Page 43 of From Square One

Logan’s lips are so thin they’ve nearly disappeared from his face. His fists quake at his sides. “If you’d told me, I would’ve come home,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “But you didn’t, so you…what? You wanted to get revenge on me by inviting Aaron here? By ignoring my warnings about the kind of shit person he is?”

His words are sharp and molten hot, cutting through my wobbly confidence like a knife through gelatin. “It has nothing to do with revenge,” I say. “My experience with him is different than I thought it would be. Um. Positive. And kind.”

Aaron’s tight posture slowly loosens, like my voice is an antidote to his anger. Logan, though, does something I don’t expect. He laughs. Harshly. Bitterly. “Yeah?” he asks, grinning, but there’s no merriment behind his eyes—only a frigid rage I’ve never seen before. “I’m sure he was a ray of sunshine while he waited for you to spread your legs. Hey, did he ever tell you why he asked you out? Or were you too busy fucking to ask?”

These words are nothing more than sound cutting through air, so they shouldn’t knock me off balance. They do anyway. I stumble back, and my tired knee folds under me, striking the bedroom carpet. Tears singe my eyes. I want to demand where this is coming from, why he’s treating me like this, what he’s talking about. I don’t get the chance.

Aaron punches Logan across the face.

It happens so fast that I barely catch it. Aaron’s fist is a blur, veins are bulging in his temples, and his pale face is ruby red. His knuckles collide with Logan’s cheek, snapping his head sideways and causing him to crash into the wall. Logan gasps for breath, like the impact stole the air from his lungs.

Suddenly, I’m the one who’s livid.

“What’s wrong with you?” I shout, forcing my feet under me and throwing myself between them. I plant one palm on Aaron’s bare chest and shove, and for once, he allows himself to stagger back, the wrath bleeding out of his face. “Is this how you’re still solving your problems? By punching through them?”

Aaron takes a shuddering breath, his fists bone-white.

“Get out,” I snap.

Aaron gives Logan one more scathing glare, then storms into the hallway, throwing the towel onto the floor and basically flash-banging me with his junk before scooping up his wet clothes and heading downstairs, staggering into them along the way. He pauses on the third step, his shoulders deflating.

“I’m sorry, Riley,” he whispers.

Then he’s gone.

15

“Are you okay?” I ask, tugging Logan’s arm. His hand is nursing his face, and he’s still leaning against my bedroom wall beside my calendar, which has been corrected to the current month and is filling up with tasks.

“It’s fine…He didn’t use full force,” Logan says, which startles me.

“Are you sure? It looks like he got you pretty good.”

A smirk slices through Logan’s face, and he batters my frantic hands away. “You haven’t seen him in a real fight,” he says, his voice softening. He hoists himself off the wall with a dreary sigh. “I’m sorry for what I said. And for not coming home when you needed help. I’ve been treating you like shit lately—”

“Don’t apologize,” I say, waving my palms awkwardly. “You couldn’t have known that I called you because I fainted. I would’ve felt horrible if you left for that.”

Logan gives me this pained look, and I have the feeling I’ve said something to frustrate him. “How are you feeling?” he asks quietly.

“Better.” I don’t tell him it’s because of Aaron. Because he carried me to bed, and drew a warm, soothing bath for me, and kissed away my thoughts, distracting me from discomfort. Now that he’s gone, though, the pain is starting to come back. I didn’t break any bones, but I jostled them well enough to know I’ll be aching and frail for a while.

“You…” Logan fizzles off, and his fingers scrunch up at his sides. “You don’t have to do a million chores all at once. Give yourself time to breathe. Move slower.”

“I don’t like falling behind,” I say, beelining for my dresser when I realize I’m still in my swim trunks. “The backyard and flower beds are a mess. None of you know how to properly clean, either. Or cook. If I don’t do it, everyone else will forget to.”

“Teach me,” Logan says desperately. “I’ll help. And maybe then you won’t go running back to him and falling for all his tricks.”

I give him a sidelong skeptical glance as I pull out sweatpants and a T-shirt. “I tried teaching you when I was first diagnosed with celiac disease. And Mom. And Dad. You were all so useless I decided it was better to handle everything myself.”

Logan’s throat bobs with a swallow. I get changed while he’s focused on the towel Aaron threw on the staircase. “I wish you’d been up front on the phone. I could tell you weren’t saying something. If I’d known, I swear I would’ve come home.”

He speaks with such force, it’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself, too.

“It’s fine. Really,” I say, ambling toward him and scrutinizing the swelling skin around his cheekbone. I start toward the staircase so I can wrap ice in a bag for him. “Sorry for not being clear. Aaron just sort of figured it out and came over before I could tell him not to.”

I’m halfway down the staircase when I realize Logan isn’t following. He’s still hovering in my doorframe, like he wants to say something else.

“You should put ice on your eye,” I say, gesturing to him. “Come on.”