The Mistake

“No.” I suddenly feel cold. “Did he say we were?”


“No, but he’s been rude and bitchy all morning. Dean thought maybe the two of you were fighting.”

“We’re not,” I say firmly. Then an unnerving thought occurs to me. “Has he been drinking?”

“Of course not. It’s one-thirty in the afternoon.” Tucker sounds confused. “He’s upstairs. Last I checked, he was working on his marketing midterm.”

His answer relieves me, but I’m not sure why. Logan has told me on numerous occasions that he doesn’t drink when he’s upset. I know he’s afraid he might have inherited his father’s addictive tendencies, and suddenly I feel like a jerk for asking Tucker that question in the first place.

“I’ll go up and talk to him. Maybe he’ll tell me what’s bugging him.”

I leave Tucker in the front hall and head up to Logan’s room, where I experience another rush of relief.

He looks okay. Short dark hair looks the same. Blue eyes are alert. Sexy muscles rippling beneath his sweats and T-shirt. There are no outward signs of injury, but when our gazes lock, there’s a world of pain in his expression.

“Hey,” I say softly, walking over to give him a kiss. “What’s going on?”

His lips brush mine, but the kiss lacks his usual warmth. “Your dad called you, huh?” he says wryly.

“Yep.”

A shadow crosses his eyes. “What’d he say?”

“Hardly anything. He told me you stopped by last night, that he got the sense you were upset, and that I should check on you.” I search his face. “What happened in Munsen?”

“Nothing.”

“Logan.”

“It was nothing, babe.” He lets out a tired breath. “Or at least, nothing out of the ordinary.”

I take his hand. God, it’s like ice. Whatever went down last night, he’s still exhibiting the effects of it.

“Sit down.” I have to forcibly tug his powerful body beside me on the bed, but even after he submits, he stares straight ahead instead of meeting my eyes. “Will you please tell me what happened?”

“Jesus. What does it matter?”

“Because it matters, John.” I start to feel aggravated. “Clearly you’re upset about it, and I think it’ll help if you talk about it.”

His bitter laughter echoes between us. “Talking about it won’t achieve a damn thing. But fine. You want to know what happened last night? I saw my future, that’s what happened.”

I flinch at the sharpness of his tone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I saw my fucking future. I traveled forward in time, I got a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Future—how else do you want me to phrase it, Grace?”

My spine stiffens. “You don’t have to be sarcastic. I get it.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t get it. I have no life after I graduate. No future. But I’m doing it for my brother, because Jeff has dealt with it for almost four years now. And now it’s my turn, and I don’t fucking like it, but I’m going to suck it up and move back home, because he’s my goddamn father and he needs my help.”

His hoarse outburst cracks my heart in two.

“I know what it’ll do to me,” he continues, sounding more and more despondent. “I know it’ll make me miserable and I’ll probably grow to hate my dad, and I’ll eventually lose you—”

“What?” I interrupt in shock. “What makes you think you’ll lose me?”

He looks my way, his blue eyes filled with regret. “Because you’ll wake up one day and realize you deserve better. Don’t you see? Last night was a preview of what it’s going to be like. We’ll have plans, but I’ll end up having to work late, or my dad will get wasted and fall down the stairs, and then I’ll have to cancel on you, or worse, keep you waiting like I did last night. How long do you think you’ll put up with that?”

Disbelief hurtles through me. “You honestly think I’m going to break up with you because you might be late a couple times?”

Logan doesn’t respond, but his stony expression tells me that yes, he does believe that.

“Doesn’t your brother have a girlfriend he’s been with forever?” I point out.

“Kylie,” he mumbles.

“Well, did Kylie break up with him? No, she didn’t. Because she loves him, and she’s willing to stand by him no matter what.” I’m angry now. So angry I shoot to my feet, fighting the urge to smack some sense into him. “So what makes you think I won’t stand by you?”

His silence irks the living fuck out of me.

“You know what, John? Screw you.” I struggle to control my breathing. “Clearly you don’t know me at all if you think I’m the kind of person who would give up on a relationship the moment it hits a few obstacles.”

He finally answers, his voice low and sullen. “Can we please not talk about this anymore?”

Un-fucking-believable.