I let out a deep breath. “Logan won’t kill me.”
Marty glanced over at me.
“Okay,” I hedged. “It won’t be pleasant. That’s why I’d rather rip off the Band-Aid now.”
He swept a hand forward. “Lead the way.”
I knocked on Logan’s door. Marty shifted behind me, probably making sure he had the optimal angle to catch whatever happened next.
“Come in,” Logan said.
My exhale was slow and steady before I pushed the door open. His head was bent over his computer, face hidden by the brim of his black hat.
“Do you have a minute, Coach?”
Logan’s frame froze imperceptibly at the sound of my voice. As he lifted his head, I braced for what I’d see on his face.
It wasn’t pretty.
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. Logan’s expression was forbidding, carved from granite for as little as he gave away.
Right. Another member of the Ward family who would wait me out and force me to talk today.
“I’m assuming you know what happened,” I started.
His jaw clenched.
“And I’m also assuming you aren’t very happy with me right now.”
His nostrils flared. I’d take that as agreement.
“But even if that’s true,” I said, holding his terrifying gaze as steadily as possible, “I have no way of getting in touch with her, and I’m hoping you’ll help me with that.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously, and behind me, Marty shifted uncomfortably.
“Her?” he spoke slowly. “By her, you mean my little sister? The one you slept with after I told you to stay away from her?”
“Yes.” I lifted my chin a fraction. “That’s who I’m talking about.”
The line of his mouth flattened.
“Logan,” I told him, hands raised by my sides, “I can find another way to reach her if you won’t help me.”
He tilted his head. “Do you think that’s the best angle to take when you’re trying to convince me this is a good idea?”
“I’m being honest because I respect you enough not to lie to you.”
One eyebrow rose on his forehead, slowly, incredulously. I felt my face flush hot, because disbelief radiated off him in strong pulses.
“Your sister is important to me. It … it took me a while to realize just how much.” I swallowed roughly. “And I could stand here all day trying to convince you of that, but no offense, I won’t admit anything to you that I haven’t said to her first.”
His face went slack with understanding.
I fell in love with Molly, and now he knew it.
Slowly, Logan unfolded his arms, his gaze searching my face for … something. Proof. I wasn’t sure. Then he ran a weary hand down his face and nodded. “I’ll help you. Just tell me what you need.”
I glanced back at Marty, who was grinning behind the camera. “Right now, I just need a little time to pull something together.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Molly
When I left, I knew I could've gone home to my apartment with Isabel. But the only thing that waited for me there was the temptation of day drinking and the inevitable crying into my pillow.
So I kept true to my word and drove straight from the Wolves facility to Paige and Logan's house about thirty minutes away. The neighborhood had tall, mature trees and shrubs, and the houses were set back off the road. They were big but not obnoxious. And selfishly, especially at moments like this, when I felt my most vulnerable, I wanted to return to the place that felt like home.
And nothing felt more like home to me than here.
I parked my car behind Paige's and ascended the concrete steps to the solid oak door, opening and closing it quickly since it had started to rain on my drive.
"Back here," Paige called from the kitchen. I smelled garlic and carbs, and instantly applauded my decision to come here.
Emmett skidded around the corner, knocking into me with an oof. His skinny arms wrapped around me in a hug, and I leaned down to kiss the top of his head.
"Hey, bud. No school today?"
"Nope. Mom said you needed the tightest hug ever."
My throat pinched. "I do. Thank you."
He set his chin on my stomach and looked up at me with huge eyes. "Can you help me with my math homework? You're good at it, and Mom said she doesn't do that bullshit."
"Traitor," Paige yelled over the sound of my laughter. "And that's a buck in the swear jar, you little potty mouth."
"It's not swearing if I'm repeating something you said."
"Ooh, get her with logic," I whispered. "I approve."
He grinned. "Is that a yes?"
I rubbed his back. "I'll tell you what, you give me thirty minutes of girl time—no interruptions—and then I'll help you."
"Deal!" He ran off, feet pounding up the stairs toward his room.
Paige leaned her shoulder against the wall by the kitchen and gave me a small smile. Her red hair was braided over her shoulder, and as usual, she looked so beautiful, it was hard to stare for too long. That was the problem with having a former supermodel for your surrogate mom. "How's my girl?"
I shrugged. "I don't know."
She held open her arms, and I walked into them without further encouragement. Paige sighed, running her hands down my hair. "Tell me what you need from me because sometimes I take my violent, angry support too far, and I'm told by parties that shall not be named that it's not always the most helpful thing I can do."
I smiled, burying my face in her shoulder. "Logan said that?"
"He's such a killjoy." She leaned back and cupped the side of my face. "You look sadder than I thought you would after talking to you. I mean, I know you're sad. You loved your job. But your heart." She swept a thumb over my cheekbone, and it came away wet from the tear that escaped. "It hurts, doesn't it?"
The canny observation—one that could only be made by someone who really, truly knew me—had me sinking into her arms again. I sniffed noisily. "I saw Noah in the parking lot, a-and," I sobbed, "he said he missed me, and I miss him too, but what does that mean, right? He's such an idiot. He hasn't said one word to me in weeks. Weeks! And then he's asking me why it's so hard to see me, and why it's so hard to talk to me. Ugh. Why do I have to answer those things for him, you know?" I hiccupped as Paige turned us, her armed wrapped tight around my shoulder so she could steer me toward the couch in the living room. "It's not like I'm sitting around waiting for Noah Griffin to explain things to me now that we've had sex. Like, figure it out on your own, you moron."
"Ohhhhkay, my husband left out a few things when he texted me," Paige said under her breath. Once I was tucked into the corner of the couch, I tugged my favorite pillow into my lap and toed off my Chucks.
Once the plush weight was clutched to my chest, I watched her over the silky edge. "Logan didn't tell you about the whole I slept with Noah and that's what got me fired thing?"
Her eyebrows lifted so slowly, so high on her forehead that I worried for a moment that they'd get stuck. "No, no, he did not."
"Erm, yeah. That was, well, that was why I said maybe we shouldn't resort to pyrotechnics against Beatrice. I kinda earned my spot in the ranks of the unemployed."
Paige let out a slow breath, her thoughts stamped loudly over her face. Concern was first and foremost, and the thing I saw most clearly. Very deliberately, she spun on the couch, crossed her legs, folded her hands primly between them, and faced me fully. "What shall we tackle first? The job or the sex?"
When she put it that way, maybe I'd been a little close-lipped with my family since I got back from my weekend away. I frowned. It wasn't like me to keep stuff from them, not big things like this, but I'd been in survival mode, convincing myself that I was fine with what happened in South Dakota stayed in South Dakota.
I’d worked overtime to keep a lid on the part of myself that missed him, missed talking with him, laughing with him, and teasing him until he allowed a crack in his reserve. It had been easier not to talk about him at all than to face the reality that it had only been one weekend, despite what it had meant to me.