Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“I was lost,” he goes on, his voice husky.
Unfairly, pathetically, I imagine him aiming that huskiness at me.
I hate myself for it because it’s absurd. He’s talking about the true love of his life, Rachael, the happy-ever-after that was stolen from him.
That’s the reason he never stays in a relationship, always flitting from woman to woman.
There’s lots of speculation in the tabloids and online about who’s going to tame Logan Locke. But when I hear the crack in his voice as he says Rachael’s name again, I know the only person who could capture him is gone now.
“The whole story of my life had just been changed completely, and there was nothing I could do. There was nobody for me to aim my rage at, no way to let my sadness out. The man died quicker than my daughter did, quicker than Anna.” He squeezes the edge of the podium, seeming to stare straight at me again. “That man took everything. I thought I was going to drink myself to death. Or drive off a cliff. But then, my friend and I, Bryce Smith, started Never Alone from the ashes of all that pain.”
He pauses, his gaze moving away again. Being in the same room as him is enough of a head rush already, but when I hear the agony in his gruff voice, I want to sprint across the room, wrap my arms around him, and tell him it’s okay.
Lie to him…and say it doesn’t matter if he loved another woman more than he could ever care for me. Tell him I understand I’ll always be second to Rachael, the angel he lost.
And I know I can’t compare with those socialites and models he spends his evenings with.
But we can help each other. Maybe just be friends.
No, I could never just be his friend. I feel sick just thinking about it.
I remind myself that, as far as Logan knows and will ever know, I’m a stranger who made use of his charity, nothing more.
After he leaves here, we’ll probably never see each other again. His charity has a presence in several cities on the East Coast, and he’s always busy fundraising or partying, or being with other women.
Heck. I can’t stop.
“I wanted to call it Never Again,” he goes on. “But we all know the name wouldn’t fit. The sad fact is, this happens all the time. We do our best to prevent it. We try to offer help to people who may accidentally become hit-and-run killers one day, whether through addiction programs or counseling.”
Counseling. The word brings me back to college when I thought helping others would be the driving force of my life, not this endless staring at myself, wondering when I’ll stop feeling like a zombie.
Logan makes me feel pretty freaking alive, my heart hammering, my body tingling with want. But there’s little else.
“The cold reality is,” Logan goes on, “this will and does happen far too often. That’s why I want to encourage you to come to these support groups whenever possible. It’s very difficult for other people to understand, having everything you hold closest, everything you love taken away like that.”
He snaps his fingers. His words are bouncing around my head.
Everything he loves, everything he holds close….
Of course, that’s going to include his daughter and his girlfriend. But the thought still makes my belly get all twisted up.
What do I want, exactly, for this celebrity playboy to forget about the perfect life that was taken from him and choose me instead?
When Logan ends the speech, providing information about the upcoming meetings, I clap along with everybody else.
I feel my hands clapping together far harder than they need to, slamming, and my palms hurting.
With each clap, a memory triggers.
I’m in bed, endlessly cycling through photos of Logan.
My hand is sliding down over my belly, between my legs, as I stare hard at the photo and make myself believe it’s real until it’s like he’s right there with me. As I indulgently rub at my soaked core, I forget for brief minutes. Nothing else matters.
Then the orgasm will pass…and the pain will return without him there to hold me and kiss me tenderly.
Maybe it always will.
Maybe this fixation on Logan is some sort of distraction, a way to convince myself, oh, I could be happy if only I had Logan, which is impossible…so maybe, overall, I’m giving myself an excuse to mope and pout and hate life.
Jane would say I need to cut myself some slack. I honestly don’t know.
I thought Logan would leave after the speech, but then I notice an older woman with colorful clothing directing people to carry the chairs to the edge of the room.
Music has started playing softly, and the woman raises her voice over it.
“For those who don’t want to hang around for soda and snacks, we completely understand. Not everybody will be ready yet.”