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I sigh. “But still.”
“So, what would you say?” Jane asks.
I lean back, clasping my hands tightly, staring out the window as cars pull out and park. “I’d tell them to go to the support group, to make positive steps to stop feeling so…sodead. Like emotionally dead. Like so numb it doesn’t even make sense.”
I humorlessly laugh as I reach up, pawing more tears from my cheeks.
“How can I feel so empty inside and still cry, Jane?”
She gives my shoulder another squeeze. “You’re doing great. I want you to know that. You’ve been through a lot.”
I nod, wishing I could pull myself out of whatever funk this is.
“I think I might go next week,” I tell her.
“Yeah?” Jane says as she starts the car.
I want to see him, even if I know it can never happen. I want to see Logan in the flesh and wait for his intense gaze to rest on me. I can only hope and dream he feels something evencloseto the want raging through me.
It's been burning, calling, captivating me ever since I learned who he was, back when Joel hit Dad and then drove away.
Logan Locke, an ex-football star, is now in charge of the Never Alone charity, which specializes in hit-and-runs.
I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, my eyes stinging from grief, staring at Logan’s photo and imagining myself sinking into his arms.
And then came the google searches – the tabloids, the endless photos of him with other women. Women who are tall and athletic, wearing designer clothes, who are effortlessly gorgeous.
I know it can’t happen, but I can’t stop thinking about him. As though he’ll take away this pain somehow.
I’m twenty-one. It’s time to grow up.
This is how a freaking teenager fantasizes and crushes.
“Maybe that’s what I need to start doing,” I say softly. “Imagine one of my patients, and give myself advice like that. That’s what I’d say, Jane. I’d tell them to go to the meeting.”
She glances at me with a gentle smile before she pulls away from the parking lot. “That sounds like a plan.”
I take the card from my pocket and finally let my gaze fully rest on the photo of Logan. It’s a portrait taken from the waist up, his arms behind his back, and that intense look on his face.
Moving my thumb over it, a tingle riots through me, as though telling me this man is mine, I’m his.
We belong to each other.
But it’s just a silly misguided crush.
I’ll never act on these feelings.
CHAPTERTWO
Logan
I pace up and down the makeshift dressing room. It’s the storage closet at the community center, but the organizer for this location’s meetings – a woman called Trixie Brown – offered it so I could prepare for my speech.
It’s not that I’m nervous, not exactly.
But I still need to prepare myself.
A long time ago, I learned that a charity is a brand as much as everything else. Fundraising is one of the most important aspects. If I only used the money made from my football career, I would’ve been bankrupt within two years.
