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"Stop it. I didn't mean it like that." His hand snaked under my chin, tugging my gaze to his. "You never have to apologize to me, okay? Never."
I gave a slow nod. I believed him. That was what made Logan so special, that understanding. Other people offered support, but they didn't really get it, not like he did. He saw through me. He knew my demons and the way to slay them.
"I don't know what to do now," I said.
"Me either."
"I can't keep pretending anymore."
He shifted beneath me. "Pretending?"
"That there's not something here. It hurts, it feels like a betrayal, but it's there. I can't ignore it."
He took a long time answering. "You should."
After what we'd just shared, th
at stung. I lifted my head, propping myself up on my elbow so I could turn to face him. "Why?"
"Because this," he gestured to the space between us, "is a recipe for disaster. I told you I wanted to protect you, and part of that is protecting you from me."
"You'd never hurt me," I said. I'm not sure where that conviction came from, but it felt true. I was safe with him.
"Not intentionally, but that doesn't mean I won't." He hauled himself up into a sitting position, taking a moment to run a hand through his hair. There were tired lines around his eyes now, as if the weight of the conversation was pressing down on him. "I had a fiancé once, too. Fiona. Beautiful girl, half American, half Filipino. We met at the end of high school and I just fell, hard. Up until that moment, everything had been simple for me. I had a plan — enlist in the army, fight for my country, save the world, all that ridiculous macho teenage crap — but suddenly I had a reason to stay. I put my career off for a while, but she didn't like that. She wanted me to be happy, even though it would be tough for us, so a year later I shipped out.
"Somehow we made the long distance thing work despite the odds. I loved her and I like to think she loved me, too. One summer, two years later, when I was back on leave, we got engaged. We had so many plans. Start a family, a business, buy a house; the fucking American dream." He gave a sick little laugh. "It turns out they call it a dream for a reason.
"I told you that what happened over there affected me, but I don't think you understand the extent of it. I'm not the same guy I was before I left. Some pretty fundamental shit inside me is just broken. In retrospect, I think she saw the signs, but she played them down. She wanted it to work as much as I did. But as soon as I came back for good, there was no ignoring it anymore. Fi tried, fuck knows she tried, but there's only so much a person can take. I don't blame her for leaving. I don't blame any of the women since. I've come to realize that that sort of thing is just beyond me now. I've accepted that. I don't want to cause any more pain."
"And what about what I want?" I asked, my voice soft and trembling.
His fists bunched and he shot to his feet. "You don't get it! Wanting it isn't enough. This is about survival. I'm messed up, Grace. You saw what I just did with Jonah. I came within a breath of pounding him into the floor just for talking to you, a girl I don't have any claim over. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Nothing about my life is normal. I'm a psychiatrist's wet dream. I can't give you what you need."
I knew he was telling the truth, and part of me was frightened by that, but it didn't matter. When I thought of all the possible paths that could stem from that moment, only one of them wasn't shrouded in darkness. "What I need is to keep feeling like there's some hope that things will get better," I said, "and I didn't have that until I met you. Everything has been dark for so long. Every happy memory I ever had seems to involve Tom, and now that he's gone I'm terrified I'll never have any more. But ten minutes ago, when we were...together, for the first time since he died, that feeling was gone. I felt peaceful. You have no idea what that means to me."
He looked shaken, his mouth pulled into a tight little line. "Jesus," he said, closing his eyes.
"I know you want to protect me and I appreciate that, but I'm a big girl, Logan. I can make my own decisions. Maybe this really is a terrible idea. Maybe I'll wake up in a week and it will hurt too much. Maybe it will break me. But we both know we can't go on like this, torturing one another. If it's a choice between losing you all together or taking that risk, then for me it's no choice at all."
His breath was coming long and hard. Conflict raged across his face. "I need to think."
"Okay." The irony of the situation did not escape me. Here I was wrestling with the ghost of a dead lover, yet Logan was the unsure one. But what else could I say?
"You should go home," he said, pausing at the door.
"In a minute."
All I got in reply was a quick nod.
When he'd left, I lay there alone on the mats, fresh tears brimming in my eyes. Was he correct? Was this a recipe for disaster? I had no idea what I was doing. All I knew was that it felt right, and that had to count for something.
*****
Logan didn't come to the bar the next day. Whether he wasn't scheduled to work or he traded his shifts, I don't know. I stayed away from the gym. That was his realm, and if he wanted to think then he deserved space. I'd said my piece.
My shift moved at a snail's pace. I tried to distract myself, but my mind only wanted to focus on one thing. There was this immense anxiety clutching at my chest, like I was waiting to hear my prognosis from some crippling illness.
I wanted to hate myself for what I'd done, but I couldn't. I'd told Logan the truth: what I felt for him was real. But my feelings weren't the only ones that mattered. Logan was even more conflicted over this than I was. I didn't know what I'd do if he said no. I was making progress, but losing him would be another blow, and I didn't know if I had the strength to recover from that. There are only so many times you can fall before you don't get back up again.
