by Elise Faber
She tugged, making to extract his hand, and instinctively, his own hand tightened, not wanting to break the contact, not wanting to let her go. That mantra was ramping up again, spinning through his mind. Slow, show. Words, trust. Actions—
He forced his fingers to open, to release her.
Another shuddering breath.
And he remembered the other thing he’d grabbed for her. He extended the napkin-wrapped cookie, the same variety she’d nearly offed herself on. “Here,” he said, pushing it into her now free hand. “It was the last one.”
She peeled back the corner, glanced between the cookie and him. “I—”
He allowed himself the smallest bit of contact. “Just enjoy it, Starlight.”
Then he stepped back, turned away, and forced himself to walk away from the woman he loved.
It made every nerve in his body burn with regret.
But he kept walking anyway.
He’d done it once for her own good, had crawled away from her inch by inch in order to save her dream.
Today, what propelled him was the knowledge that if he did it correctly this time around, then perhaps he would manage to save both of their hopes for the future.
Sixteen
Char
He’d walked away.
He’d shoved a cookie in her hand and just strode away.
Well, a cookie and a water bottle, but still.
He’d just gone.
A beat of annoyance trailed her confusion, but before she could work up any ill-will, she focused back on her surroundings, on what had just been announced. She was new to the team and didn’t understand everything that had gone into Rebecca’s announcement, but Char knew enough to get that it was a huge deal.
Even without everyone else’s reactions, seeing Rebecca with tears in her eyes, her typical shark-like and calculating expression softened with love as she stared at her husband, Kevin, would have told Char enough.
This was life-changing news for the Gold’s often cynical publicist.
This wasn’t a shot staged to garner likes or positive press. This wasn’t a setup in order to frame the announcement in the best possible light.
This was . . . Rebecca wanting her family around when she made the announcement.
And fuck if that didn’t bring tears to Char’s own eyes.
Eyes that dropped to the cookie in her hand and had her remembering that she’d once hoped to have kids with Logan, then that she’d once hoped to have them with someone, anyone. But life had changed that. She had changed that.
Unwilling to open up, to open the gate to the walls surrounding her heart.
It was easy to put blame on Logan for crushing that dream.
But the truth was that she’d crushed it just as effectively over the last eight years by avoiding any real connections with the men she dated.
The moment—and she meant the moment—they wanted to get serious, Char had bolted.
To get too close was dangerous.
Plus, she was the first black woman, the first any woman in the assistant GM position. Then the first in the GM role itself. That was too important to slow down.
So clearly, she couldn’t open up fully.
Work was important.
Work was more important.
And if the men in her life weren’t satisfied with the piecemeal bits and morsels she tossed their way, then the door was there and they could walk right through it.
She needed to keep her head down and keep pressing forward.
Because . . . she’d prove everyone wrong.
She, a black female, could do it all, and fuck anyone who told her differently. That made her a BAMF and badass motherfuckers didn’t take names. They kicked asses and demanded people get out of her way.
Barriers? What barriers?
Resistance? She’d wear it down.
Walls? Well, she sure as hell had built thick-assed ones herself.
But . . . what did any of it mean?
Her family was proud of her, no doubt. She was proud of her, proud of how relentless she’d been in pursuing what had once seemed like a far-fetched reality and doing it in a way that didn’t crush the people beneath her.
Oh, she’d fought like hell for her dream, but she’d never been battling enemies or the people who said she couldn’t do it.
She’d been battling herself.
She was that enemy. Her biggest enemy.
Because in thinking she had to close off everything around her, she hadn’t really been living her full dream.
She’d merely been ticking off boxes.
Intern. Check.
Master’s. Check.
Assistant GM. Check.
GM. Check.
Alone? Also check.
Too scared to let anyone really in? Too terrified of being hurt again that she’d let her childhood and college friends wane under the guise of too much work? Check. Check.
And as she stood, separate from these people who’d built an amazing family, one she’d been taking credit for all season, thinking it was she who’d put the final pieces together, she who’d made it special, Char realized that she was the least important part. These people trusted each other; they loved without fear.
It was plain as day to see.
Coop cupping Calle’s cheek and pressing a kiss to their daughter’s head.
Stefan lacing an arm around Brit’s waist and pulling her back against his chest so that someone else would get a chance with Rebecca.
Liam, his arm around Mia’s shoulders, enthusiastically congratulating Kevin.
Gabe stroking Nutritionist Rebecca’s back, lightly reassuring her when she seemed overwhelmed by the noise and women surrounding her.
Kevin never letting go of PR Rebecca’s hand.
Blue holding his and Anna’s daughter while Anna pressed a kiss to the publicist’s cheek.
Blane steadying Mandy when she teetered off-balance with her large belly.
Sara smiling over at Mike, her hand on her stomach hinting at a secret, her gaze saying they wouldn’t share with the room at large and take away from Rebecca and Kevin’s news.
