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“Logan,” she said unsteadily.
“We’re done.” And then he was gone.
Billie was shaking when she turned to Betty. “Why would you do that? Why?”
For a moment Betty said nothing. Then she shrugged. “Because I could. Because as my therapist has told me many, many times, the truth will set you free.”
“Oh, my God, you’re so full of shit, Bets,” Bobbi said.
“I hate you,” Billie whispered. “Why did you even come home?’
Betty’s smiled faltered for the first time, disappearing altogether as she crossed the room and grabbed the bag she had set on the floor.
“Truth?” she said casually.
“Why stop now,” Bobbi muttered.
“I came home because my ex-lover stole all my money, my modeling contracts were cancelled because I couldn’t prove that I was clean, and my agent fired me.” She shrugged, “I came home because I had nowhere else to go.”
Chap
ter Twenty-eight
There was something satisfying about designing a custom bike, or car or any vehicle for that matter. Coming up with the idea, the meat and potatoes that would make the vehicle different and exciting. Drawing the idea and getting it down on paper. Searching for the materials. The right leather. The right paint. The right chrome.
It was all in the details and it was something Logan looked forward to. Starting a new project and presenting it to his team.
Except it wasn’t working real well at the moment and tiredly, he sat back in his chair and glanced up at the clock.
It was noon. Thursday. Thanksgiving Thursday to be exact.
His cell phone vibrated and he grabbed it off his desk, wincing at the terse message from his mother. Leave it to his mom to not mince any words.
[i]You better be lying in a ditch somewhere[i].
Nice. He frowned and tossed the cell back without sending a reply.
The shop was quiet—closed for the holiday—and at the moment it was the only place he wanted to be. He couldn’t stand being in his house. It still smelled like Billie. Some of her clothes were there, and that stupid ass Bugs Bunny toothbrush she’d bought at the dollar store.
He hadn’t seen or talked to her since the big blowup Monday night, though Shane had made a point to tell him that the team had won their Tuesday game, both games on Wednesday and that they’d be playing in the championship against the team that Seth Longwood had joined.
Shane hadn’t pushed Logan when he’d told him that he wasn’t interested in playing in the tournament. He hadn’t said anything about Billie either. It was a guy thing. They didn’t believe in getting all touchy feely.
His gut churned at the thought and he swore, kicked his chair back and stood. Logan was wound tighter than he could ever remember, his muscles corded tight at his neck and his fists continually balled at his side. When the hell had Billie-Jo Barker come to mean so much to him?
And what the hell was he going to do about it? He couldn’t trust her. Hell, he didn’t even know if he [i]knew[i] her.
The door to his office opened and he glanced up, his jaw un-clenching when he spied Shane.
“You look like shit,” Shane said, and pointed to the empty bottle of whiskey on his desk. “You drank that by yourself?”
Logan sighed and ran his hands across the stubble that shadowed his jaw. “What do you want, Gallagher? Don’t you have a game to get to?”
“Yeah, I do. We could use you.”
He shook his head. “Nope, not interested.”
“I see.” Shane walked into the office. “Because you’ve got so much more interesting things to do? It’s fucking Thanksgiving and you’re here? I bet Mama Forest isn’t too happy about that.”
