Page 39 of Somewhere Without You

Thirty Eight

The floorboards groaned as I crept downstairs. I couldn’t sleep with the scent of Jackson’s possible intrusion still thick in the air.

Every creak needled my nerves. Every shadow made me flinch.Evenwith Logan here, the idea of Jackson lurking outside gnawed at me like something feral. What if Ihadn’tlockedthe door? Would he have hurt Winston? Ransacked the house? Waited in the dark to attack me once Iwasalone?

ButJackson didn’t want confrontation. He wanted control. To leave his mark. To violate me in a way only hecould. Thiswasa game to him—one he intended on winning.

This househadonce been a refuge. A sanctuary. Now itfelttainted—robbed of everything it once offered.

Logan didn’t stir when I entered the living room, his face cast in soft amber hues from the fire crackling in the hearth. At some point in the night,he’dbuilta fire. The stones on the floorweregone, and for a brief moment, Iwasoddlyirritatedthathe’dmovedthem back.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” I asked, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

He shook his head, lifting a half-empty glass of wine.“I hope you don’t mind. Itfelt. . . necessary.”

I settled into the worn armchair across from him.“Actually, I think I’ll join you, if that’s okay?”

“The more the merrier,”he murmured, tilting his head back for a slow sip.

Passing me the bottle, Islowlyraised it to my lips and let the bitterness burn its way down my throat.

The flames crackled, throwing soft amber light against the walls as the silence stretched. I wasn’t sure who would speak first—maybe neither of us would. Maybe we’d just sit here, pretending the past wasn’t clawing its way to the surface.

“You ever wish things had gone differently?” I asked finally, my voice barely louder than the crackling fire.

His eyes didn’t leave the flames. “Every damn day.”

I swallowed hard, unsure if I was relieved or devastated to hear it.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Me too.”

He took a long drink then finally turned to face me. “Eleven years,”he saidfaintly.“Sincethe last time wesaweach other.”He placed his now empty glass on the coffee table, and I refilled it without asking.“Not once did I thinkyou’dactuallyleave.”

I sighed. He wanted to do this now? Fine.

“You left first,”I challenged, but the stingwasn’tthere.

“ButI came back,”Logan countered, his voice thick.“I came back, Emily.Foryou.IfI’dknownyouweregoing to leave. . .ifI’dknownit wouldbe over a decade before Isawyou again—I never would’ve left.”

I swallowed hard, the warmth from the fire suddenly too much.

“You didn’t give me a reason to stay,” I whispered.

Logan leaned back, the couch sighing beneath his weight as he sank into it.“Iwasn’tthe same man when I came back, you know.”

The fire popped, sending up sparks like fleeting stars drifting into the night.

“I did things,”he went on.“Things I can’t take back. Things I’ll never forgive myself for. The training, the deployments. . . they strip you down. Numb you. Chipping away until all that’s left is reflex and survival.”

He stared into the flames, haunted by memories I couldn’t begin to understand. Icouldfeelthe weight of his pain pressing down on me like a storm cloud ready to burst.

“Butyou made it through,”I said, a sad attempt at comfort.

He noddedslowly.“I did.Andthe only thingthatgot me through—the only light in allthatdarkness,wasyou. The idea of you. Coming home to you.Thatwaswhat I clung to. On the nights when my thoughtsweretoo loud, the days when I didn’tevenfeelhuman.

. . itwasalways you.”He paused, his expression tightening.

“Andthen. . . fuck, youwerejustgone. No letter. No goodbye. Nothing.”

“Logan. . .”I tried, but the words collapsed inside my mouth. HowcouldI answerthatkind of pain? HowcouldI measure his suffering against the glamourous, albeit, violent lifeI’dbuilt?

I reached toward him, my hand hovering across the coffee table, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch him.Therewasan invisible barrier between us now, between the yearsthathadswallowedus whole.

“Why didn’t you call?”I asked,eventhough I alreadyknew.

Helookedat me, his face worn.“Youknowwhy.”

“Tell meanyway.”

Logan exhaledslowly.“I almost did.WhenI first got back.Fora second, I let myself believemaybewecouldpick up where we left off. Iknewyou’dmoved away, but I thought.

. .ifIcouldjustseeyou, talk to you,maybeyou’dcomehome.

” He paused, jaw tightening. “ThenI found out youweremarried. To Jackson Bishop, of all people. HowwasI supposed to compete withthat? My headwasa mess. Iwasa mess.Andyou. . . youhadeverythingyou’dever wanted.

Youwerehappy. All Ihadto offerwasa broken man and some distant memories.

What kind of a life isthatto give someone? What kind of love?”

