Page 9 of That Last Secret
He raises a brow at her, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Logan doesn’t say a single word back but shakes her hand. Leave it to my best friend to make things extra uncomfortable when I’m supposed to hate him as much as he hates me right now.
“Thank you,” I say, conceding to how nice he is right now despite my entirely rational frustration. “To answer your question, I’m okay. But now, I’m extra late for class. I can’t make Brooke late too. So, if you’ll excuse me.” I move to sidestep Logan, but he doesn’t move an inch, forcing our bodies to collide. The coffee down my shirt has already run cold, but my body is instantly hot all over again. “Move. I have to rush home, get changed, and literally run to class.”
Instead of moving out of the way, he says, “I’d offer you a ride, but sounds like you have everything under control here.”
“Would you have flashed the lights and everything for us?” Brooke laughs.
“No lights,” he answers her before turning to look at me. “I have my motorcycle today—”
“And here you are lecturing me about how it’s thirty degrees out,” I scoff, cutting him off. “Don’t you think it’s a little too cold to be riding your motorcycle in this weather?”
Logan’s jaw ticks before he scoffs. “I’d ride it in the snow if I could.”
“Great. Good for you,” I say.
“Greatfor me,” he says sarcastically without aggravation laced in his words.
“We have to go now so I can get changed before class. This is wasting my time.”
I turn toward the door, and Brooke pushes it open before me so we can get out of here.
I don’t even give Logan another glance to see his reaction before turning around and walking towards the door, and he doesn’t stop us either.
As we hustle back to my apartment, my brain buzzes, replaying our entire interaction. He used to be so nice to me in all the years I’ve known him.
This is not the Logan Bennett I used to know.
Something has definitely changed.
And none of it is sitting right with me.
I down therest of my coffee before getting on my motorcycle. The engine roars to life under me as I watch Emiline and her friend, who I recognized from the ER, hustle down the street. This morning was anything but what I expected. I just wanted to get my coffee and meet my partner, Silas, at the gym. Instead, I had aliteralrun-in with the girl I’ve been trying to avoid at all costs.
Shaking off the intrusive thoughts, I pull down the visor on my helmet and steer my motorcycle in the opposite direction.
Once I arrive, I park my bike, quickly unclasp my bag from the back, and hustle inside. Silas is waiting for me, tapping his fingers on the receptionist counter as if he’s been waiting for hours.
“Bout’ time, Bennett.”
“Relax,” I reply casually, with a grin. “I just had my four-dollar cup of black coffee spill all over the place as I left the coffeeshop and then got into a fight with the recipient of said spilled coffee.”
His eyes widen. “Well, okay.”
I love that he never asks more questions or pushes for information.
“I’ll go get changed,” I say as I walk toward the locker room.
After I change into a pair of gym shorts and an old T-shirt, I find Silas already in the ring and ready to go. I'm determined to make the most of this session, to push myself further than before, both physically and mentally.
“Let’s do this.” I nod, taking my place in the ring with him. I don my gloves, and Silas holds up punching mitts as I throw light jabs and hooks to warm up.
Some people run or take up a hobby to escape whatever demons they fight. But not me. I’m not the type of guy who likes to talk about emotions. I’ve never talked about my dad with any of the Ford siblings. They know he died when I was young but never asked for more details. We've always had a silent understanding, a bond that doesn't require words.
Boxing is my escape. It’s become an outlet for me after tough shifts at work or when I need to release pent-up emotions. It’s a testament to my resilience, showing that I can face my demons head-on and come out stronger.
In my line of work, I’ve seen some shit I never want to see again. Some things are so jarring and heavy on the mind that their images are forever embedded in my brain, no matter how hard I try to eliminate them.
But that’s what I signed up for when I became a police officer.