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L O G A N
How tired and worn out had I been to tell her the story of finding Lyric in
the pool?
No one knew but Byron, and he hadn’t mentioned it since that day,
when he told me I was stupid for lying.
What had come over me?
I should have been anxious as hell, pacing, trying to make myself
believe things that weren’t true. That I wasn’t repeating old mistakes and I
was fine, fine, fine.
Instead, I was lying awake, naked except for a pair of silly Santa socks,
wearing Ella’s head on my chest and her drying juices on my dick.
In a few hours, we’d move her into my house. With every step, I pushed
us deeper into a lie I was less and less sure I could maintain. Knowing how
she fucked, how she slept, and how she took her coffee wasn’t a substitute
for love. Getting our story straight wasn’t the same as living it.
We’d made a business decision, and yet—when she’d suggested an
annulment, my reaction had been visceral. I’d had to peel that back to give
her a less emotional reason to stay married.
In the dark with her, I didn’t panic. The anxiety was usually worse at
night, but not that night. Somehow, it stayed locked in its cage while I put
the pieces in place.
Our families.
Our business.
My feelings.
Without the voice telling me I was losing control, I could see my
feelings for her clearly.