Tears stung my eyes, blurring the edges of the room. My silencewasn’thesitation—itwashabit. A wallI’dbuiltover years of swallowing my voice, brick by agonizing brick.

“Why him, Emily?”Logan asked, his voice strained.“Andwhy didn’t you leave when things. . .”He broke off, unable to say the rest out loud.

I couldn’tlookat him.Instead, I traced the wood grain of the coffee table with an unsteady finger, trying to ground myself in something solid.

“Hewasn’talways likethat,”I admitted after a pause.

“In the beginning, everythingwasperfect. Too perfect.Thenitwasn’t.

I didn’t want to admit it, but the pictureI’dpaintedof us started to crack.

His protectiveness turned into control.Thencame the isolation, the gaslighting, andeventually, the physical abuse. ”

My heart slammed against my ribs like a frantic bird trapped inside a cage of bone. Thiswasit.Therewasno going back now. The truthwasa festering woundthathadsilentlypoisoned my life and Iwasdesperate for an antidote.

“Katherine warned me— begged me not to marry him.ButIwasalready in too deep.Andbythen, walking awaywasn’tsimple. He made sure ofthat.”Ifinallymet Logan’s heavy gaze, my eyes red rimmed, my lips tripping over my confession.“Andthe worst part? He made me believe I deserved it.”

Logan’s face darkened, rage splashing across his features like fire burning over dry brush.

“You should’ve called me,”he said, voice sharp.“You should’ve let me help.”

“Lookaround you, Logan,”I said, my voice catching on the lump in my throat.“Protecting me from him wouldn’t have stopped any of this.”I motioned toward the shattered window.“He didn’tjustbreak and bruise my body, he broke my fucking spirit.”

The tears came fast in hot, relentless rivers down my cheeks. My marriage to Jacksonhadn’tbeen a sudden collapse. Ithadbeen a slow, agonizing descent into a darkness Ihadn’tknownexisted. A darkness woven together by threads of control, manipulation, and a creeping insidious violence.

Jackson fed on fear. On silence. On the pieces of mehe’dbrokenand claimed as his own.

Silence stretched between us. I shut my eyes and a kaleidoscope of images bloomed from memory—Jackson’s face, twisting into a mask of rage. The cold glint of the belt buckle, sharp against my back.

Beside me, the fire popped and I jumped.

“I’m so sorry, Emily,”Logan said at last, his voice a pained,lowrumble.

Ilookedat him. The firelight danced in warm shadows across his face, highlighting the worry etched around his chestnut eyes. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to fix me .

Butsome things aren’t fixable.

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,”I snapped, the heat in my voice surprisingevenme.“It’s not your responsibility to shoulder another man’s demons—and trust me, his are heavy enough to crush him.”

The truthwas, I didn’t want his pity. I needed something else—something I couldn’t name, let alone ask for.

My gaze drifted toward the broken window again. Beyond it, a single star burneddefiantlyabove the dark line of the mountains.And for a moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if stars ever felt the weight of the world too.

“EvenifJackson apologized—and he won’t, I know he won’t, I don’t think Icouldever forgive him,” I admitted, the words tasting as bitter as I felt.

Logans voice,usuallysoothing, now grated on my raw nerves.“What Jackson did—that’s not a reflection of you. It’s him . His sickness. His need to control.”

“ Stop, ”I choked out, my voice fraying at the edges.

“Stop trying to explain it away. Stop trying to minimize it. Youweren’tthere.

You don’t understand.”Tears continued to stream down my face.

“I’m broken, Logan. Irrevocably broken.

Andno amount of comfort or well-meaning words is going to glue me back together. ”

“No,”he said, his voice wavering with emotion. He reached for my hand, but I recoiled, his touch falling short in the growing space between us.“You’re not broken. You’re strong, Emily. Stronger than youknow. You survived.”

“ Survived? ”I spat the word back at him, my voice venomous.“You, of all people, shouldknowthatsurviving isn’t living. You don’tknowwhat it’s like to be carved into pieces by someone who swore they loved you. You don’tknowhowthatkind of control seeps into your soul and hollows you out.”

“I want toknow,”he said, his voice breaking under the weight of it.“I want to understand. I want to help. I want to—”

Andthenit hit me.

“Isthatwhat this is?”I asked.“Some twisted rescue mission?”

He faltered, hurt flickering across his face.“No,”he saidquickly.“No, of course not.”

ButIwasn’tdone. I needed the truth,evenif it shattered whatever fragile thread wehadleft.

“Then what , Logan?” I demanded angrily. “What is it about methatkeeps pulling you back and dragging me from my own wreckage over and over again?”