Chapter Twenty-Seven

Angela

I sit in Logan’s desk chair, watching him talk to his father in the sheriff’s office. My knee bounces up and down as nervous energy consumes me. Glancing at the clock, I blow out a breath and press down on my knees to make them stop. Smith will be here in a few minutes and I feel like I’m going to have a stroke, I’m so anxious.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, blowing it out slowly through my nose. My pulse starts to slow as I think back on the night I confessed everything to Logan.

“Whatever you need to tell me, it will be okay,” he says. He places a kiss on the top of my head and I follow him to my kitchen table, taking a seat across from him.

The ticking of the clock is the only sound for thirty torturous seconds. We sit. We stare. He drinks.

“Are you not going to have one?” he asks, tipping his beer at me.

“No. I just want to be honest with you here.” I take a deep breath and stare down at my fidgeting hands. “I need to get this out. Just let me get it out and we can talk about it after, okay?”

“Is this about Roland Paris?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say.“How did you find out about him?”

“The last worker I interviewed mentioned he was into you. I put two and two together.”

I close my eyes and bury my face in my hands. I can’t believe we’re discussing this nearly four years after my father’s death. “And you just sat on that information this whole time?”

Logan nods and sips his beer. “I didn’t want to push you. I wanted you to tell me when you were ready. I told you, the investigation is important to me, but you are more important. I’m here and I’m ready to listen. Not as a deputy, but as your friend.”

I drop my hands and stare at him, knowing that the man in front of me could be anything to anyone, but right now in this moment he is solely mine. I take a deep breath and blow it out toward the ceiling. Then I face Logan and look into his eyes.

“The summer of my seventeenth birthday, my dad hired this guy who was drifting through town, looking for work. Roland was twenty-one, and cute. He was funny and seemed to be a big help to my dad. We hung out during his down time on the farm and it was nice to spend time with someone close to my age during the summer.” I look down at my fidgeting hands and clasp them together on the table. “It was also nice to be around a guy who was new to town and knew nothing about me. I visited my dad every day to bring lunch and eventually started bringing Roland lunch too. I thought we were friends.”

Logan reaches across the table and grasps both my hands in his. He gives a squeeze in support as I continue.

“Apparently, being nice to Roland meant more to him than it did to me. A week before school started, he told me that he was in love with me. That we should run away together. His confession caught me off guard. No one besides my family had ever said they loved me and I was confused. But Roland was persistent. He told me I led him on. I liked him, but I didn’t think I had romantic feelings for him. It was the first time I’d had any attention from a boy, so I had no idea what to do.”

“Sounds like he couldn’t take no for an answer,” Logan says. He releases me and I watch his hand retreat back to his bottle of beer. Forcing myself to meet his eyes, I see nothing but compassion there.

“I was shocked, and, being a shy teenager, and a little creeped out by his persistence, I told my dad. He was very sweet and reassuring with me, but apparently very upset with Roland.”

“What dad wouldn’t be upset with some guy trying to hustle on his underage daughter?” Logan asked. His voice is deeper than usual, anger seeping into his tone. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

“I hadn’t heard from Roland in a few days when your dad came to tell us that my father was dead. He said they were treating it as an accident, but that someone else was there. I didn’t say anything,” I confess. Tears fill my eyes now and fall over, trailing down my flushed cheeks. “I sat there in shock, consoling my wailing mother, and didn’t tell anyone that I was certain I knew who the other person was.”

Logan leans back in his chair and finishes off his beer. He looks out of the window, the light from the porch painting him gold.

“Wow,” he says. “That’s tough. You were just a kid, Angela. I’m sure you were scared and confused. But you didn’t know for sure.”

I sigh and wrap my arms around my waist, fingers digging into my ribs. “Roland came to me after. He told me everything. He said they were alone on the farm, everyone else gone for the day. Their argument started when my dad told him to leave and never come back.” Needing a break, I stand and get myself a bottle of water from the fridge. I open it, swallow down half and take a seat at the table again. “At first it was just simple threats and yelling. When it eventually escalated to something physical, Dad lost his temper. He threw the first punch and from there it grew into a fighting match that left my father dead. Roland says he pushed my dad, making him fall and hit his head on the corner of the combine.”

