Chapter 13

13

A stiff breeze caught in Logan’s shaggy hair and tugged on the hem of his loose tank top, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. He’d grown quiet again on our way back from the bay, thoughtful and withdrawn just like he’d been earlier this morning. Same reason?

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

His faraway gaze slid to me and focused. “Just... this thing I’ve got to handle. Like I told you.”

Well, that was vague. I eased the Blueberry Seas up to the pier before I shot him a searching look. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Yes. Just not right now.” His mouth pulled tight before he forced a smile and exhaled, his eyes warming when they met mine. “How about I tell you over dinner?”

We’d done a few dinners in his cabin—Logan and Tom ordering room service while Nia and I contributed whatever looked edible from the staff kitchen. Logan’s tone implied more than a casual get-together, though.

I hesitated. “Like a date?”

His smile turned real. “Nothing ‘like’ about it. A date.”

“Oh.” Look at me—a beacon of eloquence. About to secure the boat, I stilled, fingers clenched around the mooring lines. A date . In public? “I’d... Yeah. I’d like that. Tonight?”

“Great, yes.” He hesitated for a moment so brief I almost missed it. “I was thinking dinner in Roseau? Just the two of us.”

In public, yes.

I looped the ropes around the cleats on the dock, the familiar movement calming the quiver in my stomach. A sideways glance showed nervous tension in the curve of Logan’s shoulders, waiting for my reaction. Somehow, it made me breathe more easily.

“Sounds good,” I said, and everything about him brightened.

“Seven?” he asked. “We can take my car.”

“I’ll make the reservation.”

“Sure.” His grin was sweet, fond , as though my need to retain some form of control was… not amusing, nothing quite that patronizing. But like he understood and liked me more for it.

“Great,” I said because clearly, my vocabulary had taken a swan-dive into the realm of monosyllables. Logan’s grin softened and it echoed warm in my stomach, like liquid sunshine.

“There’s stuff we should talk about.” He looked away and back at me. “About us, yeah? And me. Things you should know. And, uh. The future.”

The future.

My stupid little heart pulsed once, hard, and I couldn’t suppress a smile even as I aimed for a wry tone. “You know, between your word salad just now and mine earlier—if incoherence were a currency, we’d both be rolling in it.”

Logan’s laugh was dizzying in its brightness, the sea caught in his eyes. God, he was everything. I didn’t bother checking who might see—just stepped into his space, tangled both hands in his hair, and pulled him in for a harsh kiss that didn’t bother with polite pretense.

If anyone had a problem with us? Well, fuck them. They could talk to my middle finger.

I was done holding back.

Richard crashed into the end of my lunch break.

All puffed-up like a B-movie sheriff about to run a guy out of town for stealing a horse, he looked one misplaced twitch away from a full-on monologue. Based on his narrow-eyed glare, I was the guy. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he barked.

Well, I had my moments. Probably not how I should respond, though—especially after just borrowing the Blueberry Seas for a private spin.

“All right, you lost me.” I kept my tone light. “What’s going on?”

His features twisted in distaste. “You know damn well what this is about.”

Logan. Had to be, right? Except Richard’s reaction seemed a bit over the top—not like I was the only employee to ever hook up with a guest. Was it the gay thing that had him foaming at the mouth? I’d never gotten the sense that he was homophobic, though. Sure, I didn’t run around in rainbow booty shorts, but my sexuality was clear as day to anyone who’d been paying attention.

Keep your cool.

“I’m not sure I do,” I said carefully. “So why don’t you spell it out for me?”

He gave a hollow laugh and shoved a hand through his perfectly coiffed side part. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

It seemed like a rhetorical question so I stayed quiet, leaning against the picnic table outside the dive center. Bananaquits flitted through the trees, the breeze carrying snatches of music from the seaside.

“I notice things, Milo.” Richard’s voice was edged in contempt. “Like you sneaking around behind the bar the other night. Having a little fun, huh?”

Fuck—the tinkle of a phone we’d heard. Of all the people who could have walked by, it just had to be Richard because of fucking course.

“Okay, yeah.” I dropped my voice to a soothing level. “If it makes a difference, I was on break.”

“Oh, now you remember how to show deference?” He scoffed. “ Bet you’re one of the people who complained about me. But you try being Mr. Nice Guy while catering to a bunch of rich, entitled assholes who’ll drop a one-star review because a seagull flew too close to their lunch or their towels are missing that signature resort scent.”

“Wow, tell me how you really feel.” The words were out before I could catch them, and I hurried to change tracks. “No, but seriously—I get it, all right? I get that it’s not easy. I wouldn’t want the job.”

