The secret I had yet to share with Logan would reveal just how broken I am, and then, as with my first boyfriend, it might just tear us apart. I could only hope it wouldn’t. To be fair, I should have told Logan before I ever let those three little words slip from my mouth. I should have learned from my mistakes. But everything that happened between us happened so fast and it never felt like the right time.
And then there’s my brother-in-law. Michael held all the cards when it came to my niece. If he decided I shouldn’t see Clementine again, there was nothing I could do about it. So pissing him off wasn’t something I wanted to do. But after yesterday, I thought it was time he knew I was involved with someone. No, not just someone—Logan McPherson. I wasn’t sure how he would react, but I hoped he knew me well enough by now to know that my relationship with Logan wouldn’t impact my relationship with Clementine in any way.
My mind was a web of worry, sorrow, and confusion. And I took the quiet of the morning to contemplate everything in my life. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
It was well after eleven before I drifted into the bath to let the steam and heat take away some of my hesitation about the confessions I planned to make today. After a long while, I submerged myself and allowed the scented water to wash me clean. I took my time shaving my legs and rinsing the soap from by body.
When I finally emerged from the tub, I felt much better about what I had to do. My secrets were eating at me and I had to get them out. Telling Logan about Michael’s advances didn’t rank high on my priorities, and I figured once I told Michael about Logan and me, that issue should naturally put itself to rest.
That was if there was something to tell him—if Logan stayed with me.
My skin was a warm shade of pink and the steam in the room was still thick. I wrapped a towel around myself, patted my wet skin until it was dry, and then I ran a comb through my still damp hair.
The door creaked loudly when I opened it and stepped into my darkened bedroom. I had yet to open the blinds and let the sunshine in.
The dark figure in the room caused my heart to stop and I screamed at the top of my lungs. Its beat didn’t even jump-start during that one moment it took me to realize it was Logan sitting on the end of the bed, cradling his head in his hands.
At the sound of my scream, his head jerked up.
“It’s just me.” His words were barely audible.
Even in the darkness, I could see right away that something was wrong. A flip of the light switch confirmed it. I’d never seen him like this before. His face was drawn, his eyes red-rimmed, and his body looked utterly defeated.
With my heart in my throat I ran over to him and fell to my knees, taking his hands in mine. At first I recoiled. Blood stained his shirt, his neck, and his fingers. But I pushed my dread aside and focused on him. “What happened?”
“He’s dead.” His voice was scratchy, not his own. He cleared his throat like he, too, knew it sounded weird.
My heart was now thumping hard. “Who’s dead, Logan? What are you talking about?”
“A life for a life,” he mumbled.
Frightened beyond belief, I took his face in my hands. “What are you talking about?”
“Patrick had my grandfather killed.”
A chill ran through me and my entire body began to tremble. The shaking in my arms caused my hands to fall to my lap. “Why? I don’t understand. He wasn’t a threat.”
Logan’s head was moving back and forth. “Patrick saw him as one. He offered my grandfather a choice: his life for my father’s eternal freedom. And he took it. The stupid old son of a bitch took the offer to free his son.”
“But Patrick’s in jail.”
Logan dropped his head and his voice was low. “Elle, I’ve told you, the Blue Hill Gang still functions no matter where the mob boss is, or who he is for that matter. My father’s servitude was for life, indentured to the Blue Hill Gang. My grandfather freed his son by trading his own life.”
I had to swallow, hard, before I could force myself to speak without my voice crumbling. And even then, “I’m so sorry, Logan. I’m so sorry,” was all I could manage.
“I knew something wasn’t right when I went there yesterday. I should have pushed him more. I should have seen this coming.”
I shifted to sit beside him and I drew him to me. “It wasn’t your fault.” I stroked his hair the same way he stroked mine when I was upset.
“Yeah, it was,” he said, his voice flat and sounding very far away.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I told you how it—” he started to say but before he could finish, he bolted off the bed and ran toward the bathroom, slamming the door in his wake.
In a rush, I hurried after him. When I turned the knob, it was locked. The sound of solid splashing against liquid could be heard through the door. A flush. More splashing. Another flush. Dry heaving.
I knocked lightly. “Logan, let me in. I want to help you.”
Silence.
“Logan, please, let me in.”
The sound of water running.
I flattened my palm to the door and pressed my forehead against it. “Logan, please,” I said softly.
“I need some time, Elle.”
I closed my eyes. “Oh, Logan.”
A soft shuffle on the other side of the door made me think he was standing directly opposite me.