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The nurse walks quickly, and I have to trot to keep up with her. Why is everyone in such a hurry tonight? The sides of my shoes are squeezing my toes and it won’t be long before I’m walking round town barefoot.
The nurse stops outside a door and my heart jolts at the name on it.
Mr. Black.
Logan’s dad.
10
LOGAN
“Logan Black! Mind if I have a squeeze?” Hollie Jones doesn’t wait for a reply before she grabs my bicep and pinches it.
Her cheeks are flushed. I guess there’s enough alcohol in her system to give her the courage to be more forward. Hollie used to sit behind me in art class. She’d tell everyone and anyone that she was going to leave Snowdrop Valley, marry a senator, and own her own fashion company.
I’d ask her whether she made it happen, but the lack of a ring on her wedding finger holds me back.
Besides, my mind is far too busy to focus on a conversation right now. My eyes scan the hall and I see Wyatt sat by the drinks, studying his cup like it’s a Rubix cube.
I make my excuses and shrug my way through the crowd of people. When I finally meet Wyatt, his eyes lift to meet mine and he looks like a broken man.
My chest tightens. He looks as bad as I feel.
“Why the long face?” I ask, trying to sound lighthearted, but my tone sounds far more sincere than I intended.
I pour myself a drink and take a seat next to him.
“I have decided that I do not like reunions,” Wyatt announces, still looking at the cup full of punch.
I give him a look before I take a swig of my drink. It’s too bitter to enjoy, but I welcome the rush of alcohol in my system. Soon, the throbbing ache in my chest will go numb. That’s all I need right now.
“You persuaded me to come,” I remind him. The corner of Wyatt’s mouth ticks up for a splinter of a second before he frowns deeply again.
“Everyone is bragging about their perfect lives,” he says.
I laugh. “So what? You’re the most successful person here. Didn’t you say your business did a billion dollars last year?”
Wyatt’s eyes don’t leave his cup as he shrugs. “Almost two billion, actually.”
I gulp down the rest of my drink while Wyatt straightens his spine and lowers his cup.
“It’s just numbers.”
I lift a suspicious brow. “You love numbers.”
I’ve never seen Wyatt like this before. He’s usually so confident and matter-of-fact. It unsettles me enough to forget about my own problems.
“What’s going on?” I ask him. He pulls out a worn copy of Lord of The Rings: The Two Towers.
“You know I wouldn’t last a day in Middle Earth with my skills?”
I hold my breath to stop a groan from escaping my lips. Here he goes again, talking about those Lord of The Rings books.
Wyatt carried them around with him all through middle school and high school, and I’d catch him reading one every spare moment. Sometimes, he’d sneak a copy out during French class; it was the only class he failed, and that came as no surprise to me.
The French teacher was missing a trick, though. She should have encouraged Wyatt to get those books in French. He would have been fluent by the next spring.
“Luckily, Middle Earth is a fictional place,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. But the crease between Wyatt’s brows only deepens.
