Chapter 27 Chapter 26
Cole POV
Harper disappears through the Alpha Chi door like she’s holding herself together by threads.
Logan just stands there, staring, breathing like he’s drowning on dry land.
Then it hits him.
He explodes.
“Fuck!”
His voice cracks the quiet, scares a squirrel off a bush. He grabs his hair, pacing, chest heaving.
I’ve seen Logan pissed.
Game-day pissed.
Ref-blew-the-call pissed.
This isn’t that.
This is fear.
This is heartbreak with teeth.
He turns like he’s about to go after her, storm the house, drag her back out just to keep arguing or kissing or burning alive in whatever the hell that was.
I plant myself in front of him.
“Move,” he snarls. “Move, Cole.”
“No.”
“Cole, I swear to—”
“WHAT?” I snap at him, voice sharp enough to cut him off. “What are you going to do, huh? Blow up what little you have left? Scream her name like an idiot and scare her more? Put on another episode of the Logan Shaw Self-Destruction Tour?”
His eyes are wild. “Why are you even here?”
“Because,” I fire back, jabbing a finger into his chest, “HOW YOU’RE ACTING RIGHT NOW? THIS—THIS is why I stopped you last night.”
He surges forward, furious, desperate. “You shouldn’t have.”
“She needed to breathe, Logan!”
He shoves past me, but I body block him like I’m defending the goddamn Cup.
“She needs space,” I say, voice low now, controlled. “She needs time.”
“I don’t WANT to give her space!”
He’s yelling now. Loud enough girls walking by turn their heads. Loud enough somebody in Alpha Chi will hear if this keeps going.
“That’s not love,” I shoot back, matching his volume now, “that’s PANIC.”
He freezes like I slapped him.
His voice drops into a raw, broken growl.
“I can’t let her think I didn’t mean it.”
“Did you?” I ask. “Did you mean it, or did it scare you so bad you kissed her like she was oxygen and then immediately wanted to run?”
He looks like he might punch something—maybe me, maybe himself, maybe the universe.
“That’s not what happened,” he says, but it’s not conviction. It’s defense. Fragile.
“No?” I step closer. “Then tell me what DID happen.”
He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. Jaw flexes, throat works—no words.
Exactly.
“You kissed her like you’ve been starving for years,” I say quieter, “and you’re mad it didn’t fix you.”
He flinches like that one lands deep.
“You think I don’t get it?” I add. “You think I don’t know what happens when something real sneaks up on you and you don’t have the emotional equipment to handle it?”
He’s breathing hard again. Fists clenched.
I lower my voice one last notch.
“You’re afraid. And you’re trying to control panic by controlling her. You don’t get to do that.”
His voice cracks open. “I’m not trying to control her.”
“No,” I agree, “you’re trying not to lose her. But here’s the bitch of it—”
I step in, eye to eye.
“You already did.”
He staggers back like I gut-punched him.
Silence tears through us, sharp and bitter.
“Let her walk,” I say. “Let her think. Let her choose.”
His chest caves in one heavy breath.
“I hate this,” he whispers.
“I know.” I sigh. “Growth sucks ass. Welcome to emotional puberty.”
His laugh is a broken, humorless huff.
Good. He’s not spiraling. He’s thinking. Hurting, but thinking.
“Come on,” I say. “Before you do something spectacularly stupid, like serenade her window or bench press a cop car.”
He doesn’t move at first.
Then slowly, shakily, he nods.
We walk.
No more shouting.
Just two idiots trying to pretend the world didn’t shift ten minutes ago.
He stops once more, staring back toward her house, eyes glassy like he’s lost and furious about it.
“She hates me.”
“No,” I tell him. “She wishes she did. That’s worse.”
He swallows, muscles shaking.
“And you—” he mutters, eyes narrowing at me, “don’t you ever pull that again.”
“Pull what?”
“Sticking your nose in.”
I grin just a little. “Buddy, if I hadn’t stepped in, you would’ve thrown yourself through her front door like a feral raccoon with abandonment issues.”
He scowls.
I clap his back.
“Let’s go, drama queen.”
He doesn’t correct me.
He can’t.
Because underneath all the rage and denial—
Logan Shaw is terrified of one thing louder than anything:
Losing the girl he never let himself want.