“Holy shit,” Logan says. “And you’ve know all this the whole time?”

His words stab at me, but I can’t tell if it’s my own guilt or an accusation.

“The memory of him ducking inside my bedroom window, confessing what happened, and asking me to leave with him makes me nauseated. The sheriff had just left a couple of hours before and I told Roland to go, to run, or he would be caught and questioned. What kind of person does that make me?”

I wipe the fresh set of tears from my face and meet Logan’s eyes.

“Grieving? Scared? Maybe a kid that felt a little responsible?” he guesses.

I exhale and hold his gaze. Relief floods me and I feel like he truly understands.

“I know it was a complete freak accident, but it didn’t release Roland from being responsible. Roland was the one who pushed my dad, but I couldn’t help but feel guilty for Daddy’s death, too. It was because of me that he and Roland fought in the first place. I should have handled things on my own, been more clear, and maybe my dad would still be alive today.”

Logan stands and comes to my side of the table. He pulls me into his arms and holds tight, while I let the flood of emotions pour out of me. I sob so hard that my chest aches. My tears paint his shirt in misshapen spots and he doesn’t care. He just holds me tighter.

When I have cried the last of my tears, Logan grabs a napkin from the counter and cleans up my face. He places gentle kisses on each cheek, my forehead, and finally my lips. “You are in no way responsible for what happened, Angela.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” he says, placing a finger over my lips to keep me quiet. “If what Roland told you is true, he is responsible for involuntary manslaughter and should serve time for his crime.”

“This is why I never told anyone,” I tell Logan, pushing out of his arms. “The guilt that lives in me can’t fathom that. I led him on. I refused to give him a chance. My dad’s death is just as much my fault as Roland’s. If you find him and lock him up, then you should lock me up, too.”

Logan shakes his head and grabs my hands. “The only thing you’re guilty of is withholding evidence. And no one will blame you for that.”

The station door whips open and Smith saunters in, a smug look on his face. That look is replaced by shock when he sees me sitting at Logan’s desk.

“Smith!” the sheriff calls. “Get in my office, now!”

Logan peeks his head out. “You ready?” he asks.

I nod and follow Smith into the office. Logan closes the door as we all take a seat.

The tension is palpable and I want to run from the room, but Logan reaches over, grabs my hand and squeezes. This settles my nerves as I wait for the inevitable.

“It has come to my attention that you have reopened the Lavelle case in an effort to oust me from my position here.”

Smith whips his head toward Logan, his expression filled with hatred. “I wonder where you would have heard that,” he says.

“It doesn’t matter,” the sheriff cuts in. “What matters is that your efforts are futile. The case has already been solved.”

“What?” Smith screeches. “How? Just yesterday…”

“Just yesterday Roland Paris was arrested at his mother’s house for the involuntary manslaughter of Nicholas Lavelle. Confessed to everything. He’s awaiting arraignment as we speak. Case closed.”

Smith jumps from his chair, spinning to face Logan. “You’ve made a huge mistake. You’ll both be sorry.”

“Sit down!” the sheriff’s voice booms and we all jump.

Smith grunts and falls back into his chair.

“If you are planning to come forward with any information about my son, I would think twice. I hate to say this, because it puts me on the same level as your cowardly ass, but it would be a shame for your wife to find out where you actually spend your overnight shifts.”

Smith’s shoulders straighten and his mouth bobs open and closed a few times. “I don’t know what you mean,” he finally spits out.

“If you’re going to cheat, it’s probably best not to do it next-door to the town gossip,” Logan says.

“Shit!” Smith says. “Rayann and her goddamn mouth.”

“Don’t blame her,” I say, surprised by my own outburst. “If you weren’t such a despicable, sleazy person then you wouldn’t be in this position, would you?”

“I don’t have to take this,” Smith says, getting to his feet again.

The sheriff stands as well, towering over Smith by at least six inches. “You’re right. Clean out your desk and get the fuck out of my station.”

Smith pulls the door open and storms out. We all watch as he rips the badge from his uniform shirt and throws it on his desk. He unhooks his belt and drops it onto his chair, before grabbing the one photo from his desk and leaving the building.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” I say, looking back to Logan and his dad.

