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"What did he say to make you so upset?"
I gave a dismissive wave. "It's not important."
"Bullshit. He comes in, speaks to you for thirty seconds and you just fall apart." He stepped closer, those hard features heavy with concern. "Look, I'm no idiot. It's pretty obvious your ex has something to do with all this. I get that it hurts and you just want to bottle it all up so you don't have to feel it all the time, but if I don't know what's going to set you off then I can't protect you."
I shook my head. "You can't protect me. Not from this. It's too late."
"Maybe, but I can damn well try to protect you from yourself."
His eyes blazed, radiating intensity. For the hundredth time I wondered, who the hell was this guy? He was so stubborn, so relentless in his desire to help. I wasn't sure I had the energy to keep fighting him.
"Tom was my fiancé. He was a poker player, that's why we moved here." I closed my eyes, my hand shooting up to cup my mouth as though in a last ditch effort to hold the words back. "He killed himself about five months ago. A massive dose of painkillers."
"Jesus Christ," said Logan, pulling me in for a hug. It felt so easy, so natural. "I'm so sorry, Grace."
"Me too," I replied, pressing myself against him. Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back.
"Do you know why he did it?" Logan asked carefully.
"Gambling debts. I don't know the details."
Logan nodded, but said nothing. With my ear against his chest, I could hear his heartbeat, slow and powerful and rhythmic, like crashing waves. It was a soothing sound, so I concentrated on it, letting the vibration flow through me.
"I can't get the image of it out of my mind," I said after a while. "His body slumped on the sofa like that. He was so limp, so...empty." A shiver rolled through me.
"It will get easier.
"And what if I don't want it to get easier?" My voice was tiny, and I had to force each word from my mouth. "What if I deserve this?"
"You don't." He sounded so certain, but that just egged me on further. I'd been nursing my guilt for so long it was a part of me now, like another limb, and he was trying to take it away.
"I do! I was supposed to be his confidant, his closest friend. I was supposed to love him, so why did I ignore the signs? What kind of fiancé does that make me? I should have known! I should have known..." The words dissolved into a sob as the pressure finally grew too strong. I pulled away and buried my face in my hands.
For a few moments, I cried in silence, but then I felt an impossibly strong arm slip around my shoulder. "I know what it's like; full of rage with no one to blame, but you can't take responsibility for his decisions. I know it hurts to hear, but he did this, not you. Punishing yourself like that will eat you faster than any grief."
My chest constricted, and a bolt of anger shot through me. This was what I wanted to feel. Not self-pity or hope, but white hot rage. "How dare you!" I pushed his arm away, shooting to my feet. "You don't get to assign blame here. You don't know!" I screamed. "You don't know at all. You're full of all this sage advice, but it's not the same. I held his fucking body in my arms. How could you possibly know what that's like?"
I stormed toward the street, everything inside me churning.
"I know." Something in his voice made me pause. I turned slowly back toward him. His eyes were fixed firmly on the ground in front of him, his expression grim as night.
It took him a moment to continue. "My best friend in the force was a guy named Connor, although everyone just called him Ace on account of him being fucking awful at cards." He gave a sick little smile at the irony of that. "We came up together in training and just clicked. He was one of those guys who would just do anything for you, you know?
"Eventually he wound up in my squad when I shipped out the last time. One of our jobs over there was training the local security forces, teaching them to deal with the insurgents themselves. One evening, we were winding down in a little village after a session with the Afghani military, when I sent Ace out to check in with our guys on watch. It wasn't standard procedure, but something in the air had me on edge, and I wanted an update. About ten seconds later, the attack came.
"By the time I got outside, it was fucking chaos. A ton of our guys were already down and there was shit flying everywhere; smoke, bullets, blood. Fighting back wasn't an option. Somehow I made it behind a rock without taking a hit, and that's where I found Ace." Logan's voice was soft and unfocused now, like someone talking in his sleep. My anger ebbed. There was no ignoring how painful this was for him to recount. "His vest had soaked up a few rounds, but his arms and legs were shot to shit and he'd taken some shrapnel to the chest. I managed to carry him back to the medical chopper, and they got him to the hospital, but it wasn't enough."
He paused for a few seconds and sucked in a long breath. "He died on that bed a day later without ever regaining consciousness. I sat with him the whole time, talking, praying, and he just slipped away."
His eyes refocused on me. "I really do get it, that guilt. What if I'd sent him a minute later? Or not at all? Would we both have made it? Or what if I followed my instincts earlier? Maybe we'd have stopped the attack all together. We'd have saved a whole lot of lives that way. So many questions, so many possibilities."
There were fresh tears rising behind my eyes now, and this time they weren't for me. I felt like the world's biggest bitch. "I...I'm sorry, Logan. I'm sorry."
He nodded, seemingly not trusting himself to speak. I couldn't blame him. That scene was more horrific than anything I'd experienced in my life. I was struck by an immense sense of shame. How much death had Logan seen? How many friends had been ripped away from him, before his eyes? It didn't bear thinking about. And here I was crying over one lost life. I probably looked so childish. If Logan could find a way to overcome his pain, then so could I.
"How do you stop it destroying you?" I asked.
"By acknowledging you don't control
