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“Sure, no problem. Is it Logan?”
Abby nodded, and as she did, the door was opened all the way.
“Hello, Tate,” Logan greeted him stiffly. “I’ve been half expecting you. Why don’t you come inside where we can all visit?”
Eight
The two men regarded each other with open hostility.
Glancing from one to the other, Abby paused to swallow a lump of apprehension. Her worst fears had become reality. She wanted to blurt out the truth, explain to Logan exactly why she was seeing Tate. But one look at the two of them standing on either side of the door and Abby recognized the impossibility of making any kind of explanation. Like rival warlords, the two blatantly dared each other to make the first move.
Logan loomed at her side, exuding bitterness, surprise, hurt, and anger. He held himself still and rigid.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Abby?” Tate spoke at last, making the statement a question.
“Fine.” Abby managed to find her voice, which was low and urgent. She wanted to scream at him to leave. If his ego wasn’t dominating his actions, he’d recognize what a horrible position he was putting her in. Apparently, maintaining his pride was more important than the problem he was causing her. Abby’s eyes pleaded with Tate, but either he chose to ignore the silent entreaty or he didn’t understand what she was asking.
The enigmatic look on Tate’s face moved from Logan to Abby. “Will you be all right? Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes. No!” She nearly shouted with frustration. He’d read the look in her eyes as a plea for help. This was crazy. This whole situation was unreal.
“Tomorrow, then,” Tate said as he took a step in retreat.
“Tomorrow,” Abby confirmed, and gestured with her hand, begging him to leave.
He turned and stalked away.
Immobile, Abby stood where she was, waiting for Logan’s backlash.
“How long have you been seeing each other?” he asked with infuriating calm.
If he’d shouted and decried her actions, Abby would have felt better; she could have responded the same way. But his composed manner relayed far more adequately the extent of his anger.
“How long, Abby?” he repeated.
Her chin trembled and she shrugged.
His short laugh was derisive. “Your answer says quite a bit.”
“It’s not what you think,” she said hoarsely, desperately wanting to set everything straight.
His jaw tightened forbiddingly. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you and Tate are just good friends. If that’s the case, you can save your breath.”
“Logan.” Fighting back tears of frustration, Abby moved away from the door and turned to face him. “I need you to trust me in this.”
“Trust you!” His laugh was mocking. “I asked you to decide which one of us you wanted. You claimed you’d made your decision. You even went so far as to assure me you wouldn’t be seeing Tate again.” The intense anger darkened the shadows across his face, making the curve of his jaw look sharp and abrupt.
“I said I wouldn’t date him again,” she corrected.
“Don’t play word games with me,” he threw back at her. “You knew what I meant.”
She merely shook her head, incapable of arguing. Why couldn’t he trust her? Why hadn’t Tate just told him? Why, why, why.
“I suspected something yesterday at the game,” Logan continued wryly. “That guilty look was in your eyes again. But I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing.”
Abby lowered her gaze at the onrush of pain. This deception hadn’t been easy for her. But she was bound by her promise to Tate. She couldn’t explain the circumstances of their meetings to Logan; only Tate’s permission would allow her to do that. But Tate couldn’t risk his dignity to that extent and she wouldn’t ask him to.
Logan’s short laugh was bitter with irony. “Yet when the doorbell rang, I knew immediately it was Tate. To be honest, I was almost glad, because it clears away the doubts in my mind.”
