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“Oh, no,” Emily laments, cocking her head to the side. “Doyou want us to leave so you can get some rest? We can do girls’ night another time.”

Great, now I feel like an asshole. In my defense, I didn’t realize tonight was some unofficial girls’ night. I thought they were just helping me move in. “No.” I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. It’s just this fucking job.”

“Not a vibe?” Fran asks.

I groan. “Unless thevibeis 1960’s girl Friday to an office of misogynistic dude bros, then no… definitely not a vibe.”

“Ew, that sounds horrible.” Fran grimaces.

“We won’t stay long,” Emily assures me.

“I can’t stay too late, anyway. I have to meet a client tomorrow morning out at Montauk to look at a place he’s thinking of renting over the summer for a mere forty-five thousand dollars a month,” Fran deadpans.

“It is absurd what some of these athletes get paid,” Emily sighs.

I smile, but honestly, I’m not really listening. My mind is far too consumed by the fact that the woman I caught Logan with red-handed after flying half-way across the country is about to show up for an apparent girls’ night. As if we’re besties or some bullshit.

Maybe I should have stipulatedheras one of my house rules when I set them with Logan. I said no women, but perhaps I should have been more specific. What if this is the norm? What if she’s always here?

“I’m just going to put my things in my room,” I announce, turning quickly, in desperate need of a moment to mentally fall apart.

“Let us help,” Emily says from behind me.

I stop, spinning around and forcing a smile despite not meeting her eyes. “No. I’ve got it. Why don’t you see if you can figure out the television so we can watch the game?” I suggest with a shrug, turning again before she can insist.

I open the door at the end of the hall, flicking on the light, thespace illuminating in a soft, low glow, and as I step inside and take it all in, my momentary Hannah-panic starts to subside. The room is small, but it’s nice. An entire wall of built-in shelves and cabinets, all white. A big bed with a mountain of pillows, all creams and whites, light grays and pale pinks. The closet is small, but I don’t have a lot, so that’s okay. I open the door to the right and peer inside to see the bathroom; it, too, is small, but there’s a rainfall shower big enough for at least three of me, a beautiful vanity, and a window that looks out over the city. Closing the bathroom door, I pad back through the bedroom. The carpet is thick and plush, my socked feet sinking into it, and honestly, it’s a gorgeous bedroom, but probably most beautiful of all is the wall of glass with a door that opens up to a small east-facing balcony that will catch the sun rise over the East River. It’s dark now, nothing but city lights shining against the blanket of night sky, but I bet in the morning it will be breathtaking.

With a ragged exhale, I take a seat on the edge of the bed which is when I spot a big gift-wrapped box that sits on an armchair in the corner. I reach over and grab it, my brows knitting together. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open the card on top, shocked to see a handwritten note.

Welcome home, Red.

I know you’ll feel anxious sleeping here for your first few nights, especially on your own, so I hope this helps. But just remember, I’m only ever a phone call away.

Loges x

Shocked by his sweet words, I clamp my bottom lip between my teeth. Tugging on the white ribbon, I lift the top off the box, my mouth falling open on a soft gasp at what’s inside. Tearsprick my eyes as I pull out the heavy, thick looped wool, reveling in its softness. I stand, allowing the big weighted blanket to unfurl, and I pull it up to my face, rubbing it against my cheek, my pesky tears winning their battle and spilling over.

It isn’t just that Logan bought me a weighted blanket; it’s that he remembers back to when I told him that I hate being alone at home, and when I am, I can’t sleep. I’d called him late one night when my roommates back in Ann Arbor were all out of the house. It wasn’t common; five girls living in one house, there was usually at least someone home with me. But that night, I was all alone and I was terrified. So, I called Logan, and despite him having just played a game, and that he was due to be awake early to fly out somewhere new the following morning, he stayed up and talked with me for hours. All I remember is waking up to my phone resting on the pillow beside me with one unread text message time stamped four thirty-two a.m.

L: Sweet dreams, Red x

I think that was the moment I knew Logan was more. And it was then that I realized when he told me he would fight for me, that first night in my bedroom, that’s what he was talking about. He wasn’t talking about physically fighting, although I don’t doubt that he would physically fight for those he cares about; Logan was talking about fighting for me any time I needed him to. And that night on the phone, talking to me until I fell asleep, he was fighting the monsters I’d made up in my mind.

By the time I manage to get myself together, I walk out from my bedroom to the sound of laughter coming from the living area. I glance sideways at the front door as I pass, noticing a foreign pair of boots and a coat that wasn’t there earlier. My heart drops into pit of my gut.

I knew I’d eventually have to face being in the same vicinity as Hannah, but I’m nowhere near prepared enough. Plus, I’m an actual mess, dressed in a black sweat suit, my hair still damp from my earlier shower after work and thrown up in a messy pile of knots. Hannah is a literal beauty queen. I did my reconnaissance. Hannah Draper, daughter of New York Thunder head coach and two-time Stanley cup winner, Lance Draper, won Miss Teen America when she was sixteen. When I was sixteen, I had braces, acne, a flat chest, and, thanks to my brother, there was a rumor going around that I kept my ear wax in a jar.

Tugging down my sweatshirt, I lift my chin a little higher and walk through the entryway, seeing Emily, Fran, and Hannah sitting on the rug, surrounding a mammoth pizza on the coffee table while the pre-game lead-up plays on the television.

“Oh, hey, girl.” Fran smiles at me, holding up a slice. “Come on over here before there’s none left.”

“This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Emily mumbles around a mouthful.

“Sure about that?” Fran smirks, nudging her conspiratorially.

I make a point of clearing my throat, spearing Fran with a warning look as I walk around the sectional. I don’t need them to carry onthatconversation in my presence.

Sitting down on the throw cushion next to Emily, my gaze flits across the coffee table to Hannah. She’s watching me, a tentative smile ghosting her lips, and I force one right back at her with a muttered, “Hi.”