Page 62 of Ruined

Lane slides up to me. “Jeez,” he whispers in my ear, rolling his eyes with a small tilt to his mouth.

God, I’m so glad he’s with me. If he weren’t, I’m honestly not sure what Mason would’ve done. The danger isn’t over yet, though.

The café is small, with a bright-green and wooden interior. We sit in the corner by windows overlooking the river. Logan and I sit next to each other, while Mason sits opposite us, next to Lane.

Mason leans over the table, elbows caging in his coffee. Usually, he’d have his arm around Lane or a hand on his thigh, so he must be beyond furious. Luckily, the café is bursting with people. I hope it’ll keep him from making a scene, but with my brother, you never really know.

I ordered a Coke, Logan a flat white, and Lane a hot chocolate. It strikes me that in a different context, this could’ve been a double date. The thought makes me smile, which is hardly appropriate, so I hide my mouth with my hand.

“Now.” Mason pins Logan with a deadly glare. “Start from the beginning. No skipping.”

Logan clears his throat. “I came back to Portland for a job, and we… found each other.”

I suppose that’s close enough to the truth.

“When?” Mason asks.

“Right after summer,” I reply. It feels like a lot more time has passed, though.

“Okay,” Mason drawls, not sounding convinced. “And when did this start?” He looks pointedly between us, and I know what he’s implying.

“Recently,” Logan coughs out. “It wasn’t planned.”

Mason rolls his eyes. “So why didn’t you just, I don’t know, hang out and do boring father-son things, like you used to?”

“We tried,” Logan says, gaze downcast.

“Not hard enough,” Mason growls.

“It’s not his fault,” I say quickly, putting a hand on Logan’s arm. “I’m the one who wanted this.”

Mason waves a hand. “Well, that’s obvious.”

“Is it?” Logan asks.

“Yep.” Mason sighs and rolls his eyes. “He was always running after you like a lost puppy. When you left us, he was a wreck for years.”

To be fair, that sounds normal for someone who lost their dad, but I know what he means. Mason worked it out long before I revealed it, and he confronted me about it this summer. “So you were crushing on our stepdad—good to know.” For a guy who looks like a dumb jock, he’s annoyingly smart and analytical.

He fixes Logan with another ice-cold glare. “You should have rejected him.”

Logan sighs. “I know.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because I insisted,” I snap, eyes flitting between my brother and Logan, heart pounding with the need to protect him, to stand up for him and lessen his guilt. “So there. Don’t blame him; if anything, blame me.”

“How could I ever blame you?” Mason growls. “You’re not the one with the power here. You’re nineteen years old.”

“Lane is too,” I grumble. “But you didn’t hesitate with him.”

Mason throws his hands in the air. “Because I’m not twice his age, Oliver! And I’m sure as hell not his dad.”

“Stepdad,” I correct. “And he’s not anymore.”

“What does it fucking matter?” Mason turns to Logan again. “You knew how this would look, and you still did it. For what?”

“I didn’t plan it,” Logan says, voice calm despite everything. “I’m not saying it’s right, but I… I care about him.” His voice shakes on the last part, and I squeeze his arm reassuringly.