The Mistake(40)

Avoiding my eyes, Grace bolts off the bed and grabs a T-shirt from the back of the desk chair. “You were using me to get over someone else?” She yanks the shirt over her head. “I was your distraction?”

“No. I promise, I like you a lot.” I cringe at the pleading note in my voice. “I wasn’t intentionally using you. You’re so f*cking amazing, but I—”

“Oh my God, no,” she cuts in. “Please…just shut up, Logan. I can’t handle the it’s not you, it’s me speech right now.” She rakes both hands through her hair, her breathing becoming shallow. “Oh God. This was such a mistake.”

“Grace—”

She interrupts again. “Will you do me a favor?”

It’s difficult to speak past the massive lump lodged in my throat. “Anything.”

“Leave.”

The lump damn near chokes me. I inhale deeply, ignoring the burning sensation in my throat, the ache in my chest.

“I mean it, just leave, okay?” She meets my gaze head-on. “I really, really want you to go right now.”

I should say something else. Apologize again. Reassure her. Comfort her. But I’m terrified she might slap me—or worse, break down—if I approach her.

Besides, she’s already walking to the door and throwing it open. She doesn’t look at me as she waits.

Waits for me to leave.

Fuck. I screwed up so badly. My heart physically hurts as I stagger to the door. I pause in the threshold, finding the courage to meet her eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be.”

The last thing I hear as I step out into the hall is the sound of the door slamming behind me.





13




Logan


I’ve always refused to use alcohol as a crutch. If I’m sad or upset or hurting, I avoid it at all costs because I’m terrified I might rely too heavily on it one day. That I might become addicted.

But goddamn, I could really use a drink right now.

Fighting the urge, I bypass the liquor cabinet in the living room and sprint to the sliding door in the kitchen. Cigarettes. Equally destructive habit, but it’s the lesser of two evils at the moment. I’ll just flood my veins with nicotine—maybe that’ll help with the huge ball of guilt taking up residence in the pit of my stomach.

“Everything okay?”

Big tough hockey player that I am, I jump three feet in the air at the sound of Hannah’s voice.

I spin around and notice her standing at the sink, an empty glass in her hand. I was so out of it I must have flown right past her during my sprint to the door.

Christ, she’s the last person I want to see at the moment.

And look at that? she’s wearing Garrett’s jersey again. Just flaunting it in my face now, isn’t she?

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I mumble, stepping away from the door. Change of plans. Nicotine overdose—no longer needed. Hiding in my bedroom—must get on that.

“Logan.” She approaches me with wary strides. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You look upset. Are you okay?”

I flinch when she touches my arm. “I don’t want to talk about it, Wellsy. I really don’t.”

Her green eyes search my face. For so long that I shift in discomfort and break the eye contact. I try to take another step, but she stops me again, blocking my path as she releases a groan of frustration.

“You know what?” she announces. “I can’t f*cking take this anymore.”

I blink in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

Rather than answer, she grabs my arm so hard it’s a miracle it stays in its socket. Then she drags me to the kitchen table and forcibly pushes me into a chair. Jeez. She’s freakishly strong for someone so tiny.

“Hannah…” I start uneasily.

“No. I’m done tiptoeing around this.” She yanks out a chair and sits beside me. “Garrett keeps telling me you’ll get over it, but it’s only getting worse, and I hate this awkwardness between us. You used to hang out with us and come to Malone’s and watch movies, and now you don’t, and I miss hanging out with you, okay?” She’s so upset that her shoulders are visibly shaking. “So let’s clear the air, all right? Let’s deal with it head-on.”