Chapter 2

• Logan
• Logan exited the gym shortly after eleven, his ego inflated to compensate for the purpling bruise on his solar plexus and the bumps and scrapes on his body. Despite feeling half-asleep, he had managed to knock Adrian down twice during the sparring session. His footwork had been sluggish, and his pauses had been too long, but he had effortlessly fallen into the rhythm of the fight.
• However, Liam’s expression remained unimpressed, with flattened lips and piercing blue eyes. While the other guys saw it as a challenge, Liam perceived Logan’s performance as sloppy.
• And truth be told, Liam had valid reasons for his concern. He had set his sights on Logan participating in the upcoming Olympic trials, and each fight leading up to that held significance. Logan, on the other hand, wasn’t as enthusiastic.
• The prospect of traveling for fights across the nation and internationally made him anxious about being far away from Ava and Ashley. He had been attempting, albeit unsuccessfully, to avoid seeing Ashley regularly for the past few months, especially considering Ashley’s tendency to become flirtatious and touchy when drunk.
• As Logan made his way to his apartment, shoulders hunched and hands buried in his pockets, Liam’s disapproving expression continued to bother him.
• The street was still bustling with traffic even at such a late hour, as was typical for the area. Surrounded by Yankee Stadium, three courthouses, and a cluster of aspiring gentrifiers who stood out in the neighborhood’s roughness, Logan exchanged greetings with six people on his route from Knockout's to his building. Finally, he found solace in the quietness of his apartment, relieved to shut the door behind him.
• Without removing his jacket, Logan secured all four locks and fastened the chain, proceeding to microwave a generous bowl of casserole. The tantalizing aroma of lamb, gravy, and onions triggered a ravenous growl in his stomach. By the time the microwave signaled completion, his hands trembled with the urgency to devour something, anything.
• This meal, infused with cherished memories and comforting warmth, held particular significance. Hana always knew what to bring him when he was going through a rough patch.
• Logan ate his food while imagining Liam’s disapproving gaze, which eerily resembled his father’s. He pondered whether Liam imitated his father on purpose. After Logan’s father left the family, his mother became a nanny for the Montgomerys Ashley's family.
• Consequently, his relationship with Liam often oscillated between a trainer-fighter dynamic, mentor-mentee, and a paternal bond. In the past, Logan craved Liam’s attention, especially because his mother was absent half the week, taking care of wealthy WASP families on the Upper East Side, instead of her own children.
• However, one of those families included Ashley, and now that Logan’s mother had passed, Ashley was still under the Sullivan family’s responsibility – at least one member of it.
• Within minutes, Logan finished his meal and rushed to take a shower because he felt himself swaying on his feet. He then collapsed on his bed, wearing only a towel, still thinking about his untidy and unreliable friend. Was “friend” the right term for a privileged kid who had no one but Logan, the nanny’s son, to talk to?
• Probably not.
• Nevertheless, when Ashley called him again at three-thirty in the morning, Logan’s hand automatically reached out to answer before his half-awake brain could intervene. “What?” he groaned.
• “Logan,” Ashley’s voice was always slightly husky, as if she had a smoking habit since birth. She elongated the consonant, indicating that she had been drinking. “Are you still avoiding me? I’ve been trying to talk to you all day.”
• “Huh?”
• “Are you sleeping?”
• “Yeah,” Logan tried to wake himself up, moving slightly on the tangled sheets. His body felt heavy, taking a few more minutes of sleep with each of Ashley’s questions. “Ashley, what do you want? It’s late.”
• There was a momentary pause, followed by the sound of laughter, music, and clinking glasses in the background. Ashley’s hesitation caused Logan to hesitate as well. Despite the tension between them over the past few months, Ashley rarely took a moment to consider what Logan might be doing before asking him to put it on hold.
• Was Ashley entitled? Bratty? Or perhaps just desperate for the friendship that no one else seemed willing to offer.
• “Ashley?”
• Logan heard Ashley inhale deeply on the other end. “Hey, never mind, okay? Forget it. Go back to sleep.”
• His eyes opened fully. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
• “Nothing, babes,” she replied, mustering forced cheer that seemed faker than a February tan. The strain in each syllable was evident. “You sleep. I’ll figure it out.”
• “Shut up and tell me what’s wrong,” he insisted.
• “Logan…” There was a hint of hesitation in her voice.
• “Are you drunk?” Logan pressed further, sensing something was amiss.
• She made a small sound, resembling a verbal shrug, and Logan persisted. “High?”
• “I shouldn’t have called,” Ashley finally admitted.
• “No kidding you shouldn’t have called at three in the morning.” Logan’s temper flared, a reaction that only this person– Ashley– could provoke. “You’ve been calling me since seven in the evening, way before you reached wherever you are now. So don’t play coy with me. Tell me why you’re acting weird.”
• “I just… I wanted to talk. I don’t have anyone to ask for advice, and I thought…” There was a pause, followed by a clicking sound. “I thought you could help me make a choice, and when you didn’t answer, I made it on my own.” A sardonic laugh echoed on her end of the line, a sound that was uniquely Ashley.
• “I don’t want to hear this nonsense.” Logan swung his legs out of bed, feeling the room spin from the sudden movement, and fumbled blindly for a pair of jeans. “Where are you?”
• “Logan, just forget it. You’re right. I’m a little bit tipsy, and I need to stop calling you every time—”
• “Tell me where you are, or I’ll use the Find My iPhone app,” he threatened.
• “Logan—”
• “Ashley, I swear to God, I’m not in the mood. Tell me now if you’re just messing with me because you’re drunk and emotional, or if you’re stranded again at some wild party and need a ride.”
• Her response came In a barely audible whisper. “I need a ride.”