He let out a derisive snort. “You wouldn’t last a day.”

Well, thanks. So much for trying to extend an olive branch.

“Maybe not.” I took a breath and reminded myself that he could fire me. “But happy employees don’t have to fake a smile. Guests notice that, don’t you think?”

Richard’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “That so? And how good is Logan Fox ”—the last name sounded like an insult—“at spotting a fake? Smell out someone who’s in it for the wrong reasons?”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re fucking fired.” Grim satisfaction swung in Richard’s voice, and—what? No. He couldn’t… Well, he could . But despite my early reservations about starting something with Logan, I’d never believed it could actually cost me the job. It had been a fig leaf to hide behind.

I inhaled around a numbing sense of shock. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I am.” He stared at me with a sardonic raise of his eyebrows. “It’s only fair.”

“But…” I swallowed, ground a little unsteady under my feet. “Look, I’m aware of the policy, okay? But I’m hardly the first person here to start something with a guest. It’s never been an issue before, so why now? Why me?”

Something about him shifted—a predator scenting the air. “You don’t know.” He said it slowly, like he was still working out the implications himself. “You turned them against me, and you don’t even know.”

Ice flooded my veins .

Logan. This was about Logan. Something about Logan knocked Richard off-kilter, like Logan was special somehow. Like he was…

Like he was important.

“What do you mean?” I asked, something faintly nauseating fluttering in my stomach.

“I guess he didn’t tell you that they’re putting him in charge.” Richard’s laugh carried cruel condescension. “Being born into the right family sure comes with a nice set of benefits. Oh, and his last name? It isn’t Fox, that’s for sure.”

No. No .

But…

A thesis in Hospitality Management that dealt with how to improve things around here. Richard being a subject in Logan’s analysis. A cousin who was already running hotels in Europe.

‘There’s stuff we should talk about. About us, yeah? And me. Things you should know.’

Logan had been here to christen the Blueberry Seas . Because he’d named it? No—his cousin. The blond guy in my photo? Probably. God, it was like a Rubik’s Cube, all colors suddenly slotting into place.

Prescott. Logan fucking Prescott .

God, of course. It seemed laughably obvious now, like I’d been staring straight at the answer this whole damn time, blinded by his stupid smile and perfect abs. And he’d let me. He’d let me trip along, thinking he considered us… what? Equals? Fucking spare me. His whole spiel about the future? Yeah, right. That future was a joke, and I was his punchline.

My fault for missing it. But his for the lie.

“I didn’t know.” Each word weighed heavy like a stone, the taste of ashes on my tongue.

“Makes two of us.” Richard shrugged, all what-can-you-do but for the acidity in his voice. “Imagine my surprise when his uncle called me just now.”

Right. Because they were putting Logan in charge. That’s what Richard had said, right? A wave of dizziness swept over me, gravity pulling at my hollow bones .

“If you fire me…” I didn’t care—in fact, I welcomed it. Not like I wanted to hang around a place owned by Logan’s family. Fucking the new boss, or whatever it was that they planned for Logan? Yeah, that might be a new low. But it wasn’t all about me. “Nia can’t run this place alone.”

“You think I give a fuck?” Richard shook his head, eyes sharp. “Might as well take you down with me.”

It hadn’t clicked until now—his claim that I’d turned Logan against him. Right, sure. Logan had kept a close eye on Richard from the start, certainly didn’t need my help to figure out the guy was a train wreck. But if Richard wanted to deflect his own mess onto me, fine, go for it.

“I’ll go pack,” I managed and turned away. Head held high in disgrace. Not about to let fucking Richard see me cracking apart at the seams.

One foot in front of the other.

Maybe Richard called after me, maybe he didn’t. Nothing made it past the rush in my ears. Then the shop draped its well-worn smells around me—the slightly musty odor of rubber and neoprene, the constantly lingering scent of saltwater. The compressor perched in its corner like a slumbering beast.

I trudged up the stairs, hands shaking as I forced the apartment door open. Might be the last time. God, but this was home . And now? Nothing. Miami? Maybe.

‘Do you think you’re still running?’

Fuck you, Logan.

Exiled from exile—hilarious. Only I wasn’t laughing. Just stood there, on the threshold of my matchbox room, and had no idea where to start. I should pack. I should talk to Nia. I should call Katie, see if I could crash on her couch again like the pathetic return of a bad sitcom.

The mattress gave under my weight, walls spinning madly until I blinked and clamped a hand around my knee, nails digging into skin. Fuck, I was a mess. The world map on my door felt like a sarcastic slap in the face. I’d shared my silly dreams of far-flung travels while Logan hadn’t even bothered with the basics. Each colorful pin winked at me, now just one more place I could run to.

