Though for some reason knowing that Andy was just as miserable as he was only made the gnawing ache in his stomach multiply until he felt almost certain that his organs were collapsing in on themselves.
"I wouldn't be so sure." Matt moved his arm from the sling by his bed. It was the first time Logan had noticed it, and seeing it there, all swollen and connected to wires, was like living inside his nightmares. This was how Logan had always seen his friend in his mind's eye. A chill worked its way through him, and while he'd expected his friend to look away in his usual fashion, Matt surprised him.
"It's not so bad, you know," he said.
Logan couldn't be hearing him right. "What?"
"My wrist. It's a pretty minor thing. They just put me through all these extra tests to put me on the mend quicker. To send me out to the majors as soon as possible." He was quiet for a moment, his face mimicking his sister's thoughtful expression, and then he added, "The minors called me this morning. I got drafted to the San Diego team."
The minors? So it was official, then. Matt was out.
Even with all of the guilt, there had always been the hope that this wouldn't be the last of him. That maybe his career would change a little or he'd sit on the bench for a while, but that he'd be back on his feet.
This?
Forget every other nightmare he'd had before. This was the real nightmare.
"Matt, I—"
"You know the worst part of being friends with you?" Matt cut him off, pulling his legs back onto the bed and settling into the pillows again.
Here it came. The conversation he'd been waiting for. Their friendship was over.
He could think of a whole lot of things that Matt could list, but instead he said, "Enlighten me?"
"This look you got on your face right now."
Well, he hadn't expected that to be the lead in. He thought sister banging or career ruining would have at least made the top three, but if Matt wanted to slow roll into all that, he certainly wasn't going to deprive him of that. Logan deserved everything his friend could throw at him.
"Sorry?" he said.
"You got this look on your face like you're expecting me to hit you with a newspaper. You're sitting here, all moody, like some kind of goddamned Hallmark movie. Everything is fine, man. Stop being so hard on yourself—"
"Matt—"
"No, seriously. Ever since the accident, whenever I see you, the first thing you do is look at my wrist. I can hardly get you to make eye contact anymore. You've got to be easier on yourself, man. You need to listen to me when I tell you that it was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. And I forgive you."
Matt swallowed hard and silence filled the air between them. "So yeah. Cut the shit." Matt finished after a few moments had passed and Logan smiled. Well damned if Matt didn't have a few surprises up his sleeve.
"What about Andy?" Logan asked.
"What about her?" Matt raised his eyebrows. "You're not going to leave her, if that's what you mean."
"We're not together." Logan said.
His friend sank deeper into the pillows and yawned. "Yeah, that's what she said, too. I'll give it about a week before you go crawling back to her again. I mean seriously, where else are you going to find a woman who has that much sports knowledge and such a charming family? If you're still having trouble, I'll go ahead and refer you to my previous comment on cutting the bullshit."
Logan laughed, but it was hollow. So apparently the seriousness was short-lived, but that was kind of a relief in itself. Matt had taken everything better than he'd expected. Hell, better than almost anyone on the planet would have in his position.
But what did that mean for Andy?
Even if he could get past all of his demons with Matt, that certainly didn't mean Andy would be willing to forgive him.
"Speaking of Andy, don't you have to see her tonight? I heard there is quite the shindig on the opposite end of town." Matt pretended to close his eyes, but he wasn't skilled enough to hide the fact that he was staring at Logan from the corner of his view.
Shit.
The sports gala. In all of his haste to talk to Matt, Logan had totally forgotten. He'd told Andy he was going to take her.
His heart beat hard in his throat, and he glanced at the clock. Double shit. The event started in an hour.
But what did it matter? Andy had her ticket; she probably wasn't expecting him to take her. Maybe if he stopped at her house, he could make it in time to catch her before she left, but it was almost impossible to tell at this point.
He'd just have to cross his fingers and hope.
At the end of all of this, though, one thing was certain.
Starting now, he was going to be a new man. Matt was fine.
And Andy?
She was going to be fine, too. He'd make sure of it, no matter what it took.
* * *
She was dressed. The gauzy black of her cocktail dress itched against her thighs and she struggled to breathe in the corset top.
Her hair was done. Ringlets circled the tidy bun on top of her head and framed her face.
Hell, she'd even put on makeup. Not even just eyeliner and a swab of eye shadow, either. She’d contoured. She’d done all the things girls in make-up tutorials said you were supposed to.
But when she got behind the wheel and headed downtown, it wasn't long before she found herself driving in the wrong direction.
