Fated Hearts (Echoes of Darkness Prequel)

14

Ava

I wake with a start and squint my eyes at the bright light slanting through the window. Blinking a few times, I realize I’m in bed, and I furrow my eyebrows, confused about how I got here. Then I remember losing my shit and Logan pulling me into his arms and holding me there until I calmed down. I fell asleep while he held me, didn’t I?

Fuck me .

He saw me puking, and he stayed there in the bathroom with me while I sobbed and used him like my own personal comfort pillow. He probably thinks I’m batshit crazy, aside from being the clumsiest person on Earth. Because my brain hates me, it sends me a flashback of how I spilled the beer in his lap a week ago, and I want to die inside.

Groaning, I push myself into a sitting position, but I freeze when the sound of someone breathing from the direction of the couch fills the air. Did Logan stay? Oh my God, he did stay. My heart constricts in my chest when I see his big body slumped on top of the couch through the paneled glass separating my bedroom from the rest of the studio apartment.

As I get up from the bed, I notice I’m halfway naked. He took off my jeans when he tucked me in, probably to make me more comfortable, and I cringe hard because I’m wearing the rattiest panties I own, the grandma skivvies I typically use only on my period. I didn’t have time to do laundry, and the period panties were my only clean underwear.

Perfect…just perfect.

I take a pair of shorts and a tee from my dresser and tip-toe to the bathroom, but I can’t help stopping in my tracks to look at Logan. He barely fits on the couch, and the bottom half of his legs hang in the air on the L portion, almost touching the TV. His head is tilted to the side with a hand thrown over his forehead, his features relaxed in slumber, and his lips parted slightly. The sun shining through the window casts his deep amber skin in a golden hue that makes him look like a sexy angel.

I realize I’ve been standing there like a creep for way too long, so I turn around and get into the bathroom, closing the door behind me carefully. I almost scream when I catch a glance of my reflection in the mirror. Last night’s makeup is caked on my face, and streaks of black mascara are smudged around my cheeks. I honestly wonder how the fuck Logan didn’t run for the hills when I look like I just stepped out of a horror movie.

Bringing my hand to my throat, I run the pads of my fingers over the bandage Logan placed over the cut and peel it off; the wound doesn’t look half as bad as my makeup. I don’t understand how I could sleep so deeply that I didn’t feel him tending to my wound and tucking me in bed. My finger trails down to where the scar from my heart transplant surgery should be. It’s so thin and faded that it doesn’t even look like I had surgery.

My new doctor, the one who performed the transplant, said that there’s nothing to worry about, even when I asked him if he was one hundred percent sure it’s normal. I read online that the scar will never completely fade, so naturally, I had questions. He simply told me to stop doing my own research and that I should only believe him because he is my doctor. Well, what do I know? He’s the one who went to med school. Shrugging, I just add that to the pile of weird things happening to me since receiving a new heart and take off my clothes.

I make quick work of washing myself, happy to scrub the bar smell off me. I let out a sharp curse when I start massaging the shampoo into my still sensitive scalp. Stepping out of the shower, I towel dry my hair, not wanting to wake up Logan, and then brush my teeth and wash last night’s makeup off.

When I get out of the bathroom, Logan is still sleeping, and I don’t know what to do with myself. My stomach grumbles so loudly I’m afraid I’ll wake him up. Usually, Sunday is the day I bake something, do laundry, and veg out for hours on the couch watching a show or some reruns. I was planning on making some chocolate croissants from scratch today, but I don’t have the time now, so I take out from the cupboard everything I need to make blueberry muffins, whisk all the ingredients, pour the batter in the tray and pop it into the oven.

Then I start whisking eggs in a bowl and take out another pan to fry bacon in it. It looks like I’m preparing a feast for six people, but with how much I’ve been eating lately, I will probably end up eating half of what I’m making, including the muffins.

