Page 24 of Somewhere Without You

Twenty Three

Now

Logan’s hands smoothed over the last of the repair tape, patching up the broken pipe.

“It’sjusta temporary fix,”he said, catching me staring.“You’re going to need to replace these pipes.Butthe epoxy should hold for a bit.”

Eleven years. That’s how long ithadbeen sinceI’dlast seen Logan Graham.Andnow, here hewas, coming to my rescue again.

“Thanks, Logan.”My voice wavered a little more than I liked.

“Iheardyouwereback in town.”He straightened, his eyes meeting minebrieflybefore turning to gather his tools.“I’m sorry tohearabout Gran.”

I cleared my throat.“Yeah, well. . . that’s life, I guess.”

“Shewasagoodwoman,”he offered kindly.“Made the best damn pot roast I’ve everhad.”Thatmade me smile.“So, when’s the funeral?”

“No funeral,”I said with a shrug.“She didn’t want one. Said she wanted to be returned to the earth the natural way.”

“Sounds like her,”he said with a short laugh, and we started up the stairs together.

Whenwe reached the landing, Logan set his toolbox on the kitchen counter.“Mind if I bother you for a glass of water? I want to make sure everything is working the way it should.”

I nodded, grabbed a glass from the shelf, and turned on the tap—nearlycrying with relief when the soft sound of water sputtered from the faucet.

Logan thanked me as I handed him the glass.“Doing some remodeling?”he asked, glancing at the pile of stones still on the floor near the fireplace.

I thought about the satchel still in the fridge,thenquicklyshrugged it off.“Sort of. More like a distractionreally. It getsprettyquiet when you’re here by yourself.”

His gold-flecked eyes met mine as he set the empty glass on the counter.“Where’s Katherine? I figuredshe’dbe helping you with all this.”

“Kats with her family.It’sjustme,” I said simply.

“Alone?” he asked, tilting his head.

A flicker of irritation rose in my chest.“Why are you asking so many questions?”

He gave a slight smirk, clearly amused by my annoyance.“Didn’t realize I was poking a bruise.”

I crossed my arms over my chest.“What’sthatsupposed to mean?”

“Nothing,”he chuckled—reaching for his toolbox again.“It’s justgoodtoseesome things haven’t changed.”

“Excuse me?”I shot back.“You don’tknowanything about me.”

Logan raised an eyebrow.“Are you sure aboutthat?”

I started to respond,thenthought better of it.“So, you’re a contractor now?”

He glanced down at his dirt-covered khakis.“Pays the bills,”he shrugged.

Now itwasmy turn to raise a brow.“You’re going to have to give me more thanthat.”

I didn’t have to spell it out—heknewexactlywhat I meant. The pausethatfollowed said enough. He ran a hand ran over his head, a nervous habit, and guilt crept up on me for pressing.

“I got out of the Army a few years ago.Did two tours in Iraq before beingdischarged.”He let out a short laugh, but it didn’t carry any real humor.“Afterthat, I figuredI’dspend my time fixing things rather than tearing them apart. So. . . here I am.”

Here hewas, eleven years later, the same Logan—yet somehowentirelydifferent.

“Anyway,goodluck with all this,” he nodded toward the mess of stones. “You shouldprobablygeta plumber out here sooner than later. Broken pipes aren’treallymy thing, and trust me, that’s not something you want to let sit.”

I searched for something to say—anythingthatmight keep him from leaving.Butnothing came. So Ijustnodded instead.

Iwatchedas he eased the door open, bracing himself as a gust of wind ripped through the front porch. The hinges gave way and the screen door tore free, crashing to the floor with a sharp, metallic thud.

Logan froze, staring at it, before turning to me.“Seriously? How long’s it been likethat?”

“SinceI got here,”I admitted, embarrassed.“Honestly, the whole place is falling apart.”

He sighed, bending down to prop the screen door against the side of the house. His eyesslowlymoved to the warped boards on the porch steps.“I’llseeabout getting a new one. Might need to fix a few of these boards while I’m at it.”

I fidgeted, uncertain. “Logan, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,”he cut in.“ForGran.”

“Okay,”I agreed, though part of me was still unsure.“ForGran.”

Logan gave me a soft, almost sad smile.“It’sgoodtoseeyou again, Emily.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump rising in my throat as Iwatchedhim head back to his truck.

He disappeared through a cloud of dust, andjustlikethat, hewasgone—leaving me alone with the memoriesI’dspentyears trying to forget.

Turns out, some things, unlike busted pipes and broken doors, aresurprisinglymore difficult to fix.