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Those words send a wave of pure relief crashing into my chest. He gives my arm a reassuring squeeze, and I have to swallow hard against the lump rising in my throat when he continues.

“You made a mess. A big one. But you wanna know a secret? Bad people don't agonize over whether they're bad or not. They just don't give a shit. You have time to fix this, man. And stop hiding from yourself.”

I suck in a breath, willing the stinging behind my eyes to stay where it belongs as I pull my best friend into a hug. “Thank you, Huck, for always being there. Even when I wasn’t.”

He chuckles and awkwardly pats my back. “You've been there, too. In your own way.”

We stay like that for a moment while people continue to cry and cough around us. When I finally pull back, Huck raises a brow as a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Next time you spiral, though, maybe call me before you fuck your, uh… whatever Devon is.”

I force a laugh and wipe my runny nose, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Yeah. Noted.”

The tension eases slightly, but it still feels like a weight crushing my chest. I know I don't deserve forgiveness, and Salem will probably never speak to me again. I should give her what she wants, sign those divorce papers and be done with it. But there's still that fear in the back of my head that letting her go means admitting what I've tried so hard to deny.

My thoughts start to circle again when the door to the waiting room creaks open. A nurse steps through, her scrubs wrinkled and hair frizzy like she’s already been through hell tonight.

“Logan Peterson?” she asks, eyes scanning the room.

I shoot to my feet so fast that the chair screeches. “That’s me.”

She glances down at the chart in her hand. “Your brother is stable. He has a fractured nose, some dental trauma, minor contusions and a concussion. We’re keeping him for overnight observation, but you can pick him up in the morning.”

“Can I see him?”

The nurse hesitates. “He actually stated that he doesn’t want any visitors. I'm sorry.”

“Oh.” I force a tight smile to hide the confusing way my chest deflates. “Right. Of course. Thank you.”

She gives me a polite nod and turns, leaving the door swinging slowly behind her.

I stay frozen in place, staring at the floor as I try to process what the fuck is happening to me.

Huck pushes to his feet. “You okay?”

“No,” I murmur, even more confused than I was six months ago when this whole mess started.

Devon doesn’t want to speak to me. My wife can’t even stand the sight of me.

And I’ve got no one to blame but myself.

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

Logan

I've never been more aware of how small this RV is until now.

Gripping the wheel, I gaze out at the road, cornfields passing by as we rumble toward Chicago. Since Huck and Taylor are in the Audi and Christian's in the truck with Arya, I'm stuck driving the two people who hate my guts.

Devon passed out in the passenger seat, high on painkillers and who knows what else. He's got two black eyes, a line of stitches down his cheek and a bandage over his nose. We picked him up from the hospital this morning, but he hasn't said shit to anyone. He just crawled inside and fell asleep.

Then there's Salem, curled up on one of the bunks with her headphones in, blasting some band that I’ve never heard of—As Above. Apparently, they're playing the same music festival that the stunt show is booked for. She hasn't uttered a word either, though her smirk upon seeing Dev this morning didn’t go unnoticed.

Everything feels so wrong. I know the others feel it, too, which is why they all scrambled to drive anything but the RV. Lucky bastards. I wish I could switch with someone, but Huck would try to talk about my feelings. Taylor would try to fix everything, Arya gets on my nerves, and frankly, I just don’t know Christian that well. So, I guess, given the alternatives, this uncomfortable atmosphere is the best option.

At least no one is yelling or hitting each other. That's a plus.