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My heart squeezes. He cares enough about my dog’s comfort to allow her in his nice truck, dirty paws and all.He’s perfect.
Moving to the front, he helps me in, my arms still holding Tank safely. He buckles me in and presses his mouth to my forehead in a lingering, sweet kiss.
Crack.
A few minutes later, we’re pulling up in front of an equally beautiful home, similar in style to Logans. My heart thumps, picking up its pace as he jumps out. I move to unbuckle my seatbelt, unsure of what to do, but pause, my hand hovering in midair. Am I ready to meet his family? Shit. Are we moving too fast? We know nothing about each other. We can’t—
“Don’t worry, Babydoll. You aren’t meeting them.” My head snaps up, glancing at him over my shoulder. Porkchop hops out, following Logan like he’s her new bestie. He opens my door, taking Tank from my arms. My stomach does a flip, and this time, it’s in disappointment. “I want you to meet my whole family, Shiloh, and you will.”
He closes my door and jogs away. The door opens and an older, red-haired woman, peaks out. She tries to push him aside, and the sight makes me chuckle. She’s tiny compared to Logan. They go back and forth, clearly in a heated discussion. Finally, she looks down at the two dogs and smiles. She waves in my direction, a wide smile on her aging face. Unsure what to do and feeling mildly uncomfortable, I smile back and wave. She disappears, the dogs trailing behind her, then closes the door.
“We’re coming for a family dinner on Sunday,” Logan grunts, climbing into his seat. My head swings to the side, finding him already looking at me. He swallows thickly, his brows dipping as he mutters, “that okay?”
My face splits into a huge smile that quickly morphs into a laugh. “Are you really asking me that?”
Cranking the wheel, he spins the truck around, pointing us toward the main highway that will take us to town. His eyes narrow further as he looks from me to the road, then back at me. “What do you mean?”
“Well, normally, you kind of just tell me what we're doing. You don’t usually ask for permission.”
Logan shakes his head, his lips tipping up in a sexy smirk that goes straight to my pussy. God, I really need him to fuck me soon. “Fine. We’re going to family dinner Sunday whether you like it or not. Better?”
Grinning, I nod and wrap my hand around his, initiating contact for the second time. It’s becoming increasingly difficult not to be touching him at all times. I’m afraid I’m becoming just as obsessed as he is.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while as we weave through the wilderness. Massive pine trees cover the land, a light layer of snow coating their branches. My mind is calm and content for the first time since I don’t know when. I’m not thinking about my health issues or my future. I’m not worried about who my man could be fucking on the side since I’m not getting any. I’m not worried about my weight or how I look to anyone else. I’m not even thinking about the tragic state of my house anymore.
All I can do is focus onhim.I seehim,feelhim,smellhim.It’s all Logan.
When did that happen, and how did it happen so quickly?
I don’t worry about how my body looks or doesn’t look when I’m with him. It’s clear as day that Logan loves how my body looks. I haven’t thought about my rental, because in the grand scheme of things, it’s all juststuff. Stuff I don’t need, stuff left over from a shit show of a marriage. It’s a house, but it’s not mine, and it never felt like home.
Logan’s house does, though.
Correction. Logan feels like home.
“I had a good childhood,” Logan murmurs, his voice gravelly, pulling me from my happy thoughts. I look up, finding his eyes locked on the road before us, his face unreadable. He squeezes my hand, threading our fingers together and settling them on his lap. “I’m the oldest of four boys, and growing up, I loved having a big family. Our parents were always around, and our grandparents lived on our property. We were happy, close as hell. Spent a lot of time together, especially out in the woods.”
He pauses, a smile tipping up the corners of his lips. I lean in, listening with bated breath as he tells me his life story. I eat up every single word, eager for more.
“My parents are in love. Have been since day one, and they’ve never hidden that. They’re affectionate, openly. They have a love that I thought didn’t exist in real life, but they showed us what it could be like, you know?” He glances toward me, his eyes raking over my body, heating immediately at what he sees. Tugging my lip between my teeth as a blush spread over my cheeks, I nod. “I always wanted that. A big family. A wife to love, to cherish, and worship. I wanted all of it. Still do.”
His hand squeezes mine, punctuating his words. Butterflies break out in my gut, flapping their huge wings wildly. His eyes leave mine, and his jaw ticks as he focuses on the road again.
“You said four?” I cut in, his previous words trickling through the spell he has me under. “I’ve met Stephen, and he’d mentioned your youngest brother, Charlie, but no one else.”
Logan shakes his head once, his hand flexing on mine. “No, he wouldn’t mention him. Our youngest brother, the baby of the family, Liam, died when he was 18.” My heart sinks. I open my mouth…to say what? No idea. But the sadness and devastation etched across his face demands I say something, to do something, anything, to help. Logan shakes his head. My mouth snaps shut as he trudges on.
He tells me all about his past, his childhood, and what led to Liam’s death. He tells me about Sadie and the fight with his dad. About Liam looking up to him and following in his footsteps. He tells me about how he almost lost his battle with depression, riddled with PTSD and flashbacks when he returned from the military. And all the while, I listen and I cry.
I cry for the man he could have been, the man he was. I cry for the brother he, and his family lost way too soon. I cry for the heartbreak in his eyes, the deep, soul-wrenching pain he so clearly feels. I cry when his voice breaks. I cry harder when tears drip down his cheeks.
Logan doesn’t look at me once. He doesn’t stop speaking until he does, his eyes remaining on the road the entire time. He doesn’t offer platitudes or hopeful sentiments. He just simply tells his story. He empties the contents of his mind, his heart, and his soul right there in the cab of the pickup. What he does do, though, is hold my hand. He holds it as though I’m his lifeline, the only thing connecting him to this world.
And I hold him back, wishing I could do more.
With every word, every devastating and brutally honest admission, I feel more for him. I feel so many big emotions for this incredible man, that by the time he stops talking, one thing is plainly and obviously clear.
I am falling head over heels in love with Logan Huxley, and there is not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
