Page 25 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)

Chapter Seventeen

LOGAN

Tia

I really miss you, Lo. I hate being away from you. I’m actually freaking out about this whole Vegas situation, but seeing mom earlier at dinner tonight hurt so badly. She called me Nora, and it killed me. I wish you were here.

Fuck.

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, that might as well be the edge of a skyscraper, when the urge to fall headfirst into a chasm and erase the last hour of my life hits.

Heaving the contents of my regret down the toilet didn’t ease the sting of guilt marring my heart.

I may be one shut-eye away from being completely sober, but I fucking know better.

What I did tonight didn’t erase Tia from my mind. Not even close. If anything, it carved her in deeper.

Her body. Her voice. Her laugh. The way she looks at me when she’s trying not to.

All of it. Louder and clearer, like a sick punishment.

I thought I could silence it—dull the ache, distract myself, fucking forget.

But that?

That was bullshit what I did. A pathetic, weak lapse in judgment. I took the so-called easy way out, and all it did was leave me emptier.

I stare at her text, then type something, but it doesn’t feel right, so I delete. Then I go typing something again—and delete. Delete. Delete.

DELETE!

The words never find me. Nothing feels good enough. I can tell her I miss her, too. I can tell her I don’t care if she doesn’t feel the same thing for me, and I’d prove to her I can be enough.

No, you can’t. You fucked it all sideways. Unforgivable.

“Goddamn it,” I mutter, dropping my phone onto the side table.

The drawer underneath it is half-open, a strip of condoms dangling out. A careless detail in the blueprint of the personal hell I built for myself.

I didn’t just fall into this.

I designed it. Every line. Every flaw.

I slam it closed as if I can shut out the pain, grabbing hold of the lamp atop the table, ready to fling it across my room until it shatters into pieces—much like the state of my battered heart.

The sound of the faucet running rips me away from my impulsive thoughts as I watch the shadow underneath the bathroom door shift like a ghost coming to haunt me. A beautiful ghost who has no right to be here.

My fault.

When the door opens, Krista walks out wearing a t-shirt of mine that I must’ve left hanging on the back of the door. I don’t know if it would hurt more seeing her naked, but the sight of her in my t-shirt doesn’t feel fucking great, either.

“Hey,” she nearly whispers, sitting on the end of my bed and keeping her distance. I’m thankful for it.

“Hey.” I don’t look at her when I reply. I can’t.

“Krista, I’m really sorry,” I murmur, keeping my gaze down at my feet.

“You didn’t deserve what I’ve done. God, I’m such a fucking asshole.

I’m … I—” I don’t even know what to fucking say.

Another wave of nausea builds, forming a tight ball in my throat.

I fight tooth and nail to shove it down, desperate to make this right. Even though it’s all so, so wrong.

Krista adjusts herself to move next to me, crossing her legs underneath her. She doesn’t touch me, but she’s close enough to feel her breath on my bare shoulder.

“I’ve liked you for years, Logan. I’ll admit, I’ve never understood your relationship with Tia. It’s so obvious you two were always into each other.”

“We’re just friends,” I interject. Three words have never felt so wrong leaving my mouth.

Krista lets out a breathy chuckle, small and void of any humor. “Logan. You called out her name when you came. You wanna tell me you’re just friends after that?”

Shit.

She’s got me there.

“I’ve always fantasized about what it would be like to be with you.

To have you choose me over her.” My brows raise at her boldness, and she only smiles.

“Tonight wasn’t all on you. I’m at fault, too.

I should’ve known better than to fall in bed with a man who would only think about another woman the whole time. ”

“Krista, that’s not?—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” she counters with a voice sharp enough to cut me. “Why you don’t go after her and make it official between y’all is beyond me. But I’m done chasing you. The choice you’ve made is clear.”

Raking my hands through my hair, I tug hard at the root. I’ve been in this situation before. A woman who wants more from me sits on the edge of my bed—exactly like Krista right now— berating me for being a heartless dick. They offer me the same ultimatum, over and over again.

“Choose me, or I’m gone.” Fine with me.

“Choose me, or I’ll never speak to you ever again.” Okay.

Or in Krista’s case— “Choose me, or Tia.”

Tia. Every fucking time.

The realization rams into me like a two-ton truck. Krista is right. I’ve made my choice. To be honest, I think I made it before I realized what it meant.

Krista moves to stand, putting her hand out in front of me when I try to get up.

“Let me at least call you a rideshare,” I offer. It’s the least I can do to save what’s left of my morality. She shakes her head at me, refusing my request.

“This would be so much easier for me if you were the asshole you say you are. The thing is … you’re far from it.”

The weight of her words sinks deep into my chest. They feel undeserving, and I wonder if this would’ve hurt less if she’d go ahead and just slap me in the face.

Scratch, claw, and yell at me. Tell me I’m a piece of shit and shove it so far down my throat I’d feel it for days.

But she doesn’t, even though I wish she would.

“I’m sorry I’m not her,” she whispers, a slight shake in her voice.

I’m actually at a loss for words, not sure how to navigate her reaction to what we did tonight. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but all I can give her is a nod in understanding as I scrub a hand over my stubble.

“I’ll leave your shirt by the front door … since my clothes are all in your hallway,” she says sheepishly. Straightening her back, she lingers in my door frame, then turns to me one last time.

“Please don’t regret what we did tonight. Even if you thought about her the whole time, I only had eyes for you. Now do yourself a favor and go get her.”

She leaves my room, and I wait until I hear my front door shut. I trudge my way to the door to lock it, mulling over Krista’s final words.

Go. Get. Her.

With a click, the lock turns, leaving me naked and vulnerable within these four walls, where I have to accept the choices I’ve made. Where I have to take accountability for my actions. Where I have to take responsibility for my heart and what it wants. Maybe even what it deserves.

I’m done with this lifestyle. I’m done with the rotation of women and the disappointment that follows. I’m tired of disappointing myself.

Go. Get. Her.

With quick steps back to my room, I grab my phone and reread my text conversation with Tia.

She misses me. She needs me. And she lands in Vegas tomorrow around four.

Looks like I will too.

Go. Get. Her.