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As if reading my thoughts, he says, “Maybe I’m not all that different.”
“Stop it.”
He keeps going until my hands shake at my sides. “Maybe it’s in me. Ever think of that?”
“It’s not,” I demand, but my words stick to the lump in my throat. “You’re nothing like him.”
He tilts his head in that way that makes me want to slap him, like he feels sorry for me.
“Stop it, Logan.”
He allows me to stew in the silence before he finally says, “I come from a man just like him. My father was an animal.”
My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh.
“And not just with my mother, with his kids too.”
Oh, Logan.
I bite my lips together, keeping the words in because I need him to keep talking. Thankfully, he does.
“He was a monster. And after last week…” He stalls, a thousand words on the tip of his tongue. “Just having you and the girls here… You just deserve better.” I try to take another step toward him, but he shakes his head, as if having me too close is his personal hell. “What if it’s in me? Because sometimes I look in the mirror and all I see is him.”
“It’s not.” I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes. The thought of Logan believing he’s anything less than the incredible man I know he is… it breaks my heart. “You’re nothing like him.”
“How can you be so sure?” He challenges, his voice filled with a desperate sort of anguish.
“Because as much as you don’t want to admit it, I know you. I’ve seen you with my girls. With me. You’re nothing like what you think you are.” There’s tension across his broad chest, and I want nothing more than to reach out and ease it, but I don’t because I don’t think it’s what he wants. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He lets out a humorless laugh under his breath. “Because I’m a selfish bastard.”
“No—”
“I was scared of losing you.”
“You thought telling me would make me leave?”
No words, but I see it in his eyes.
We’re both petrified of each other. Petrified of falling into each other with no way out.
With a deep breath, he turns away from me again, his fingers tightening around the wooden beam he’d been working on.
I think he’s about to go back to work, but then he says, “It’s this dream.” His voice drops so low, I barely hear the words. I tilt my head, trying to catch his gaze, but he’s looking down at his hands, his brows furrowed. “I keep having this fucking dream.”
I know what that’s like.
“Tell me about it,” I plead.
He looks so lost. Not like the strong, steady man I know him to be. He rubs his face, looking like he’s aged a decade in a moment as his face pales.
“I keep having this nightmare about my mother and father. Maybe it’s a memory. I don’t know. But he’s hitting her, and I’m screaming at him… but when I look again… it’s you.” He finally meets my gaze, his eyes wide with fear, and something resembling regret. “And when I look down there’s blood everywhere. My father isn’t there anymore, and there’s blood onmyhands.Yourblood.”
I take a step back, needing a moment to process.
But it’s not fear that fills me. It’s understanding, a horrifying understanding. Logan is afraid of himself. He’s afraid there’s a monster lurking in the parts of him he paints over. That’s why he’s been pushing me away.
The admission hangs heavy in the air between us, a haunting specter of a nightmare he fears could become reality. My heart aches for him, the man who sees a monster in his own reflection. I need to banish the fears, to dispel his illusions.