“Mmm, it smells delicious,” Logan’s sleepy, gravelly voice pulls my attention toward him, and I turn around. I almost drop the pan at the image before my eyes. He’s stretching, his Henley riding up with the movement, allowing me a perfect view of his delicious-looking abs and the flawlessly etched V that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. Is that a ten-pack? Does that even exist? Why does it feel like I put my face into the oven all of a sudden? I realize too late he just asked me something while I was busy ogling his magnificent body and say, “Huh?”

The corner of his lips lifts in a smirk. Ugh, I want to hit myself in the face with the pan for being so blatantly obvious. He stands up and ambles toward me, stopping near the breakfast bar, which is close enough to me that I can see a day’s worth of stubble on his cheeks and a messy cloud of curls on his head. He’s positively—seductively?—sleep rumpled. My hand itches with the need to sink my fingers in his hair. “How are you feeling?”

I place the pan back on the stove and turn around to answer Logan. “Better, I, um…” Holy shit, Ava! Pull yourself together! “Thank you for last night. I’m sorry about crying all over you…I don’t know what came over me.”

A serious look passes over his face. “You have nothing to worry about. It’s a normal response to trauma. Plus, I got to hold a beautiful woman in my arms, so you won’t hear me complain.” He gives me a rueful grin that makes my heart flutter.

Heat crawls up my neck all the way to my cheeks. “I made breakfast,” I say, stating the obvious and pointing like a weirdo to the pans. Not that he didn’t see them already.

Ugh. Shoot me now!

He only smiles at my awkwardness. “Can I step into the bathroom real quick?”

“Yeah, sure.”

As Logan makes a beeline for the bathroom, the oven’s timer pings, letting me know the muffins are ready. I take out the tray and let them chill for a bit as I set plates and cutlery on the breakfast bar. Then I place a few muffins on a platter and bring it with me as I sit on one of the bar stools, waiting for Logan.

It might just be convenient timing, or perhaps it’s my heart lurching every time it sees him, but the exact moment he comes out of the bathroom is when I remember I haven’t taken my immunosuppressants and the other army of medications the doctor prescribed me. So, I stand and go to the entryway table to search for my pill organizer in my purse. Logan watches me closely as I swallow the five pills one after another without water. It’s something I had to get used to. At first, it was a real struggle taking so many pills—I almost invariably choked them all up as soon as I swallowed—but now it’s part of my daily routine.

“I don’t mean to pry, but why are you taking so many pills?” he asks as he takes a seat at the breakfast bar, his forehead crinkled in concern.

I plop down on the bar stool beside him and dump some scrambled eggs onto my plate, then pass them to Logan. “I had a heart transplant almost four months ago.”

“You had a heart transplant?” he asks incredulously while piling bacon on top of the eggs. “How old are you?”

I laugh because that was my first reaction, too, when I found out about my heart condition. “Twenty-one. Believe me, when I first had a heart attack, and the doctor told me I only had a few months to live, I thought the same thing. I couldn’t believe something like this could happen to someone my age.” Ha, look at me, sounding like a normal person again and not like a weirdo with zero brain cells. If I could, I would high-five myself.

“That must have been hard on you…”

“Yeah, it was, but I tried to make the most of what time I had left. I’m not gonna lie…I did make some stupid decisions.” I take a bite of a bacon strip and munch on it. “But it all turned out for the best since I got a new heart in the end.”

After a few beats of silence, Logan looks toward me. “I’m sorry for being such a dick to you a week ago,” he says sheepishly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not. No one deserves to be treated like that, and I acted like a total asshole.” His eyebrows furrow and his mouth sets into a thin line.

In contrast, a small smile pulls at my own lips. “You made up for it by saving me last night, so we’re all good now.”

“Thank fuck because I was afraid Tony might dick punch me the next time he sees me.”

I almost choke on the food I’m swallowing as a laugh belts out of me. “I’ll let him know you apologized.”

Logan goes for a second serving, and I do the same. He finishes the protein before me, then takes a blueberry muffin, biting into it. “Holy shit! Did you make these? I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something as delicious in my entire life.” He scarfs it down in no time and manages to eat two more before I can even blink.