What if Logan was there? It was important for him, the one chance he had to bring his fame back to super star status. But being in the same room with him? Watching as women threw themselves at his feet?
That wasn't anything she could imagine witting through, no matter what she was wearing.
The sun set behind her, and by the time she got there, all of the lights were on full shine in the parking lot. So much the better.
After climbing from the car, she followed the way he'd taught her, snaking around the spindles and alleyways until she was inside the empty stadium again.
And it wasn't until she was there, staring at row upon row of empty seats, that she realized a part of her had expected to see him here, laying on the pitcher's mound like they'd done that night and thinking over all the different ways things had gone horribly, terribly wrong.
She let out a deep sigh, and along with the breath, the last shreds of her hopes eked out. She'd let him do this to her again. Let him get up her hopes and tear them apart in front of her. Except this time, there was no possible misunderstanding. His words had been clear as day.
So clear that she hadn't stopped repeating them since the moment he'd said them.
What did it matter what Matt or Shay said? What did it matter what her feeble mind argued? The truth was right there in front of her.
Everything was gone. And she, alone, was left.
She walked down the long rows of stairs, then kicked off her heels before climbing onto the field. Instead of sitting in the center of the action this time, she huddled in the dugout, puffy black dress and all, and sat down.
What an idiot.
What a complete, freaking idiot she'd been for coming here. She should have just gone to the gala, avoided him as best she could, and gotten on with her life. What was Logan Grant?
Everything, her mind whispered back, and she slouched against the cement wall, hoping that if she hit her head hard enough she'd be able to crush out the thought altogether.
She kicked out her feet, but something rolled beneath her heel and after rustling under her skirt for a minute, she found a worn, white ball, coated in orange dirt.
How had the janitors missed this?
With another stab to the heart, she realized that they most likely hadn't. Logan had probably left this here, a calling card of his trespassing.
She brushed the dirt from the ball’s surface and channeled her inner twelve-year-old, bouncing the ball against the metal cage and catching it again. Over and over, until the shaking of the metal rungs was the only sound playing over in her m
ind.
Swish, clunk, swoosh. Swish, clunk, swoosh.
Plunk.
She looked toward the foreign sound. It was muffled, but she knew she hadn't imagined it.
It didn't stay a mystery for long. With those broad shoulders, Logan wasn't much for staying hidden. He was striding down the steps, dressed to the nines in a penguin suit more fit for Bruce Wayne than for a sports star.
She closed her eyes and listened to his plodding steps as he rounded the stadium and finally jumped onto the field.
It was a long moment before she willed herself to open her eyes, though it didn't stop the rest of her body's traitorous response. Her heart thundered behind her ribs, her head pounded, and other, less mentionable parts of her body responded in kind.
Wasn’t this what she'd wanted? Hell, what she'd expected when she walked through the stadium gates? Still, she wasn’t sure if her gut was twisting in anger or excitement, but the end result was that she felt sick.
She would be angry, beyond angry, really, for everything he'd done.
But even now, she didn't care. And maybe that's why she felt sick. Because, despite everything, she was just happy to see him.
At last, she opened her eyes and faced him. Whatever was going to happen here, she was going to face it head on.
"You're not at the gala," he said, leaning his hip against the chain link fence and crossing his arms over his chest.
"Neither are you," she said.
"No. I'm not. I went, but I didn't stay."
"Did they have those little shrimp puffs?"
"What?" He looked for a moment like she'd caught him off guard, but then he nodded. "Yeah."
"I love those things." She tossed the ball at the fence again, but when it bounced back, her hands were shaking too hard for her to catch it. Instead, it plopped into her lap and sent a cloud of dirt over her gauzy, black skirt.
She stared at it for a moment, waiting for him to take the lead and explain himself. When he didn't step up, she said, "So what are you here for?"
He walked toward the bench and sat beside her. "You."
She wanted to scoot away, to spit at his feet and tell him that he'd had his chance. He'd had more than enough chances. But she let herself down. She sat there, breathing in the spicy smell of his aftershave, and didn't move an inch. Not turning to stare him in the eye might have been a small victory, but it was miniscule, at best.
"I came to make things up to you. And to apologize. But you weren't at the gala or your house, or the hospital, or at Shay's." He paused. "Why'd you come here?"
She wasn't the one who needed to explain herself. She didn't have to tell him a damned thing. She didn't have to...
"I've been coming here a lot. To think things over."
Was every shred of dignity in her system a thing of the past? Seriously, why could she not keep her shit together?
