“You think I’m putting you down?” he huffs like he thinks that statement is ludicrous. “I’m making you strong. I don’t want anyone to hurt you. To run over you or treat you badly. I’m teaching you how to get by in this harsh world,” he says, and I deflate. I do believe he means what he is saying.
“Okay, Papa, but I’m asking you to trust me. To have faith in me. What happened with Tristan could’ve happened to anyone, no matter how tough or aware they are. I wish you could see that.”
He sighs. “I see your point.”
His small words feel like a victory and a part of me that’s been broken begins to mend. Standing up for myself almost feels like a cleansing.
“I love you, Papa. Have a good day.” I peck him on the cheek and leave his office.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Liliana
Logan: Would you stop ignoring me?
He texted me yesterday, but I didn’t have the energy to reply. This fever is kicking my ass.
Logan: We’re friends. The other night was a glitch. Don’t read into it.
I still feel like crap. My fever goes up and comes back down and my throat burns, along with this scratchy cough that doesn’t let me sleep.
I sigh. I want to kick myself for losing control in the club that way. I thought I could be friends with Logan but being in the club with the pulse of the music and alcohol flowing in my veins, and I was transported back to Hawaii. The night we danced and made out on the dance floor. The attraction I felt to him was surprising but very real and visceral. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. That feeling doesn’t just turn off because we are in a new environment. I’ve been tricking myself into believing we could be just friends. That my focus is school and grades. Yet I love my job with the team, and I love the stolen moments with Logan when we sit in a coffee shop and talk about life. He’s a good guy. My sister was right, but I can’t jeopardize what I’m building here at Westfall. This move has cost me and my family a lot. I owe it to us all to succeed here, and messing around with him could mean all kinds of trouble.
But he’s right. I shouldn’t ignore him. I like him as a person. We are friends and maybe he does have a point. We can chalk the other night up to a glitch in our friendship.
I cough and feel the burn in my throat.
Me: Sorry. I’ve been sick.
I don’t want him knowing how much that kiss affected me or how much time I’ve been spending thinking about it. We need to stay friends. Period.
Logan: What’s wrong?
Me: Some flu or virus
Logan: Do you have soup?
Me: If you mean the kind from the cafeteria here in the building then yes, I had some earlier when Cait stopped by.
It had been nice of Cait to stop in and bring me soup after she texted me earlier, and I told her I had been in bed the past two days, but the soup basically tasted like crap. I couldn’t finish it.
Logan: Cait’s always complaining about how bad the food tastes.
Me: She’s justified, trust me.
My reply suddenly makes me worry Logan may try to bring me something.
Logan: Feel better soon.
Phew. He didn’t try. Relief washes over me. Okay. I go back to watching Netflix because my mind feels muffled.
Two hours later, there’s a knock on our dorm room door. I look at the clock. I hear one of my suitemates scrambling to get it.
“Holy shit,” I hear Trish cuss.
“Is Lili here?” The male voice is deep and too sexy for his own good.
“Lili, you have a friend here,” Trish shouts.
I feel like a rag and moving at this point is too damn hard.
“Tell him to come to my room,” I shout and then I kind of freak because I look like shit. It’s been forty-eight hours since I showered. I scramble to sit up a little, propping my pillow behind me.
A moment later, Logan is standing in my doorway looking larger than life in a hoodie and varsity jacket. His silver eyes glimmer and his lips turn down as he takes me in.
“You should’ve told me before you weren’t feeling well,” he says and he’s holding a pot.
“I’ve been managing,” I reply, squirming a little that he is seeing me in this state. I lift the blanket up to cover my face. “You shouldn’t come near me. I don’t want you to get sick,” I warn. I’m also pretty sure I forgot to brush my teeth this morning.
“Nah, my immune system is pretty robust,” he says. “Here, I made you soup. It’s still hot.”
He holds the pot by its handles.
“What do you mean? You actually cooked that?” I ask, my tone laced with shock. He never stops ceasing to amaze me. Damn him.
He gives me a half smile that seems almost bashful. “I had to fend for myself growing up. One of our neighbors taught me how to make this soup. It costs under ten dollars and you get a lot of bowls out of it. Plus, there is bone broth in it, which makes it super good for your cough,” he explains.
“It smells delicious,” I admit.
He places the hot pot on my desk. “It’s not hot enough to leave a mark,” he says, which I find ironic because Logan is hot enough that he’s left a mark on me.
He scrambles around and heads over to our kitchen to get a bowl and spoon, and then he fills it with the broth and passes it to me. It makes my throat feel like heaven.
“This is really good,” I say.
“Good.” He grins and takes a seat in my desk chair.
“I can’t believe you made me soup.”
“You’re my friend and you aren’t well. I used to make it for Mom sometimes too,” he says. I saw his mom in Hawaii. She looked young and didn’t have mom vibes about her. When she spoke with Logan, it seemed like she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. Even at the wedding, she seemed more uncomfortable than anything else. It makes me sad for him that he didn’t have proper care growing up and yet he’s this caring man.
My cell rings. The screen lights up and it’s on my desk.
“It’s your mom,” Logan says, passing me the phone.
“I better take it. She’s been very worried.” She’s also super upset Papa hasn’t been by to check in on me since I’ve been sick. I take the phone and answer the call. “Hi, Mama.”
“You don’t sound so good. I should come down there,” she says. Mama drives but highways make her nervous.
“I’m okay, you don’t need to worry. Logan is here and he just made me a soup.”
“That’s so nice of him to buy you soup,” she replies.
“It’s homemade and very good. It’s hitting the spot,” I assure Mama. When I returned from Hawaii Alessa and I told her about the nice guy I met on the trip, and then we told her he is one of Papa’s players. She promised to keep the secret. She knows how intense Papa can be about his players.
“The boy made you soup?” she asks with surprise.
“Yeah.” I can’t talk right now. I don’t need Logan to see me swoon or hear Mama swooning over the phone. “I got to go, Mama.”
“Okay, mija. Tell the boy I say thank you for taking care of my daughter. Call me if you need me,” she answers. “Love you, feel better.”