“I’m losin’ my fuckin’ mind, here, Tommy. I need you to wake up, mate.” I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. “I need you to tell me you know where she is. You dropped her off somewhere . . . or she left with some bloke—I don’t even care. As long as she’s safe. As long as she’s all right.”
There’s a pressure on the back of my eyes that blurs my vision. And my voice cracks. “I really fuckin’ need you to do that. You’re the only hope I’ve got left.”
Regret is the sharpest blade. It stabs, slices off pieces of my insides as I drive home. It’s dark now and raining. A cold, steady downpour that saturates your clothes and numbs your skin.
But I’m not numb.
Because my wall has crumbled. Collapsed in great, heaving chunks. I don’t fight the pain when it rushes me, consumes me. Sitting in the car in the driveway outside my house, I sink down into it, letting it swallow me whole, a thousand blades cutting at once.
When I step out, the rain soaks me. I brace my hand on the roof of the car, groaning from the grief. The agony.
I like your tie.
She was here. She was beautiful and precious and so very alive.
One of these days . . . I’m going to save you back.
And I had all those years, all those moments when I knew—I knew what I felt for her, but I was just too fucking cautious to do something about it.
I like you, Logan.
Men aren’t supposed to be hesitant. Not men like me. And not about women like her. But she wasn’t just some girl. She never was. Not from the very first moment.
Do you ever think of me?
Her words drift through my mind, repeating in whispers like a taunting song, as I walk up the path to the front steps of my house.
It’s always been you. Always.
So many mistakes and missed chances.
Do you feel it too?
And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.
I sink down to my knees, because my legs refuse to hold me up anymore. My back bows and I lift my face to the sky, letting the rain mix with the regret and sorrow leaking from my eyes.
Because I should have told her. I should have given her those words. And I would give anything . . . I would die for the chance to go back and tell her now. Tell her the truth.
I feel it too, Ellie. I always have.
A WHITE LIGHT.
That’s the first thing I see when I open my eyes. I squint, then blink against its brightness. And the sound of rushing water fills my ears. No . . . rain. Raindrops on rooftops. Where are the whiskers on kittens?
If I’m quoting The Sound of Music, I must really be out of it—one too many glasses of liquid courage at The Goat. It takes me a minute to wake up and realize where I am. Whose rooftop the rain is pounding on and how the heck I got here.
And then I remember. I cover my eyes with my hand, to shield them from the porch light.
At Logan’s house.
I wanted to see him, talk to him, and I knew I couldn’t do that under Tommy’s watchful gaze. So, a few hours after Logan ghosted me I shimmied out the bathroom window—and thank God, God made me like I am, because it was a tight freaking fit. Then I skipped down the alley, caught a cab and came here.
But, of course—no Logan. And like an idiot, I’d left my phone on the bar, and I couldn’t even call him. His porch swing was looking mighty comfy and I can now confirm it’s amazeballs.
I sit up, rubbing my eyes and patting down my hair, in case I’ve got swing head. And then a noise comes from over by the steps. It’s a whimper—like the sound a wounded animal would make. Slowly, I walk over, and that’s when I see him.
Logan, out in the rain, kneeling on the walkway, bent over and pressing his forehead to the last step, groaning words I can’t understand. And I know something awful has happened.
“Logan?”
He rears up, leaning back on his calves, his eyes wide and wilder than I’ve ever seen them. Out of control. There’s a cut on his cheek and black streaks on his clothes. His mouth opens, then closes. He stares at me, breathing hard.
“Are you . . . are you real?”
He reaches out his hand toward me. And it’s trembling.
I come down the steps, into the rain. “Of course I’m real, Logan.”
I feel tears rise in my eyes. Because he looks so devastated. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? What happened?”
I kneel down on the sopping path, take his hand and press it against my cheek. As soon as he touches me, he inhales a deep, scraping breath and yanks me forward. Clasping me to him. He engulfs me in his arms. Wholly. Fully. Like he’s trying to absorb me. Squeezing so tight, it’s hard to breathe.
And it’s not just his hand that’s trembling—he’s shaking everywhere.