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"It's not like I didn't think about coming back, once I heard you were awake," he said eventually. "I thought about it every second of every day." The lull seemed to have drained him of rage. Now, he just sounded impossibly tired.
"And why didn't you?"
His expression twisted in disgust. "I couldn't face you, not after what I did. I fucking abandoned you, Grace."
"I might have forgiven you."
He scoffed. "Then you'd be an even bigger idiot than me. You deserve so much better than this." He gestured to himself and the bottles on the floor. "You deserve someone who doesn't break down at the first hint of trouble."
"I hate when you say things like that. This whole time you've been worried you're not good enough for me, like I can't make my own decisions."
"Look at me. This isn't the last time this will happen. You know what I am."
"I thought I did. I thought you were the man I loved. The man who loved me."
His nostrils flared and he opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but then he seemed to change his mind.
Instead, he rose to his feet and turned away. "Why did you really come here? Did you want an apology? Did you just want to make me feel like an even bigger asshole?"
I wished I had an answer. "I don't know. I just needed to see you."
"Well, you've done that. I'm not going to throw you out, but I can throw myself out. I can't be here anymore. It's too hard. Please, I'm begging you, just leave. Go and live your life. Go and cook beautiful food and travel and find someone who has the strength to be there when you need them." He stumbled toward the entrance, pausing momentarily at the cusp. "There's nothing left for you here, Grace."
And then the door was closing behind him. He didn't look back.
I sunk down into the sofa, fresh tears streaming from my eyes. The familiarity of that parting line struck something deep inside me. It was eerily similar to the final words of Tom's suicide note. Two men, both willing to destroy themselves because they thought I'd be better off. My emotions were in tatters.
I'd known Logan had issues — that self-loathing he carried around like a virus inside him — but I hadn't realized the magnitude of it, the way it fed upon itself. Charlie and Joy were right. Logan hated himself for this. It didn't feel like a choice at all. He'd hurt me more than I'd ever thought possible, but he was a much a victim here as I was.
Maybe it was just a no win scenario. Maybe our relationship had been doomed before it even began. But seeing him like that, so bitter and full of rage, made me think of the way I'd been when he first met me. He fought for me at a time when I wasn't even willing to fight for myself. I didn't know if I had the strength to fight for him now, but maybe I owed it to him to try.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Logan
By the time I returned, night had fallen. The house was dark and silent, and Joy's car was gone. I waited at the edge of the woods for a few minutes, listening, trying to catch a hint as to whether Grace was still there. I didn't want to face her again. I didn't have the energy.
Five minutes passed and there was no sound. I walked toward the porch, stumbling briefly as a tremor shook my muscles. It was the longest I'd gone without a drink in months, and my body was already rebelling. Alcohol is such an insidious fucker. Drink too much and you want to die, but cut it out and you feel just as wretched. Despite the fact that I was barely exerting myself, my heart was racing and my skin burned. I felt like I could sleep for a hundred years, but first I had a conversation that desperately needed blotting out.
I'd done the right thing sending her away. I had. She deserved so much better than an emotional cripple who collapses at the first sign of trouble. For Grace, there was still hope. For me, there was none. If I gave in, I'd only wind up hurting her again.
Staggering into the main room, I felt around for the light switch. The place looked like a bomb had hit it. I felt bad about trashing Charlie's property, but I couldn't muster the willpower to actually do anything about it. I didn't have the willpower for much anymore.
"You're wrong."
I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Fucking hell," I said, turning to find Grace slouched against the wall in the corner behind me. "You scared the shit out of me."
"Looks like I finally got one back on you then," she said, flashing a sick little smile.
"What the hell are you still doing here? Joy's car is gone."
She shrugged. "I sent her home. We're not done talking, and now I've got no way to leave even if I wanted to."
I let out a long sigh. I shouldn't have expected her to just give up. She was as stubborn as me, when she put her mind to it. Crossing over to the sofa I threw myself down opposite her. Mental anguish aside, she looked good. She still seemed a little stiff, and she moved with crutches, but compared to the last time I'd seen her it was a fucking miracle. I still couldn't believe she'd made it through that.
Even after everything that had happened, just being near her again was a temptation. I'd spent months cementing my decision in my head, but with every word from her lips, I felt my resolve waver a little more. I still had an incredible desire to fix her, to do whatever it took to stop her hurting. But this was different. Now I was the source of that pain.
"What am I wrong about?" I asked wearily.
