Heat Wave(114)

How different life would have been if Juliet hadn’t walk in at that moment. But then again, maybe we needed those years apart in order to learn what we really wanted. Logan and I were both blinded by her in our own ways, and in the end it was Juliet that kept us united.

So for that, I owe my sister the world.

A tear falls from my eyes, splashing on the hat. I take in a deep breath, trying to keep calm and steady. It’s nights like this that are the worst. When I come home and I’m alone and there is a world out there that I’m no longer a part of. My heart aches to belong again. It aches to belong to the island, to the spirit of aloha. It aches to belong to my friends, my ohana, and it aches to belong to him.

I close my eyes as the feeling rushes through me, trying to stay strong. I don’t want to cry over this anymore, I don’t want to want anymore. I just want to move on, I just want to be happy in the way I was happy before.

Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow see about a raise at your job. Tomorrow look for other positions. Go out and meet someone. Start anew.

It’s easier said than done, but I know it’s the only way I can move forward here. Going back to Kauai and Moonwater and Logan isn’t an option. I have to stop pretending it is.

I put the hat away and get changed into my tank top and shorts, turning up the small air conditioning unit in my room. It’s overly cold and I wake up with a stuffy nose, but it’s the only way to survive the summer here. It isn’t like Hawaii where a wooden overhead fan would suffice.

I’m just about to crawl into bed when I hear a faint knock at the front door. I eye the clock. It’s ten at night. I briefly wonder if it’s Arch having a change of heart, or perhaps one of the guys that Claire shuts down on a regular basis. Either way, we don’t normally get visitors at this hour, or really any hour. Claire and I aren’t exactly welcoming to people who randomly drop by. We don’t work that way and anyhow, that’s what the god damn buzzer is for and why we usually ignore it. Unfortunately, in our building, the main door is open half the time.

I’m about to go open my bedroom door and spy when suddenly there’s a knock at it and I jump back nervously.

“Ron,” Claire says quickly from the other side. “Ron open up, please.”

Oh god. What the fuck is happening?

I open the door an inch to see her peering at me wide-eyed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Someone is here to see you,” she says in a hush.

“Who? Arch?”

She just stares at me, her eyes going wider and takes a step away from the door, looking away toward the front door. She doesn’t say anything.

I frown and step out into the apartment. “What’s wrong with you?” I hiss before I follow her gaze. The front door is open and there’s a shadow in the hallway beyond it. I can’t see who it is. Everything about this is ominous.

“Claire,” I say to her. “Who is that?”

She just shakes her head and says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.”

I push past her and head for the door, my heart thudding against my rib cage like an animal trying to escape.

I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a wave, moments before the fall.

And then it happens.

I look out into the hallway.

Standing there, like he’s always been there, is Logan Shephard.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO




I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

My heart is lodged in my throat, my lungs have turned to stone. The only part of me that’s working are my eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to take him all in.

Because this can’t be what I’m seeing.

This can’t be him.

“Veronica,” he says and the sound of his voice, that beautiful, rich, accented voice, causes the rest of me to slowly come unglued.

He looks like he does in my dreams, the Logan I imagine whispering to me at night as I fall asleep, the Logan I cried over, wishing I could see him one more time in case my memories weren’t enough.

And they weren’t enough. Seeing him in the flesh makes me realize that my memories could never compare. Hair that remains dark and strong, thick, with the lightest amber highlights peppered through, no doubt from the sun, with just a hint of grey. His eyes that aren’t just brown, but mahogany and teak and the koa wood that the Hawaiians use, shiny and dark and rich. His mouth isn’t just full and wide, it twists crookedly even when he’s not smiling.

And he’s not smiling now. He’s staring at me with the same sort of pained awe that must be on my own face.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. My words feel so small, muffled by shock.

He stares at me, eyes searching, his chest rising as he breathes heavily. The hallway seems so stark and cold, too big for the both of us. I have to lean against the doorframe to stay upright, centered.