Christ, again ? My breath hitched.

Fucking Logan. He’d played me, revealing just enough to keep me hooked with shimmering glimpses at his life—childhood crushes and exes, rebel years and family battles. Was any of it even true? Or had he just pulled it out of his ass, making things up on the fly, who the fuck cares when it’s just a holiday fling, right?

My pulse pounded, anger burning bright-white through the shock. This wasn’t me, not anymore. I didn’t just lie back and take it. No, fuck that. Fine, so maybe a punch to his stupid, perfect face wouldn’t fix my ego, but it’d sure be therapeutic.

If he thought he could slip away easily? Well. Surprise , asshole .

The resort’s manicured beauty felt like a mockery. Another day in paradise, people! The escape you deserve!

Fuck it. Fuck all of it.

Blind fury propelled me along the sun-drenched path, so dizzy with it that I damn near stumbled into a golf cart. It whizzed past, wheels rumbling on the wooden planks and guests cheering like they were in the Fast and Furious: Resort Edition . I skipped my mandatory nod-and-smile routine. No point. I sure as hell wasn’t in a smiling mood, and anyway, I didn’t even work here anymore. Oh God. I did not work here anymore.

Panic bubbled up. I stamped it down, clenched my jaw, and kept moving.

Butterflies danced around hibiscus blossoms, zigzagging like drunkards stumbling home from the bar. Drunk on nectar. I felt drunk too, mind staggering, taunting me with fractured memories. Logan’s ever-shifting eyes and how I’d joked about doing shots out of his dimples, soft touches and kisses that melted like sea mist or burned like embers, twisted sheets and—and stop . None of it meant anything. Logan was a liar .

I took a sharp turn off the main path and towards his cabin, same as last night. Except last night, I’d been subtle about it. Now? Fuck that. Not like it mattered. Not like it ever had when Logan’s family owned this whole damn place.

Trees formed a tunnel, then parted to reveal his cabin. I still had the keycard. Instead, I slammed my fist against the door, knuckles smarting from the impact. Good . The pain sent white-hot dots spinning through my vision.

I was about to knock again when Kyle pulled the door open. The way his eyes went wide was pure fucking poetry. Hello there—another asshole who’d been in on this charade. My fists clenched tighter, nails biting into my palm.

“Where the fuck is he?” My words came out as a growl. Polite pretense? Not today, fucker.

Kyle hesitated, like he was actually tempted to defuse this. “Listen, man?—”

“Not in the fucking mood,” I cut him off. “I know , all right?”

He assessed me with a quick, cautious look, then nodded and finally stepped aside. “Upstairs.”

Too bad—I’d have welcomed a reason to lash out. I wasn’t a violent guy, not one of those dudes who had a couple of beers and were spoiling for a fight. But the anger simmering in my blood made me want to scream and thrash and rage—anything to keep my mind off the jagged wound in my chest, raw edges that gaped wide open. Anger was my lifeline.

I pushed past Kyle, our shoulders bumping. He turned with the impact.

“Milo, hey.” His voice was uncharacteristically serious for a guy who always seemed like he wouldn’t give a fuck if it was served on a silver platter. “He never meant?—”

“Save it.” Sharp and biting, hurt twisting through my gut.

Kyle didn’t try again. I pounded up the stairs, every step throbbing in my ears, in my head, in the very tips of my fingers. Tom’s door cracked open just as I passed, and he peeked out, Nia right behind him .

“Milo?” Confusion was thick in her tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Ask him .” I pointed a thumb at Tom, and his face sagged with guilt. Yeah. Screw him, too.

I marched past them. Threw open Logan’s door and slammed it behind me, shutting out the world.

Logan’s room. Fuck. Not just his anymore—I’d left parts of myself here. A change of clothes in the wardrobe, a book by the bed, my idiot heart at his feet. Too much light flooded in through the wide windows, illuminating the tattered details of my broken hopes.

He stood by the wardrobe, buttoning up a crisp white shirt, all businesslike. His head whipped around at my abrupt entrance. One look at me, and his face—God, his fucking face— fell as though he didn’t have it coming. He took a quick step forward while I froze, water rushing in my ears.

Logan Prescott. Liar. I love you. I hate you.

“Milo.” He raised a hand as if to reach for me, palm up.

I fucking hate you.

“Were you ever gonna fucking tell me?” The words tasted like bile.

“I can explain.” His tone was quiet, imploring, and it snapped me out of my stupor.