Swallowing my last bite, I nod, not knowing what to say to the compliment. I’m sure my cheeks flush red.

“You’d make a lot of money selling these.”

“You think?” It seems so simple, but it’s the first time the idea has come up. I have no choice but to take a moment and consider it. I’ve always loved to bake, but I never thought I could do this for a living.

“One hundred. It’s like you put crack in them or something.”

I almost laugh and say, No more crack for me.

But I don’t. Instead, I take a muffin and bit into it just to see if it turned out better than I usually make them. The texture is perfectly balanced, pillowy-soft, gooey and airy at the same time. I almost do a little dance of happiness as I stifle a moan.

Logan’s eyes are like a hot brand to my face. They pull me in like a magnet. Our gazes snare when I chance a look at him. I feel like a deer in headlights stumbling onto the big bad wolf, and my lips part involuntarily on a shaky breath. Pure animalistic hunger flashes in his gaze while it roves lazily over every inch of me, like a physical caress. As though he wants to imprint every single detail onto his brain. It makes me acutely aware of how close we are to one another. My skin buzzes with the electricity sparking in the air between us.

His knee brushes mine as he turns toward me on the bar stool. “You’ve got something…” All the hair on my body stands on end when he brings his forefinger under my chin and then brushes his thumb gently at the corner of my lips to wipe a crumb away. He doesn’t move his hand. Instead, he uses the pad of his thumb to trace my lips slowly, reverently, while his other hand settles atop my thigh. His touch burns through my skin like a hot coal. I whimper when he inches the hand upward on my inner leg, leaving a wake of shivers behind.

All of a sudden, Logan pulls me into his lap like I weigh nothing, and he swallows the whimper with his lips over mine in a scorching kiss as I straddle him. His tongue glides against mine with hot, silky strokes that turn my brain to mush. I cling to him with desperation, weaving my fingers into his hair and pulling on it. In response, Logan’s fingers dig almost painfully into the sides of my thighs. A voice I don’t recognize growls in my head possessively, “Mine!” but I don’t pay it any attention. I’m too consumed by the way our tongues tangle in a fiery dance.

“Fuck, you taste better than I imagined,” Logan breathes against my lips, labored like he just ran a marathon. Then his lips are on mine again as his big hands grab my ass. He jerks me into his body, causing my pulse to spike to the roof because my clit rubs onto his hard-as-steel erection in a way that fries all my nerve endings. I moan loudly into his mouth. The stimulation is making me crazy with lust.

Standing with me wrapped around his middle, Logan takes long, determined strides to the bedroom. He lowers me on top of my bed and settles in between my thighs but never allows our lips to come unfused, our tongues to cease battling for control in a mind-numbing kiss. His fingers hook into my shorts, but as he starts pulling them down, the blaring sound of a phone ringing cuts through the room.

Logan stiffens on top of me as though someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on his head. The spell binding us dissipates like smoke in the wind. With a sharp inhale, he pushes on his forearms and gets up from between my legs, careful not to touch me in the slightest. Like he finds me radioactive…again. He shakes his head. Somehow, it feels like he’s trying to rid himself of my image. In slow increments, that feel like a thousand rusty razor blades sawing through my bones all at once, the haze of desire burning in his eyes dulls down. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, hard. The regret shining in his eyes is like a dagger to the center of my chest as he avoids looking at me. He stalks to the coffee table, where his phone is, his movements jerky and weird.

He swears under his breath when he unlocks the screen. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” he says roughly, picks up his jacket, and then closes the front door to my apartment swiftly behind him.

He couldn’t even look at me…like he was ashamed. I know I’m being dramatic, but I can’t stop the sobs that rake through my body, constricting my heart and my lungs in a vise-like grip. I don’t understand why I’m so affected by him leaving, but I’m certain I’ve lost something vital, like the air in my lungs.