But my gaze remained glued to Logan’s. I stared into his wary eyes until I could no longer see them because my lips were on his and my eyes were closed. Logan didn’t take over, he didn’t rush me—he gave and gave and let me take. And even though we had an audience I took my fill.
It wasn’t until we were in the Suburban on our way to Logan’s that the drama of the morning knocked the wind out of me. One moment I was sitting there staring at the window and the next second I was hyperventilating. I didn’t know if it was a delayed reaction to the car chase, the knowledge Guy was basically stalking me, that I’d shot a gun out of the back of a car moving at a high rate of speed, knowing I’d injured someone, or the news that Logan loved me.
Weirdly I thought it was the news that Logan loved me. Don’t get me wrong; I cared that I’d shot someone—I mean, who shoots someone? Even if that person was shooting at us, I didn’t actually want to hurt them. I just didn’t want to die. Now everything was tangling in my mind. The bewilderment that he’d announced his feelings in front of a room full of people. Logan seemed to blurt things out when tension was high. Maybe that was why I felt like I was going to pass out from the anxiety, worry, and relief that seem to be on constant repeat.
“Ren, you need to slow your breathing,” Logan clipped.
“I…can’t.”
“Fuck.”
“Echo, Jasper, and Lenox are right behind us,” he assured me.
I knew they were; I saw all three men get into their vehicles. Further, I knew it was highly unlikely that we’d be involved in two high-speed chases in one day. But rational thought didn’t stop the panic from bubbling up.
“You love me?”
“What?”
I kept my eyes on my lap and asked again, “You love me?”
“Yeah.”
Weird, he didn’t hesitate. That made it harder to breathe.
“I think I’m mad at you,” I told him.
“Because I love you?”
“Yes,” I hissed. “I tried so damn hard to get you to pay attention to me, to the point I embarrassed myself. Then I had to let you go, and that hurt. Then in an effort to get over you, I started dating a criminal and a loser. Then we get together and start having sex at which time you tell me you’ll never love me, and that breaks my heart. Knowing, unequivocally, I’ll never have you in any real way. Then you screw with my head more and tell me you’re never letting me go. And that gives me hope but at the same time scares the hell out of me because I was trying so hard not to fall in love with you more. I was trying to be who I needed to be so when you left me you didn’t rip me to shreds. Now—now—you say you love me. After all of that. After my heart broke, a stupid asshole cheated on me, you convinced me I was better off being alone than loving someone, now, now you love me.”
Since I was speaking it would seem I could breathe, but my breath was coming out in quick, rapid puffs, and I was surprised I wasn’t spitting out fire along with my words.
“I fucked up.”
“You fucked up?”
I felt something hit my thigh and looked down to see Logan’s hand, palm up resting there.
“Give me your hand.”
The moment I set my hand over his, palm to palm, his fingers curled and squeezed.
“Way before I met you I fucked up by not dealing with family shit. I buried it, not wanting to examine how a father could stab his son. How a man could hurt his wife. I couldn’t understand any of it so I shoved it down and did the only thing I could do. I built walls. I told myself lies and I repeated them so often they became my truth. Love couldn’t be real. I needed to believe that to explain how Dave could hurt us.”
Whoa.
Logan had never told me his dad’s name. His sisters didn’t either. It was like uttering the dead man’s name would conjure up demons. Like Bloody Mary, say Dave Haines three times and somehow the man would appear.
“I needed a reason,” Logan continued. “Every morning before he left for work he’d tell my mom he loved her. Sometimes I’d see them sitting on the couch and his arm would be around her and it was like everything was normal. We were normal. But if something set him off he didn’t blink before he blackened her eye. He wasn’t a drunk, he had a decent job, we lived in a nice house in a nice neighborhood, from the outside we looked like a regular family. In public, Dave was a loving husband, a father, a decent man. And since I needed a reason and there wasn’t one to be found I told myself that love was bullshit, it wasn’t real, it made you stupid, it made you vulnerable to pain. But mostly I told myself that I had Dave inside of me and if I ever loved a woman, I’d use my fists to show her.
“So I fucked up. It started when I was a kid, it grew after Lucy was born and Dave hit me for the first time, and it got worse after the twins. I was older—he could hit me harder but I was also bigger, I was learning to stick up for myself. But it got worse when I turned thirteen. I was tall, I had a little bit of strength, and I had a whole lot of anger. He’d threaten Lucy and I’d step in and piss him off so he’d come after me. He’d go at my mom and I’d push him so he’d stop nailing her and turn to me. Dave loved us all—at picnics, at barbeques, during family get-togethers—after he beat the fuck out of us. He loved us then. How in the fuck is that love?”
Oh. My. God.
“Honey, that’s not love,” I said barely above a whisper.
“You’re right, it’s not. But how the fuck was I supposed to know that? That was all I knew. My mom would leave, he’d drag us back. My mom would leave again, he’d drag us back. She had not a single credit card in her name, didn’t work, he controlled the money, and her family wouldn’t help her. They didn’t believe in divorce. I don’t know if she ever told them how bad it was or that he was hitting us, all I know is they refused to help. So she’d go back to her husband that loved her so he could beat her more.”
I was staring at our hands. My small one was engulfed by his much larger one. Battered and scarred knuckles, fresh cuts from hitting the heavy bag. A fist that could do so much damage. Fingertips that had touched me gently.
I couldn’t fathom how he’d survived. How Dee had survived knowing Dave was harming Logan. How scared she must’ve been, trapped, imprisoned, tied to a horrible man. Twenty-five years ago there wasn’t as much help out there for abused women as there was today. She must’ve felt so alone. I hated that for her, for all of them, for a thirteen-year-old boy who was born a protector yet could not protect his mom.
“I’m sorry I fucked up and hurt you, Ren.”
My heart clenched and guilt crept in.
“I shouldn’t have said that, honey. That wasn’t fair. I’m the one who should be sorry. I don’t even know why I said it.”
“Because it’s the truth. Everything you said is the truth. I was so afraid of hurting you I didn’t see I was hurting you. I’d lived my life knowing I’d never get married or have kids or be in any sort of relationship. It was a given. Even after my friends found women and I saw what it meant, how when a good man loves and it doesn’t cause pain how beautiful it is. I still knew I had Dave inside of me and I would never take the chance.