“Me either,” Logan says. “But thank fuck it did.”

“Watch your mouth, kid,” the sheriff says. ”You’re still in hot water with me. What the hell were you thinking? You should have come to me first.”

Logan shrugs. “I don’t know. Another stupid decision,” he admits. “Thanks for helping us out.” Logan extends one hand for a handshake as his dad stands still. Finally, he reaches for his hand and pulls him in for a hug, clapping Logan on the back a few times before releasing him.

“So you want to be a detective, huh?”

…

Logan insists that he stay the night. He runs me a hot bath, pours me a glass of wine and leaves me to relax. As I sit in the water, I revel in the fact that I do feel lighter. I am relieved that this big secret is out in the world. I soap up, rinse off, and stay until the water runs cold.

My hair gets towel-dried and thrown up into a messy bun. When I exit the bathroom, I can’t help but grin at the sight before me. For so long, I never thought I’d have the pleasure of Logan Sawyer in my bed, or in my life, for that matter. And here he is.

Logan is shirtless, lying on top of the sheets with his ankles crossed. He’s flipping through a magazine from my nightstand. “I think you should order this,” he says, turning the magazine around and pointing to the tiniest bikini to ever exist.

I laugh and roll my eyes. “Not in this lifetime.”

“What’s with the towel?” he asks, gesturing to the towel wrapped around my naked body. “I thought we went over this.”

Standing at the end of the bed, I cock one eyebrow at him. “I’m not you, Logan. I can’t just walk around naked all the time.”

Logan’s grin lifts higher on one side as he leans forward and crawls to me. “I know you’re not me. That’s why I want to see you naked all the time.” He lifts onto his knees and places a kiss on my cleavage, then my collarbone, finally trailing his lips up to my ear. “My only goal in life is to make sure that one day you know how beautiful you are.” His warm breath washes over the damp skin of my neck and chills race down my spine. “I’ll never stop trying to convince you. Even if it takes a lifetime.”

I moan when his lips capture mine.

Logan’s hands pull on my towel and it falls to the floor. “What’s your favorite thing about your body?” Logan asks as his hands smooth over my back and hips.

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. There’s got to be something you love about yourself,” he says, sliding his hand between my legs. “Now tell me.”

I let out a sigh and grab onto his shoulders as his fingers tease me. A whimper escapes my lips as Logan’s warm breath ghosts over my nipple. And then he is gone. I open my eyes to see him before me, a cocky grin in place.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I’m not going to touch you until you tell me what you love about your body.”

“Logan,” I whine.

“Angela,” he answers, mimicking me. His tongue sweeps over that full bottom lip and I want to throw myself on the mercy of Logan Sawyer.

“Fine. I guess my ass is okay.”

Logan’s face is split in half by his grin. “Damn right. It’s better than okay. It’s so good I want to sink my teeth into it.”

He reaches around and grabs my ass with both hands, squeezing. Throwing my arms around his shoulders, we fall back onto the bed together. Just like that, I give myself over to him.

Logan rests his forehead against mine as we exchange panting breaths. My hands slide into the waistband of his pants and push them down. He lowers his body, pressing me into the mattress. The weight and warmth of Logan and his honesty with me is exactly what I need. It’s what I’ve always needed.

“I love you,” Logan whispers. “Let me show you how much.” I feel his grin against the bare skin of my shoulder. “I love you.”

My heart thumps in my chest and my eyes go wide. “You what?” I’ve wanted to hear those words from him for so long that I can’t believe them when I do. There are no other thoughts in my head. Only Logan.

“I love you,” he says again, lifting his gaze to meet my eyes. “My god, Angela,” he huffs out. “You look so beautiful I want to memorize this moment.” His eyes rake over every inch of my body so intensely I can feel it.

For too long I wanted this man to look at me this way, and I long ago accepted that I’d never experience it. But here I am. A smile tugs at my lips as all my self-doubt and unworthiness slips away. Not only did I land Logan Sawyer, but I know that I am worthy of him. I can see that he wants me as much as I’ve always wanted him. He believes in me—in my strength, my talent, my future—and that gives me something to hold onto. My chest wants to burst with pride as I finally feel unstoppable, healed, and full of hope.

“I love you, too.”