Angie crouching beside Max’s son, Brayden, clearly relaying the news because the little boy smiled hugely then wove his way through the women to hug Rebecca.
Love.
It was in this room. It was clear as day.
And the absence of it in Char’s heart, in her life was just as clear.
Fuck, how that hurt.
Her eyes met Logan’s.
And fuck how that hurt.
Her breath caught. Her heart felt like it had been tossed into a blender. Her insides churned and roiled and . . . she felt like she might be sick.
She stumbled back a step, nearly colliding with the coffee table before catching herself. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be here. It hurt so fucking much, and she didn’t want that hurt filling the room, dampening the joy.
Char needed to go.
The back of her throat burning with bile, she sidestepped the crowd and got the fuck out of the house.
Later, she’d make up an excuse for leaving, congratulate them properly.
She’d send a gift or flowers or—her fingers crumpled the double-chocolate orgasm in her hand—cookies.
Tonight . . .
Tonight, she just needed to go.
Seventeen
Logan
Not following after Charlotte went against every single one of his instincts.
But slow, steady, patience—
He caught a glimpse of her through the window of the front door, saw her stop on the porch, her chin falling forward and her shoulders shuddering.
Fuck slow and steady.
She was hurting, and he wasn’t just going to stand there like a moron, watching her suffer.
He slipped away from the conversation, not that anyone was paying him much attention. They were all too thrilled for Rebecca and Kevin, and he was happy for them, too. He just . . .
; His heart was on that porch, hurting and alone.
He grabbed his jacket from the table by the door and went outside, dropping it onto Char’s shoulders. It had been warm earlier, but night had fallen, become enshrouded with fog and a chill. The thin sweater she was wearing could hardly protect her.
“Log—”
Sad brown eyes on his, damp with tears.
He bundled her close to his side and walked her around to the side of the house. Then he did something that was probably inappropriate, but something that he couldn’t stop himself from doing.
He hugged her.
Just pulled her against his chest, rested his chin on her head, and wrapped his arms around her.
Char didn’t go stiff.
Instead, she melted, sank against him, turning her head so her cheek was against his chest, her shuddering breaths soaking through his T-shirt.
Logan held her, knowing that this strong, capable, wonderful woman leaning on him for a few minutes was a gift, perhaps the greatest of his life. He rubbed slow circles up and down her spine, took long, slow breaths, hoping that her breathing would steady to match his.
And when it eventually did, when the barest hint of stiffness entered her frame, he released her.
Wide, damp brown eyes on his, but there were no tear tracks on her cheeks, no pain in her expression. There was plenty of confusion, he could easily see in the moon’s glow, but the hurt was banked, and for that, he was beyond thankful.
“Why?”
He touched her cheek. “You were hurting,” he whispered. “I hate it when you hurt.”
Weariness crept in. Her lips pressed flat. “You didn’t then.”
“Char, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“Why, Log? Why did you break my heart?”
Quiet words, but the pain had floated in on the coattails of weary, and though he hated the sight of it with a passion, didn’t want to say or do anything to increase that emotion, or to push her farther from him, Logan knew that the time was now. He had to tell her why he’d done what he’d done. He needed her to know.
“I asked to be traded.”
Her eyes went wide. “What?”
“Back then,” he said, “I knew we were moving too fast, too quickly. I knew that you were going to give more than me, going to give up too much, and I knew I couldn’t let you put your dreams on hold for me.” He held her gaze. “So, I went to Luc and told him that we were together, but that I knew it wasn’t the best for you . . . and I asked him for a trade.”
More hurt. More fury.
More . . . understanding.
“I could never fathom why he took that hit on the trade. You were a rising star, and who we got in return couldn’t compare.”
“Coleman did well for the team.”
A beat, then, “But he wasn’t you.”
Logan sucked in a breath, although he didn’t have the opportunity to form that air into words because she went on. “And furthermore, who made you the person who got to decide what was best for me? Huh?” She poked a finger into his chest, the small bite of her nail poking into him the tiniest pinprick of pain. But it was enough to remind him he was here, telling Char the truth of what happened after all this time, and that if he bungled it, then he might be able to muster all of the slow down, patience, move steadily bullshit in the world, but he’d never get her back.
Logan opened his mouth, readying the list of reasons why, all of the logical motivations he’d had for making sure that Char got to live out her dreams.
But none of that came out.
Instead, he said, “I made that decision, and it was the right one, the only one to be made.”
Her brows lifted. “That’s it?”
And dumbass that he was, he said, “That’s it.”
Eighteen
Char
The man had lost his fucking mind.
And maybe so had she, because she jabbed her finger into his chest, repeated, “That’s why? That’s why? That’s. Why?” When he nodded, she scoffed and started to turn away, disgust in her every pore. What in the fuck was wrong with him?
He covered her hand, held it against his chest.
