Page 119 of His Turn

Chapter Thirty-Two - Nadia

Logan just looks at me after Bric is gone. “Leave,” I say, walking out of the studio and searching for my coat in the living room. I grab my phone from the pocket, but Logan is right behind me.

“No,” he says, gripping my shoulder to make me turn. “I need to talk to you. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months. And now that I’m here, I’m gonna have my—what are you doing?”

“You’re violating the restraining order. So I’m calling 911. You have two seconds to get the fuck out of my apartment or I will press that last number.” I hold it up so he can see my screen, the big ol’ nine and one staring him in the face.

“Nadia,” he says, pleading.

“Get out.”

“I just want you to know—”

“Go. Away.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. Frowning. Watching me. Seeing me.

“Stop looking at me,” I say. “Stop it.”

He lowers his eyes and turns. But just as he’s about to twist the handle on the front door, he stops. “It wasn’t your fault, Nadia. It was my fault.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“No,” he says quietly. “I don’t think you do.”

And then he opens the door and walks out.

I let out a long breath of relief. I can’t do this again. I can’t. I won’t.

I want to run away. I want to get the fuck out of this apartment. This city. This life. But my legs—my whole body—is one big mess of exhaustion. What the hell just happened? I feel… wrecked.

The couch is calling me. I sink into the cushions and curl up into a little ball. The memories of what happened in New York—memories I had put behind me—all come flooding back.

Tears are running down my face and sobs are coming out my mouth in weird gasps.

Just close your eyes, Nadia. Close your eyes and sleep it off.

I will never sleep again. So I go to the bathroom, grab the bottle of sleeping pills, and gulp them down without water.

I surrender to the nothingness of sleep.

Pounding on my door wakes me. It’s morning, but early. Just a hint of dawn peeking though my living room curtains.

“Nadia!” Jordan is yelling in the hallway. “Open the door and let me in right now or I swear, I will call the police.”

I drag my aching body off the couch. My legs are so weak from last night’s… game… I stumble over a rug and fall to my knees.

“Nadia!” Jordan yells again, his fist pounding on my door. I scramble on my knees for a few feet, then get up and stumble across the room. “Open the fucking—”

I open the door before he finishes. “What the hell, Jordan?” I look down the hallway and see two neighbors peeking their heads out.

He pushes past me, huffing out air, slamming the door behind him. “I’ve been calling you all night. Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”

“I was sleeping,” I say, unable to think about last night. “I didn’t hear it. I don’t even know where my phone is.” I sort through the couch cushions and find it wedged between the seat and the back. Yup. He’s called me nine times.

“Sorry,” I say.

“What happened?”