Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to be ashamed. If you’ve never talked about it, how the heck is it supposed to heal?”
He shudders, then laughs as if trying to put himself down. “It’s the past. It’s sad, Emma, and pathetic, having nightmares and letting it define me. It helped in its own way. It helped me.”
“You are not pathetic,” I say firmly. “Don’t even think that. It’s ridiculous. You’re a good man. Look what you did at the frat house. Nobody asked you to do that. You could’ve been hurt.”
“I didn’t think,” he replies. “I just did it. That’s when I usually worked best before I met you. Now, if I don’t think, I’ll claim you, over and over, whether or not your dad gives us his blessing.”
My belly tightens. “I want his blessing. I don’t want to ruin things with him.”
He kisses my head. “I know. Don’t worry. That’s what I’d do if I didn’t think, just acted, but I have to think. We both do.”
I shift up the bed, then sit up to look at him. He sits up, too, frowning down at me with more sadness in his eyes than I’ve seen so far. Worse, there’s this shimmer of shame around him, as if he really believes he’s pathetic, but he’s not. He never could be.
“You can tell me,” I whisper, taking his hand. “Whatever it is.”
“It’s probably not even a big deal. I’m making it seem like that. Blowing it out of proportion.”
“You don’t have to downplay your feelings.”
“Feelings? I never had those before I met you.”
“I bet you did. You just buried them.”
He sighs and nods. “Maybe you’re right. If I did that, I did one hell of a job. I never had to worry about them before you.”
I wait, sensing he wants to go on, but he’s not sure quite how. It’s understandable. I’ve had Chrissy, Mom, Dad, and even Eric sometimes. We’ve had deep, emotional talks, but Logan hasn’t had anybody. By the sounds of it, not even his team. He considers Dad his best friend, even though Logan was eleven the last time he saw him. My chest tightens for him. My heart aches. He deserves better. I’m going to give him better.
“I thought it was normal,” he says, laughing darkly. “You asked about my dad. No, I wasn’t close to him. I never knew him. I only learned who he was a few years ago. By then, it was too late. He’d passed on.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he says with another laugh.
“Nothing’s funny,” I whisper.
“Maybe I have to laugh,” he grunts.
“I’m just so sorry.”
“My mother was ill. Schizophrenic. I didn’t know that at the time. I believed everything she told me since I was a kid.” Another laugh that breaks my heart, husky like he’s holding back tears. “Other parents tell their children there aren’t monsters in the closet. My mom, the poor woman, convinced me an army of monsters lived in our house. I know it sounds like nothing.”
“You don’t have to keep downplaying it,” I say softly, leaning up, kissing the light stubble on his cheek. “You were a child. That would have terrified me. You believe everything your parents tell you without question.”
“And that’s just it,” he goes on. “It took me years to realize what she said wasn’t true. It was after Michel left. I think I was around fourteen or fifteen when I realized. Every night since I can remember, Mom set up a rocking chair in the corner of my bedroom. She slept during the day. I know now she had money from my dad, so she didn’t have to work. She rocked in her chair and watched me. Sometimes, she described the monsters in the room with us.”
I blink, tears stinging my eyes and flowing down my cheeks. “Oh, Logan.”
“It’s okay,” he says, but his voice is shaking too. “I was a kid. Dammit. It was decades ago.”
Neither of us says anything for a while, and then he keeps talking, his voice low. “But like I said, it helped me. Mom let me do whatever I wanted in the day. I went to school, stayed quiet, played hockey, and that was it. I skated like a demon until my whole body was sore until I could hardly walk.”
“Because otherwise,” I whisper, the tears flowing freely now, “you wouldn’t be able to sleep.”
“Exactly.” He sighs. “Even if I got to sleep, sometimes, Mom would wake me up. She’d say she just fought one of the monsters away. She had different names for different types…”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Ones with claws. One who belched acid. It all sounds so not scary, but it was back then.”
“Logan,” I say firmly, pushing past the sobs, trying to choke my words. “It sounds terrifying. As a little kid, being woken up every few hours, always on edge, thinking somebody would hurt you and your mom.”