“Explain what?” My voice cracked. I fought to steady it, fought to steady myself, to drape myself in protective sarcasm—like an almond-stuffed date wrapped in bacon, hard core and deceptive sweetness hidden by a sting of salt. God, what even was my brain? “Explain how Richard just fired me for playing house with the bosses’ nephew ?”

Logan blinked and straightened. “He can’t do that.”

“You really think that’s the issue here?”

“There’ve been complaints about him.” Logan’s brow furrowed in something like confusion, as if this was some minor administrative inconvenience. “It’s part of why I’m here—actually, my uncle is gonna let him go. But Richard’s not supposed to know that yet. Or who I am.”

I stalked closer, anger twitching through me, vision narrowing in on Logan. God, Logan . “And again.” I paused. “You really think that’s the fucking issue ?”

He stood his ground, eyes open and calm, all his attention focused on me. He was good at that—making me feel like I mattered, like he truly saw me. Asshole.

“I was going to tell you,” he said. “Tonight.”

“Oh, were you?” My throat felt raw, each breath scraping along flesh and tissue. “After weeks of this, of letting me—” Fall for you . I choked it down. No, fuck that. “Of letting me think I knew you.”

“You do,” he cut in. “You do .”

I scoffed, my stomach fluttering thickly. “The hell I do. I told you about Michael, Logan. And you? Logan fucking Prescott . What was this to you—a joke?”

“No.” He shook his head, and even just that hint of movement made me dizzy. “No joke, Milo. It couldn’t be further from that.”

“Funny way of showing it.” My derisive laugh fell flat. I circled him, ever closer, and Logan turned with me, arms by his side, voice heavy.

“I swear, Milo—I was going to tell you. I just needed to figure out first what to tell my family, find a way to make this work.” Logan flashed a careful smile, and Jesus, I wanted to punch him.

“Stop.” Taste of grit on my tongue. “Stop fucking talking .”

“Please, Milo. Please just let me explain.”

“Don’t bother. We’re done.” I was right up in his space now, my fist raised. Poised to strike, only I was trembling, couldn’t put my weight behind it because God, I loved him. I loved him even though I shouldn’t.

Logan caught my wrist, his eyes wild. Everything ground to a halt for a fractured instant.

Then he jerked me into a desperate kiss. His mouth crashed into mine, hard and hungry, his hands tangling in my hair, points of pressure against my scalp. Sheer animal instinct had me melting into it, sinking into quicksand as my lips parted for him. Helpless to deny him. Helpless .

Logan swayed, halting. Then he surged forward, tumbling us both onto the bed, covering me up and pulling me under. His half-buttoned shirt trailed over my arms, knee pressing down between my thighs. It was dark desperation, frantic, his hands gripping me too tightly, sure to bruise.

“We’re not done,” he whispered into my mouth. Repeated it like a litany. “We’re not done. We’re not.”

The scent of clean laundry rose from the sheets, white heat radiating in my bones and filling the empty space in my chest. Thoughts sluggish like a murky river in summer. Like I was underwater, fighting my way back to the surface.

I shoved him off.

He went without a fight, like he’d already given up. I rolled off the bed and stumbled to my feet. Jesus. He’d just—he’d taken advantage of my weakness. He must have sensed that I would fold right into him, and he’d used it against me. Just like Michael. Ruthless. Selfish.

Blinding anger pushed words to the very edge of my reach. “Do not fucking touch me.”

Logan flinched. He propped himself up on his elbows, spilled across the bed like a wet dream or a nightmare. Guilt was etched into every line of him, his eyes wide and shocked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Milo.” His voice caught on my name. “Please, please let me explain.”

No, thanks. I wasn’t doing this. I wouldn’t sit through a monologue about how he hadn’t meant to hurt me, about how his real identity had seemed like a footnote to this inconsequential fling we’d had. How sorry he was that I’d mistaken this for more than it was. Here, little boy—want some money for your trouble?

“Please.” Logan’s voice had grown see-through, translucent like a shattered promise. Something snagged in my mind, but I couldn’t grasp it. “Milo…”

Fuck no. He’d already broken my heart. I wasn’t hanging around so he could waltz all over its scattered pieces.

“It doesn’t matter,” I told him. “I don’t care anymore.” The words lodged in my throat like glass splinters because of course I did. “Just… stay the hell away from me, Logan.”

I made myself turn away, muscles liquid. Too much—this, him, all of it, and I needed to get out of here so I could think, breathe . I wrenched the door open and left, almost tripped on my way down the stairs, grabbing the railing to keep myself upright. Pressure built behind my eyes. Fuck this. I’m not gonna cry.

It was over. I had a suitcase to pack.