I press the heels of my palms to my eyes and exhale, long and slow, like that’ll help, but all it does is make the guilt in my chest churn harder.
Because the truth is… I was a dick. I shouldn’t have pulled away from him like that earlier, watching the way his facechanged when Austin walked in—I can’t stop replaying it. Can’t stop thinking about the way he tensed when my hand slipped out of his and I shifted back, putting space between us.
And now he’s out, pissed at me and probably?—
I sit up, my heart lurching in my throat when I hear a bang across the hallway, followed by a muffled groan.
I push the blanket off and lift onto my feet, moving toward my door. I crack it open and peer into the hallway, my stomach flipping when I see Logan.
He’s crumpled against the wall right outside his room. One hand’s braced against the floor, his head resting against his bedroom door.
“Logan?” I whisper, stepping out fully. “What the hell?—”
He lifts his head, and his eyes flash with something when he sees me. “Hey,” he slurs.
My stomach drops. Jesus, he’s drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this drunk.
I crouch beside him, instinct kicking in, even though my head’s still spinning. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He blinks at me, but doesn’t answer.
I reach out without thinking and grab his arm, steadying him as I ease him up to sit properly. “C’mon. Let’s get you inside.”
He doesn’t argue, just leans against me. I help him up, fumble for the doorknob behind him, and shoulder it open, before guiding him inside. It’s dark, except for the streetlight spilling in through his blinds, but the dim light from the hallway helps me see as I lower him onto the edge of his bed.
I stand there for a second, my heart pounding. “Where have you been?” I ask him.
He doesn’t even look at me.
I take a step closer, swallowing hard. “Why would you get this drunk?”
Finally, he lifts his head, and he stares at me for a second too long, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. And I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
But instead of giving it to me, he leans back on his hands and glances away. “Best get going before someone sees you in here.”
My chest tightens. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “Don’t want to ruin your reputation or whatever.”
“Logan—”
“You made it pretty fucking clear earlier,” he mutters. “Didn’t realize being seen near me was such a problem.”
I freeze. “I never said that.”
He lets out a scoff. “You didn’t have to.”
I step toward him, but he shifts away. Fuck. “Logan,” I say, swallowing hard. “Please just talk to me.”
He laughs, low and bitter, and pushes a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to say? That I got shitfaced because you made me feel like shit? That I went out because I didn’t know what the hell else to do with the fact that I let myself start to believe this was more than it is?”
I feel it like a puck to the chest.
He looks at me, his green eyes boring into mine. “I waited,” he says quietly. “I waited for you to say something. To give me anything. And you just… looked away.”
My throat feels tight and dry and…fuck. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, averting his gaze again. “You did.”