. I wanted to be a hot, roll-around-together good-time gal ... not the inexperienced sad sack who couldn’t rein in her emotions.

“He was wrong.” Logan’s voice was low, but angry, and it stopped me in my tracks. “I don’t even need to hear your side of it to know that.”

I turned to see him, a tortured expression marring his handsome face. My chest tightened.

Logan stuffed his hands in his pockets. “He said some things ... things I wasn’t prepared to hear or accept.” He let out a defeated sigh. “Look, Trent is an asshole. Deep down, I’ve always known that, but when you’ve got media attention and articles being written about you, it becomes harder and harder to know who really has your back and who is using you for your influence. Trent has been there from the beginning ...”

Something in the way he trailed off made me wonder if suddenly Trent wasn’t sitting so cleanly in the has your back category.

His friendship with Trent, a relationship he trusted and valued, had changed because of me. Guilt slicked like motor oil in my stomach, and I felt sick. Logan was accustomed to being used, and I had lined up to do the same, just like all the others.

I shook my head. “You don’t have to justify your friendship.”

“No.” He shook his head in return. “I think maybe I do.” He looked angry. “Please stay. Talk to me.”

My chin wobbled. He was the last person I wanted to know what had happened. It made me feel weak, used, and shameful. I pulled the duffel from my shoulder and let it plop to the ground.

His eyes were lost and confused.

“What do you want to know?” I finally asked.

“Only what you’re willing to tell me. Help me understand what happened and why you’re holding on to it so tightly.”

I circled him and entered the kitchen to get cold water. Somehow standing behind the kitchen island helped me feel protected. The cold water did little to soothe my parched throat, but when I set the glass onto the granite countertop, I sighed.

“Trent and I met a few years ago when he was in Outtatowner for some bachelor party bar-crawl thing.” It was then I realized that Logan could have been there. I shook away the thought. No way in hell I wouldn’t have noticed him .

“Probably Randy’s. I didn’t go because I was playing,” Logan offered.

“He hit on me at the Grudge and”—I sighed again and let my hands drop against my thighs—“I was charmed. He was older, attractive. Funny and attentive—knew all the right things to say to make me feel special. We hung out that night and exchanged numbers. He lived a few towns over, so we started texting.” I let the memories of those early days wash over me. To be fair, it had been fun and exciting to feel like the center of someone’s universe.

“He would send flowers and sweet little good morning texts. We got together on weekends, always in my hometown. I started asking about meeting his friends, and it was always some excuse: Mav’s traveling, Randy has work, next Saturday is guys’ night out. I was so naive that it never dawned on me that he might be hiding me. I had dated before but never anything that felt like it could become serious. Our relationship felt so grown up and full of promise.”

Logan shrugged. “He was into you. I get it.”

A bitter laugh shot through me. “For months, he made me feel seen—special. I clung to his sweet words, the little gestures that made me believe I’d finally found someone who wanted me for me. And then, in one careless moment, he shattered it all. He was so into me that when we finally had sex, he left before I even had my pants on and never called again.”

Logan shook his head. “Julep, that’s ...” He dragged a hand across his face.

Once I started, it felt like I couldn’t stop. I needed to get it all out. “I tried for months and months. Calls, texts, driving past his work, circling his hometown in my car. I felt like I was losing my mind. Finally, I realized that what I thought we had never existed. And whatever made-up relationship I thought we had ended because of me .”

“You?” His face twisted, like he didn’t understand how it could possibly be my fault.

I flattened him with a look. Was he really going to make me say it?

I clenched my jaw. “Yes, me.” I let out a wry chuckle. “I’m not really the girl that gets the fairy-tale ending. I’m not the main character—I’m the kind-of-funny sidekick. The best friend. The cutesy little sister.”

Logan tried to interrupt, but I lifted my hand and barreled on. “It’s fine. I’ve accepted it. I learned a very valuable, but hard, lesson that day.”

His jaw ticced. “Fuck, that’s—” Logan sighed. “I’m so sorry he?—”

I gestured in his direction. “Please do not apologize for him.”

A frustrated growl tore through Logan as he paced. “Well, what do you want me to do? Because right now the only thing I want to do is find him and tear his head from his shoulders. He’s my oldest friend, and I can’t stop thinking about how I could fucking kill him for what he did to you.”

Logan’s fists clenched, his knuckles white. The anger in his voice wasn’t aimed at me, but it still startled me. He wasn’t just angry—he was furious on my behalf. I wasn’t used to this, someone fighting for me instead of against me. It scared me almost as much as it comforted me.

“It was my fault!” I shouted through angry, frustrated tears. “He knew I was inexperienced, but I didn’t tell him the whole truth. I was too shy and embarrassed to admit that I had never had sex. He didn’t know until afterward, when I had bled on the bedsheets. Then, he told me I needed to clean up my mess.”

His voice rose. “It shouldn’t matter if it was your first time or your fortieth. He knew and you deserved better. None of that is your fault.”

Shocked, I looked at Logan. “He told you that he knew?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Just tonight ... based on what Trent said, he knew.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I wanted to get it over with. I used him just as much as he used me. But he was smarter—he played the game and came out on top.”

“He was cruel. And an asshole. Friend or not, he was wrong for how he treated you.”

My eyes lifted to meet his. Logan had maintained a respectful distance, but I could tell he was itching to move forward. He was holding himself back because he wasn’t sure what I wanted.

“Yes, he was wrong, but I let it eat me alive. I couldn’t get over the sting of rejection. I let it fester and rot. Would you believe that I haven’t been able to have sex since? The truth is, I’m broken.” A sob escaped me as the painful truth came out. I buried my face into my hands.

Warm arms gathered me in a bundle, and I melted against him. My hot tears flowed as he stood in the kitchen, silently letting me fall apart.

For the first time, I didn’t feel judged or dismissed. Logan didn’t try to fix me or brush off my pain. He just held me, steady and unyielding, as if he could absorb the pieces of me that were breaking apart.

His soothing shh vibrated through me and I cried only harder.

Why couldn’t it have been him?