I was hung over, sitting with the phone to my ear listening to Logan’s words, and feeling like crying. Him saying stuff like that made it difficult to keep my emotions hardened against him.
Logan had been worried. He had nightmares. He thought he was failing me.
I wasn’t going to cry. God, it felt overwhelmingly good that he’d been worried, and it scared me. I didn’t want any guy to ever control me again.
He wanted to make certain I was safe. He knew Ethan was a dog and freaked on him. “I gave him my number,” I blurted out.
He made a sort of grunt. “All I had to do was get you drunk? Eme, really?”
“Well, in my defense I was pissed at you. So I gave it to him.”
“You were pissed at me?”
“Yeah, Logan. I was mad.”
“Why, baby?” His tone had softened, and I imagined him singing a slow love ballad in his graveled, sexy voice, microphone between his hands, eyes closed. Yeah, I knew he could sing a love song really well. And I didn’t want to answer his question. “Why?”
I rubbed my hand down the side of my face. If I wasn’t so hung over I’d have some kind of evasive technique. “You didn’t call.”
“Sweet Jesus.”
“I was being stupid, and I wanted to try and forget you, and alcohol can do that if you drink enough, which I tried to do but—”
“Engraved Emily.” I knew exactly what he meant. “I know you’re scared about us, but when I get back we’ll work it out. Baby, if you need a call from me then call. If I’m busy I’ll tell you I’m busy, and I’ll call you back. Don’t go out pissed off at me and drink with the girls all night and give your number to some guy you don’t know.” I heard him cover the mouth piece and shout something to Crisis. “Eme, I have to go.”
“Okay. Logan?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I mean for whatever happened to you after ... you know, after you,” I took a deep breath, “got me out.”
There was breathing on the other end, but he didn’t respond.
“Deck said last night ... he respects you. He said it was bad after I left. It had to do with me leaving, didn’t it?”
He still didn’t answer.
“Tell me he didn’t hurt you.” I felt the tears well up, because I knew. Deck wouldn’t push this if it wasn’t something horrible, and knowing Raul and his cruel streak, I suspected he didn’t take me leaving and Logan’s involvement very well.
“I’ll call you later before the gig. Coffee. Advil. Then a big breakfast. Okay?”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Eat something, Eme.”
“Okay.”
“If Ethan calls, you tell him you don’t date dogs.”
I smiled. Logan hung up.
I held the phone to my chest, trying to hold back tears. I realized that Logan not saying anything meant whatever went down had been bad. Raul was cruel, but would he have harmed his own son? I knew already—yes. Raul wouldn’t let anyone get away with making him out to be a fool.
Chapter 21
Logan texted me numerous times over the next couple days. Little reminders that he was sweet and ... yes, he was reminding me of the Logan I once loved. He still laid it out raw and in my face that this—us—was going somewhere, but instead of getting angry at him for pushing for more than I wanted, I found myself smiling and rolling my eyes.
Logan would be back in four days, and despite our recent texting and conversations, I still had trouble trusting him. Once he got back, I knew things would have to change, and I did realize that I may have to move from the farm sooner than I had anticipated. Logan and I may be talking, but living together was not something I was even close to considering.
He’d called last night twice. It was noisy and difficult to talk when Crisis and Kite kept yelling at one another while playing what sounded like a video game in the background. So, he called me back later after the guys crashed. I lay in bed talking to him for an hour, mostly about stuff we liked, music, food, movies. It wasn’t deep, but it was nice, and it was normal. Logan and I hadn’t had much normal.
I picked up my phone which sadly, I hated to admit, went everywhere with me in case Logan texted—pathetic—and ran downstairs. Kat was already sitting on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on her lap and two glasses of red wine on the coffee table. We’d decided that an evening of The Walking Dead was in order.
I plopped down and grabbed my pillow and beer then set my phone on the table. Kat glanced at it, brows raised. Then she smiled and stuck her tongue out and wiggled it.
“Gross, Kat.”
“You won’t be saying that when he gets back and has his head between your thighs.” She turned up the volume on the TV when I started stuttering my objection.
I reached over and picked up a kernel of popcorn and threw it at her.
It hit her right on the temple. I heard the sound of ripping guts in the background.
“It’s not like that.” I popped a few kernels in my mouth and took a sip of wine.
Kat picked up a piece of popcorn and threw it back at me. I turned my head at the last second, and it bounced off my ear. “Sculpt wants in your pants.”
“Sculpt was in my pants, now he doesn’t get that.” I threw the rest of my handful of popcorn at her. It tangled in her hair, and she set her wine down then picked it out one at a time. “Talking to Sculpt is my therapy.”