I shower quickly, trying to put my thoughts in order. I have to be really careful about what I tell Logan, mainly because there are so many people looking for me. I still see the lost posters at times. And there are news blasts sometimes with pictures of the old me. They’re of the me who had dark blond hair, pretty headbands, and shoes that cost more than the Reeds’ monthly budget. I ignore them, telling myself that person no longer exists. It’s easier that way.
I miss home with the longing of a toothache. But I’ve been gone so long now that I can’t go back. I left out of anger. And I can’t go home out of shame or necessity. I will only go home when I’m strong enough to stand up for myself. And I haven’t felt like that for quite some time.
I wrap a towel around my head and one around my body, and I step into the bedroom. Logan’s reclining on the bed wearing nothing but his boxers. He tosses me a clean shirt, and I pull it over my head. He closes his eyes as I slide his shirt on and step into my panties. I can hear the hiss of his heavy breaths across the room, and it’s a heady feeling to know how I affect him.
“You still want to talk?” I ask. “Or are you too tired?” I shake out my hair and run a comb through it.
“There’s no way you’re taking back your offer,” he warns. “You can’t tease me like that.”
I laugh. “I’m not taking it back. I just thought you might want to wait until tomorrow.”
He sits up and crosses his legs in front of him. I crawl onto the bed and mirror his position.
His gaze darts down to my panties, where he can probably see the strip of fabric between my legs. But I still sit criss-cross-applesauce. He groans. “You’re killing me here.”
I tug his shirt down over my knees. “You’re making me spill my guts. You can take some torture, too.” I glare at him until his gaze becomes indecipherable. “What is it?” I ask.
He heaves a sigh.
I hold up a hand to stop his melancholy mood. “If you could do anything, what would it be?” I ask.
His brows shoot up. “We’re supposed to be talking about you.”
“We will,” I warn. “I promise. Just tell me, if you could do anything, what would you do?”
He doesn’t even blink. But his eyes darken, and he says, “I’d lay you down, move your panties to the side and slide inside you.”
I freeze. My gut clenches and my belly quivers and my face heats up. I want what he wants. I want it so badly.
He laughs. “Oh, you meant the thing I want second-best?”
“That’ll do,” I croak.
“I’d go back to college,” he says over his laughter.
“Back to college? When were you in college?”
He scrubs a hand down his face. “Before Matt got sick. I had a scholarship.”
“But you had to come back home because of Matt and his cancer?” I lay a hand on my chest. My heart is breaking for this family. For Logan.
He shrugs. “We had to get some loans against the shop to pay for his treatment. And then he couldn’t keep doing tats because of the germs. So, we couldn’t pay the loans. Pete and Sam weren’t old enough to work there. Not doing tats.”
“What school did you go to?” I ask.
“NYU.” His brows furrow. “Why does any of his matter?”
“You gave up your scholarship for Matt. For your family.”
He shakes his head. “I got a deferment. I didn’t give up. I can go back once things are good here.”
“Did it cost a lot of money for Matt’s treatment?”
He nods. But he doesn’t elaborate. I can guess what a lot of money is to them.
“I wanted to do that, too,” I say quietly. No one knows this. No one else knows I had dreams once. “Well, not to NYU. I wanted to go to Julliard. But my dad said it was a worthless endeavor and he refused to pay for it.” I hold up a finger when he opens his mouth to protest. “But he was willing to pay for a wedding that cost four times what Julliard ever would.” I shake my head.
Logan looks a bit shell shocked. “A wedding?” he asks.
I nod, looking up at him from beneath lowered lashes.
His breath hitches. “Please tell me you’re not married.”
I shake my head. “No. That’s why I’m here.” I scoot forward so my knees are touching his. I don’t touch him anywhere else. But I need a connection with him. “My father arranged a marriage for me. That’s all I was good for, being on the arm of a senator or a high powered attorney. I had no worth of my own, aside from being someone’s arm piece. Since I can’t read, that was supposed to be my future.”
“But you said no.”
I nod. “I said no. And he didn’t like it. So, he went on without me. The wedding was planned. The dress was purchased. The church was decorated.”
His brows shoot toward the ceiling. “But you ran away.”
I nod, biting my lower lip. He pulls it free with the pad of his thumb and strokes across it. I kiss his thumb, and he leans back. “I ran away,” I confirm. “On the morning of the wedding, I ran away. I took a bus from home to here.”
“With nothing.”
I show him my empty hands. “I took some clothes, my guitar, and bus fare.”
“Where are you from?” he asks.