"I can see the appeal." She heard the smile in his voice, but she wouldn't turn to look at it. She'd given in enough as it was. If she looked at him, she'd have passed the point of no return.
"You said you were here to explain. Explain." There. That would show him. Gruff. To the point. Matter of fact.
"I love you."
Her mind went blank for a moment, and she turned to look at him without a second thought. He couldn't be serious. Breaking out the L word? After everything they'd been through?
She wanted to think it was a cheap ploy, a way of winning her back or getting her into his bed again. He didn't mean it.
No matter how sincere his blue eyes looked. No matter how much tension was in his stupid, square jaw.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, not sure how to respond.
Luckily, he saved her from the effort.
"That shouldn't change your thoughts or your feelings. I just want you to know. I want you to understand how I feel, and if you decide to walk away, please know that it's okay with me. All that matters to me is you. It has been from the start of this thing, and I..." He stared into the empty rows of seats for a long moment, then finished, "I fucked up. I fucked up with Matt and with myself, but worst is the fact that I messed things up with you. I hope you can forgive me."
She opened her mouth again, but he held up a hand.
"Those things I said? I didn't mean them. I only said them to drive you away. I thought if I told you how I really felt that you would brush me off and try to convince me to stay. I knew that I cared for you enough to do whatever you asked and when I left, I told myself that I was doing the best thing I could do for you. That I'd hurt enough Archers in one lifetime already.
I know now that I was wrong. I was placing blame on things that weren't there and trying to get around a problem I haven't been man enough to face, but I'm moving on now. I'm getting better. And now I know that by trying to tell myself that I was helping you, I was only hurting us both."
He slid in closer and took her hand in his, stroking his thumb gently over her knuckles. Every urge to move away or to leave was gone, but her gut was still teetering on the edge between acceptance and something a little less forgiving. It would make her weak to let everything go at the drop of a hat, to crawl back to him after all of this just because he'd asked her to. She wasn't that kind of girl.
Even if her heart was melting when she looked at him. Even if all she wanted to do was lean closer and get another whiff of his spicy smell. It wasn't that easy. She couldn't let it be. At the end of the day, he'd still made her change. Maybe she hadn't seen that she was beautiful before, but she deserved someone who thought she was beautiful no matter what. If Logan had taught her anything, he'd taught her that.
"I don't know, Logan," she said.
"I was so wrong, Andy. You are the most beautiful, unique, wonderful woman I have ever met, and I want to spend every moment of every day making up for how I've hurt you. I know I can't make all of the pain subside now, but I did bring something with me that I think will help."
He released her hand and dug around in his jacket pocket for a minute before finally holding out a closed fist to her.
Slowly, his fingers opened to reveal a small, silver key.
"What's this?"
"It's the key to my beach house in Oahu. I kept thinking about our night here...before everything got all fucked up." He swallowed. “I don’t think there are sea lions in Hawaii, but I know Derrick is there and I was thinking…”
She stared at the key, then at Logan.
He'd been so sincere, so earnest in all of this.
And in looking at him, studying his strong features, something occurred to her. What he'd said hadn't mattered. None of it had, really. The things that mattered were the things he'd done, not the things he'd said.
He'd shown her that she was beautiful. He'd cared for her brother.
He'd cared for her. Thought of her in a way that nobody else had.
“You were thinking we’d go on vacation together?” She raised an eyebrow.
“If you’ll have me. But if not, the key is still yours. You can go, see your brother, and spend all the time you want on the beach. Everything is up to you.”
She took the key from his palm, then turned it between her fingers. “You know, I’m not sure Derrick will like you.”
“Of course he will. What’s not to like?”
“Well, for starters…” She grinned, but he cut her off.
“So am I forgiven or what?”
She tiled her head to the side. Logan Grant was here. Right here next to her. And he was all hers. “Yeah, I guess you are.”
“Good.”
“But on one condition,” she added.
“What’s that?”
“You have to admit hockey is better than baseball.”
He laughed, but rather than giving in, he swooped down, brushed her hair from her face, and pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss.
Sneak Peek: Bound to be His, the second novel in the Archer Family Series
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About the Author
Allison Gatta is an avid writer of steamy contemporary romance, an obsessive viewer of bad television, and an occasional player of overly-complex board games. In her free time, she thinks up fun, new characters and argues with her family over sci-fi trivia. She is a firm believer that Voldemort would vanquish Darth Vader in a duel.
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Made to be His (The Archer Family #1) Page 10