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Free to a good home, I write, one tear dripping on the paper.
I smooth out the crumpled note and placed it on Fancy Chair—no way am I going to denigrate him by using tape. With a last stroke to the soft leather, I step out into the hallway, and right into a large, warm body.
A body that smells like Logan. And also like hockey pads and other less exciting hockey smells. But the Logan part of the scent is the one I notice.
“Parker? What are you doing down here? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His hands curl around my shoulders, cupping me gently as he peers down at me.
I can only meet his eyes for a second. Then I try to step back, out of reach. He doesn’t let me. Frowning, he holds me in place.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying,” I say through a sob. “I’m … fine! I’m crying!”
Logan crushes me into a hug. And though I should fight him (because I don’t want to give myself false hope but also because he is still wearing his sweat-soaked jersey), I let him. Still crying, very openly now, I let him hold me close. That is, until I start to think about the fact that Logan is probably leaving. Then I let him hold me close while also punching him in the chest and abs. Not hard or anything, as that would likely hurt me more than him.
“Talk to me, Pete. What are you doing? And is that the chair I gave you?” Logan asks, even as I’m burrowing my weepy eyes into his chest while still punching him in his stupid, rock-hard abs.
“I’m hating you,” I tell him, sniffling. “And I’m giving Fancy Chair to Javi so he can give it to someone else.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want it anymore. It’s too nice and was too expensive and reminds me of you.”
“No, why do you hate me?”
I stop punching him. Instead, I grab his jersey with both fists, stepping back but not too far back. I glare up at him with blurry, tear-filled eyes.
“I hate you because I love you and you’re leaving,” I tell him, almost—ALMOST—getting through the sentence without choking on a sob.
Logan blinks at me, his lips parting before he says, “You love me?”
Why does he sound so shocked?
“Why are you so shocked?” I go back to punching him, this time in the side. And apparently it tickles because he giggles.
“I didn’t know—ow! Okay, stop. No, Parker.”
He steps back and grabs both my wrists in one of his big hands. I struggle a little, and he tugs me forward into his chest again, still gripping my hands. I stare up at the face so handsome it actually is on billboards. Why couldn’t I have fallen for some nice Harvest Hollow guy?
Someone normal. Not handsome. Not talented. Someone who lives here. And will stay here. And won’t leave me.
But no. I had to fall for this one. The one who’s going to leave.
The one tilting his face until his forehead rests on mine. “I don’t want you to hate me,” he says.
“Too bad.”
“But I am glad that you love me.”
“I don’t. I hate you.”
“Because Pete—I love you too.”
“I still hate you. Wait—what?”
Logan cups my cheeks, his calloused thumbs brushing what are likely a lot of tears on my cheeks. “I love you, Pete. And I’m not leaving—where did you get that idea?”
I sniff, my brain whirring as it tries to process Logan’s words amidst the sweet and gentle way he’s touching me. The tender way he’s looking at me. The sincerity in his words.
