Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
"Logan," she whispers, pressing her face to my throat. Shaking.
I hold her tightly, breathing her in.
"Logan, I…" She tips her head back, staring up at me. The truth is right there in her eyes, blazing like twin stars. "I lo–"
The locker room door opens.
"Oh, shit," Diego says.
I yank Peyton's skirt down over her ass, turning a dark glower on my teammate.
"Get the fuck out, Diego."
He backs out slowly, his hands in the air and a smirk on his face. But the damage is already done. As soon as the door closes behind him, Peyton slides from my lap, adjusting her skirt.
Fucking hell.
"Peyton, baby."
She avoids my gaze.
"Dammit, Peyton," I growl, hauling myself to my feet. "Talk to me."
"And say what?" She spins to face me. "What do you want me to say, Logan? That I'm in love with you? Fine, done. I'm in love with you! I've been in love with you from the beginning!"
"Fuck," I growl, reaching for her. It's about goddamn time she finally admitted it.
"But I don't need a hero," she cries, darting out of my reach. "And it's not okay that you're willing to destroy everything you've worked for just to protect me when I never asked for that."
"It's my job to protect you."
"No. It's your job to love me," she says sadly. "And I think Lauren would tell you the same thing if you asked her, but you won't. Because you're so hellbent on beating yourself up that you do the same thing to her, too."
"What does that mean?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.
"It means…" She sighs, scraping her hair back into a quick bun. "It means that I finally figured you out. You didn't hit that photographer because you were trying to protect me, Logan. You hit him because you felt guilty."
"Bullshit," I growl.
"You know it's true," she says quietly. "It's what you've been doing with Lauren for years. You punish yourself, and hope it'll make her life better. But it doesn't work that way. All you're doing is destroying yourself and teaching her that she isn't strong enough to fight her own battles. The last thing she needs is to believe that she's a coward who can't face whatever life throws at her." She turns for the door, sighing. "I don't need that, either. The last thing I need is for the man I love to throw himself in front of me every single time my past comes up. I can't be the reason you beat yourself up and get yourself in trouble. I won't be. That reputation has haunted me long enough, Logan. If you're going to love me, then love me. Be my partner. But don't ask me to let you be a martyr. Don't give my past and my father that much power over our future when you're the one who convinced me that I was ready to stop running."
She sails through the door, leaving me standing in the middle of the locker room.
"Fuck!" I growl, slamming my hand down against the wall.
"Lariat." I drop into the booth beside Emilia later that night, shooting her a grin. "Haven't seen you around the locker room lately."
We're at a bar downtown, hanging out before we have to fly out for another game in the morning. Peyton came with us, but she's barely speaking to me. She's still pissed. Actually, that isn't true. She's hurt.
It's my own damn fault. I've spent all day thinking about what she said. She wasn't wrong. About any of it. I do punish myself because I feel guilty. I have royally fucked things up. And I don't have the first clue how to start fixing them now. But I've gotta do it. For her sake, for Lauren's sake…and for mine. Because I can't spend the rest of my goddamn career throwing myself on the sword every time motherfuckers like Montaque or that photographer come around.
If that shit is going to cost me Peyton, I have to find a different way. She told me she loves me today. I know how fucking scared she was to say it, but she said it anyway. She actually stood there and told me exactly how she feels, despite her fears, despite her insecurities, despite all of it. I've never been prouder than I was today. And I've never felt like a bigger asshole, either.
I won't be the reason she feels like she isn't enough. I refuse to let her live with guilt, thinking she's fucking up my life every time I do something wrong because I can't let go of my guilt. So if fixing my shit is what I have to do to prove to her that I can give her the future she sees with me, I'll find a way to do it.
And I'm guessing the tipsy little shrink sitting beside me can help me sort my shit out.