Page 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

LOGAN

The truck cab was quiet, save for the faint hum of the heater and the sound of MJ adjusting herself in the passenger seat. Her fingers smoothed over her sweater, tugging it back into place, though it still hung slightly off-center, rumpled from where my hands had held her.

Her hair was a mess—soft waves that I’d threaded my fingers through, now spilling wild across her shoulders. She lifted her hips off the seat to tug up her jeans, making her look too small and undone in the dim glow of the dash lights.

I couldn’t stop staring.

The silence should’ve felt awkward, but it didn’t. If anything, it sat heavy in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of everything that had just happened.

She caught me watching her as she pushed her hair out of her face, her cheeks flushed. “What?”

My mouth curved. “Nothing.”

She arched a brow, her tone teasing but soft. “You look like you’ve never seen a girl before.”

“Not like this,” I murmured, surprising even myself.

I’ve never loved anyone like this.

MJ paused for half a beat, her fingers stilling as her eyes flicked to mine. I felt my thoughts land between us—unspoken, but real—and a dull ache settled in my chest.

With a soft chuckle, I looked away, turning my focus back to the wheel.

The truck idled quietly in MJ’s driveway, the engine a low hum beneath us. Neither of us moved to get out, the silence stretching, heavy with everything we weren’t saying.

MJ sat in the passenger seat, pulling the edge of the blanket closer around her shoulders. She’d done what she could to hide the fact we’d just fucked in the cab of my truck, but I couldn’t stop looking at her—at the curve of her neck, the flush still lingering in her cheeks, the way she seemed smaller but more alive somehow, sitting there wrapped up in a blanket.

She caught me staring again and raised an eyebrow, her voice soft but teasing. “You’re quiet.”

“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice raspy.

“Thinking about something?”

A corner of my mouth lifted, but I couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “I’m thinking about a lot of things.”

Her gaze lingered on me, like she wanted to press, but instead she smiled faintly and leaned back into the seat, the blanket slipping slightly down her shoulder. I reached across the cab, tugging the edge of it higher, my knuckles grazing her skin.

MJ stilled, her breath catching, and the space between us crackled again—hot and electric. I let my hand linger a second too long before I pulled back.

“You’re cold,” I said softly, a poor excuse for what I’d just done.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, though I wasn’t sure she believed it any more than I did.

I leaned back against the seat, dragging a hand through my hair as I tried to gather my thoughts.

What the hell was I doing?

I’d spent years keeping my focus sharp, my head down, my life built around one thing—rugby. The next win. The next tournament. Always moving, always chasing.

Rugby had been my purpose, the thing that kept me moving when nothing else could. But now, for the first time, it felt like a weight. Like every mile I put between me and MJ would pull something loose, something I wasn’t sure I could fix.

And here MJ was unraveling me with nothing more than a look.

Rugby had been everything, but now it didn’t feel like nearly enough.

Not when Julep would always be enough.

My conversation with Coach replayed in my mind. I had a suspicion that a call-up to the Sevens was coming. But I couldn’t bring myself to face it, not yet.

Not while MJ was looking at me like that.

I climbed out of the truck and walked around to her side, opening the door for her. She grabbed her purse from the floor, and that was when I saw it—her phone lighting up from the floorboard.

Trent.

The name hit me like a punch to the gut, all the air going out of my lungs in an instant.

I didn’t mean to see it, but there it was. A glaring reminder of everything MJ didn’t talk about—everything I hadn’t asked.

Trent’s name glared up at me from her screen like a slap in the face. I wasn’t proud of the way my stomach twisted, how my chest tightened with something dark and possessive. But it wasn’t just jealousy—it was doubt. A voice in the back of my mind whispering that maybe Trent had left a mark I couldn’t erase.

MJ didn’t notice the way I froze, didn’t see my fingers flex against the edge of the door as she grabbed her phone and shoved it into her bag.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, looking up at me.

I forced a smile, ignoring the twist in my chest. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Her expression softened, and she stepped down onto the driveway, shrugging the blanket closer around her shoulders. I waited until she unlocked the door, lingering a little longer than I needed to.

“Night, Logan,” she said softly, one hand on the doorknob.

“Good night, Julep.”

Her lips curved faintly, but she didn’t say anything else.

The cab of the truck felt colder when I climbed back in. I sat there for a minute, staring at the light glowing faintly through her front window, my knuckles white against the steering wheel.

Fucking Trent.

Of course it was Trent. Like a shadow waiting just offstage, ready to crawl back into a life that didn’t belong to him anymore.

The thought made my jaw go tight, and I slammed the gearshift into drive, turning around in the wide driveway with more force than necessary.

I shouldn’t care about Trent texting her. It wasn’t my place. MJ could handle herself, and I had no right to feel like this—like Trent’s name was something I needed to obliterate from her life.

But I did.

As I barrelled down her driveway, a part of me screamed to stop, to go back and tell her everything clawing at my chest. But what could I say? That I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anything? That I wasn’t sure who I was if I didn’t have rugby?

She deserved more than half answers and half commitments.

The engine growled as I hit the main road, and I gripped the wheel hard, the words I didn’t want to think bleeding into my mind anyway.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled it from my pocket to see that my agent was calling me.

Here it is.

That call was supposed to be everything I’d been working for.

The comeback I had earned.

And yet, as I pictured the empty hotel rooms, the sleepless nights on the road, and the adoring fans––it wasn’t enough anymore.

Not when I could so easily recall the way MJ had looked at me tonight—like I was worth something.

The phone buzzed again, the name of my agent lighting up the screen like an accusation. My thumb hovered over the answer button before I let it drop.

Not tonight.

I couldn’t fake the excitement he’d expect to hear in my voice, not when the thought of leaving made my chest feel like it was caving in.

Not if it meant leaving her behind.

I drove in silence, the heater doing little to shake the chill that had settled in my chest. MJ’s face flashed in my mind—her laugh, the way she’d whispered my name, the way she’d looked when she said, Please, don’t stop.

I didn’t want to stop.

Not with her.

A prickle of fear rippled through me.

What if she didn’t feel the same? She had never made me feel like I was a conquest, but we’d also never discussed the possibility of things being long-term. What if her interest waned once I wasn’t some Olympic rugby star, but a has-been?

I didn’t know what scared me more—leaving for the Sevens or staying long enough to lose her.

The road stretched ahead, dark and empty, but I couldn’t stop seeing her—wrapped in a blanket, mussed and beautiful, standing on her front porch, smiling at me.

I wasn’t the kind of man who let people in—not fully. It had always been easier to keep moving, to focus on what was next. But with the vision of MJ, standing on that porch looking at me like what we had was something worth staying for, I felt the ground tilt.

I didn’t know how to be what she needed. But god help me, I wanted to try.

And I knew, in that moment, that I was already too far gone.