“That’s not what—”
She turned back just in time to see him break off with a firm shake of his head.
“I’m— I didn’t want us to turn into my parents, Starlight,” he said.
That stopped her, brows drawn together. Their parents still being married after many decades when everyone in their circle seemed to be the product of divorce was something that had connected them, something that had brought them closer. Family dinners and events, holidays spent with each other, celebrating and teasing and loving each other in a way the rest of the world might not understand.
Except . . . she still talked to her family, still loved and saw them as often as possible, but she didn’t have what the people inside Rebecca’s house had.
She didn’t have that type of family.
Because she’d pulled back, erected walls.
Because of the man in front of her, she thought, fury boiling within her. Up and up, bubbling to the top of the pot, threatening to cascade over the top and scald everything around her.
Just in time, logic prevailed.
Because this man might have hurt her, but she was the one who’d pulled back from everything else.
At first, because she didn’t want to keep hurting. Instead, she had wanted to get lost in something that wasn’t Logan.
Then because it was safer to be the deserted island in the middle of the ocean.
Crystal clear, blue water surrounding her on all sides, isolated, untouched—except perhaps from a visit from a passing ship or flock of birds or—
Logan shifted, dropping her hand and pacing away from her, thrusting his fingers into his hair and mussing the locks. He groaned. “This isn’t—” Another shake of his head as he spun back toward her, all of that long, lean gorgeousness stalking toward her. “This isn’t how I wanted to explain it.” He ground his teeth together, glanced up at the dark sky, and she watched his shoulders flex as he inhaled and exhaled deeply.
She was wrong.
She might be that isolated island in the middle of the ocean.
But it wasn’t just birds or ships visiting.
It was a hurricane.
And his name was Logan.
He stopped in front of her, green eyes nearly black in the evening’s light, chest rising and falling rapidly. He was so much bigger than her, stronger physically in a way that made part of her question whether she had any hope in hell of keeping him at bay, or if perhaps, she didn’t want to keep him at bay, and instead launch herself into his arms and ask him to keep her safe from the winds threatening to tear her to shreds.
Stay insulated and safe?
Or hop into the churning waves for what might possibly be the best surf of her life?
Char didn’t surf.
But she wasn’t an idiot. She was in the eye of the storm, Logan was there, he was troubled, and clearly more had happened behind the scenes of their breakup than she understood.
So, waves or not, she wanted to know.
She snagged his hand when he paced close enough, weaving their fingers together and tugging him to a halt. “Start at the beginning.”
Startled emerald eyes on hers, a chiseled jaw clenching. “This goes way back,” he said. “I—” He thrust his free hand through his hair, mussing it further, making Char’s fingers itch with the need to fix it. “It’s a long story.”
“We lost the big game. The season’s over. No meetings, no practices, no media.” She shrugged. “Just tell me everything, Log, because seriously, what else have we got to do that could possibly be more important than this?”
His gaze held hers, even as his fingers convulsed. “Nothing,” he murmured. “Nothing is more important than this, than you.”
She couldn’t deny that his words, the way he looked at her, the firm grip of his hand around hers . .
. she had absolutely no hope of denying that they soothed a ragged tear in her heart, that they made her feel as though she could take her first full breath in years.
Perhaps since the moment he’d gone.
“My parents are unhappy.”
Char blinked. That was pretty much the last thing she’d imagined him saying. He’d panicked because his feelings were too big or they’d moved too fast or they were too young or—
Except, she’d known it was more than that, hadn’t she?
That was why it had hurt so much when he broke things off.
Because one moment they’d had absolutely everything—love, companionship, passion, friendship—and the next it had been snatched away, torn asunder by the person she’d trusted most in the world.
“Okay,” she said softly, when it seemed like he was struggling with how to go on.
Green eyes on hers. “I know we talked about our families a lot when we were together, how our parents were still married, how cool it was that we got along with our siblings—”
She inhaled quickly. Had something happened with his family, with his brother and sister?
No. She’d know.
If something serious had gone down during the season, she would have known. Although, if it had happened before—
“But your parents actually like each other,” he said, stopping the panicked spiral in her mind. “Mine . . . well, I guess tolerate one another would be the most apt word, but the reality is that they’ve been together so long, I think it’s simply a case of convenience, as in, it’s more convenient for them to stay together than to separate.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He made a face. “I’m not telling you this for sympathy or because I’m still hung up on the fact that things always have been tense between them. That’s just life and the way it was.”
Logan paused again, and she found herself stepping closer, reaching up to cup his cheek. “So, why are you telling me?”
“Right.” He took a breath. “Okay, so—”
A burst of noise around the front of the house had them both freezing in place. She waited for the sounds to quiet, for the players and kids to depart, but they seemed to be congregating on the porch, talking over each other. Voices were lifted in excitement, a baby was screaming, a young male voice was singing the last pop song a cappella—and not particularly on key.