“It wasn’t one thing,” he finally said, his voice cracking. “But everything, really. When your parents split and your mom took off for New Mexico, and you told me—”
She gasped. “I’d never leave my dad. I’d never be so selfish to run away from Atlanta like that.” She remembered the conversation. They’d been lying under the magnolia tree in the park. He’d blocked them off from the world with their bikes set up as a barrier around them, and given her all the tissues he could stuff in his pockets. She still got snot on his shirt. “But I was twelve! And I don’t even like my dad anymore. Most of the time.”
“Yeah, but you still won’t leave him.”
The truth of that stabbed her right in the heart. No, probably not. “He has golf. He doesn’t need daughters.”
“Too bad he was blessed with three. A fact you strangely feel guilty for, even though you’re amazing and he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Let’s not fight about my dad.”
He laughed quietly in her ear. “Let’s not fight about anything.”
“Deal.” She twisted out of his arms and paced toward the water. When she turned around, he was just watching her, his hands tucked into his pockets. She licked her lips, tasting the salt in the air. “What else?”
“Home Ec, freshman year.”
She rolled her eyes. Was all his evidence from when she was a stupid teenager? “What did I say?”
He shrugged, and she could tell even in the moonlight he looked a little embarrassed. “More of what you wrote.”
She was totally confused. “Oh, for goodness sake, Logan, just tell me!”
“When we had the flour sack baby. In your parenting journal, you wrote—”
“You read my parenting journal?” No wonder he was embarrassed, the rat fink bastard. “That was private!”
“Well, you were such a good fake-baby mom, and I didn’t know what to put in my journal, so I thought I’d just get an idea or two.”
Instead, he’d read…her cheeks flushed at the memory. She’d loved that stupid nylon-covered weighted sack. And she’d written a lot about how the experiment was preparing her for adulthood and motherhood, something she couldn’t wait to experience. How mortifying that must have been for a fifteen-year-old boy to read about his best friend. “Those were just the fantasy musings of a teenage girl,” she said tightly. “And apparently, they made you run screaming for the hills.”
“I wasn’t the guy for you.”
“Made that decision all by yourself, huh?” Hot tears welled unexpectedly in her eyes. “Well, I ended up going a totally different path anyway.”
“It wasn’t just that. It was…everything. You were smart and ambitious. And you wanted the same in a partner, even in high school. You didn’t give a guy a second glance if he wasn’t college-bound. And that never changed, did it? You’ve got a type. Well-educated, professional, family-oriented—”
“Loyal to a fault. Clever. Capable. Strong. You don’t think all of those would be desirable traits?”
“I wasn’t any of those things back then.” His voice cracked, and with it went her heart. Oh, Logan.
“You didn’t have to leave.”
“You didn’t have to stay.”
There it was. Because she had thought about following him—and when she didn’t, she’d sealed their fate. Would her choice have been any different if she’d known he loved her as more than a friend? “I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t want you to know.”
“Then why did you kiss me today?”
“Because I was weak.”
Oh, that was the wrong answer. Fury filled her. Again, she wasn’t enough. And too much at the same time. Too tempting, when that had never been her intention. But even then, even when he gave in some base desire, she wasn’t enough for anything else. The tears were gonna fall any second, and she was not going to give him that as well.
No, she’d given him enough for one day.
And she’d given men in general more than enough for an entire lifetime.
Tori was done with a capital d. Done.
With an outraged growl, she stormed past him and grabbed her high heels from the top of the dune. Then she took off at a run, adrenaline pushing her faster and faster as she flew up the dark path, heading anywhere but where Logan was.
Eleven
There wasn’t a chance in hell he was letting her run into the night without giving chase. Swearing under his breath, Logan grabbed his shoes and took off after her. The sand gave way to a wooden boardwalk, then a smooth cement path. He didn’t run on concrete in his bare feet that often—he wasn’t an idiot—but his dress shoes weren’t meant for running in either, and he wasn’t slowing down to put them on.
He caught up to her as they passed the first resort building, but he didn’t close the gap.
Sometimes a hard run was just the cathartic release someone needed.
She was pumping her arms, her heels dangling from one hand, as she rounded the corner toward their villa, and then the hypnotic pattern was broken as she lifted her other hand and swiped at her face.
He slowed down.
Shit. She was crying.