I watch as the man with Torrent walks away. It feels like my damn heart is pounding so hard in my chest it could jump out. I stare at her door, wondering if I truly want to see her. There are a million scenarios running through my head. The urge to turn around and walk out of this damn place is strong and it’s warring with my need to talk to Torrent. I don’t know why I’m even here. It’s obvious that Torrent wasn’t who I thought she was. Diesel’s words come back to me.

That girl is haunted.

I reach out my hand to knock on the door with Diesel’s voice still in my head.

“Who… who is it?”

“It’s me,” I answer, wondering if she will open her door. I don’t have to wait long for the answer as I hear the lock tumbler move with a clicking noise that seems extremely slow and loud.

“You shouldn’t be here, Logan,” she says once the door is opened. She doesn’t open all the way; instead it’s barely enough to peek her head out.

“I was just saying that to myself,” I admit, searching her face. My eyes zero in on the spot Diesel mentioned earlier. She definitely has a bruise, it’s faint and clearly hid by makeup, or at least the majority of it is, but it’s there.

Motherfucker it’s there.

“Then why are you here?” she asks.

“Because I care,” I tell her honestly.

Her eyes widen in shock and her lips separate at my answer—but only for the briefest of seconds and then she wipes the surprise away and it’s like a mask comes over her face.

“You shouldn’t.”

“That’s me. Always doing what I shouldn’t,” I respond. “Are you going to let me in there to talk, or are we doing this out here?”

I ask the question and then watch as her hand comes out and she pushes her fingers in her hair to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. Her eyes look down on the ground and that’s when I see the way her hand is trembling.

“I… I don’t think we should talk, Logan.”

“Are you scared of me, Angel?”

She looks up at me then. Her eyes truly are haunted and seeing the pain in them is gut wrenching.

“I don’t want to be,” she says and her voice drops down to the point that I have to strain to hear it.

“I’d never hurt you, Torrent. Never. I give you my word on that.”

“We don’t really know each other.”

“That’s not true. You know me, Angel. I’ve always given you the real me.”

I watch as she rubs her lips together and swallows down her nerves.

“But… people aren’t always who you think they are, Logan.”

“I’m starting to see that,” I tell her and instantly regret it. Her face closes up. I didn’t mean it as a barb directed at her for lying to me—at least not intentionally.

“It’s late. You should go before—”

“Before your boyfriend finds me?” I ask, my anger getting the better of me.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That cut you’re wearing says differently.”

“Is that why you’re here? To see what he had that you didn’t?” she asks, and for some reason I love what she said. This shows signs—the first signs—of the Torrent I know. The Torrent who… I still want.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Angel. You left me months ago. I’m not looking to pick back up.”

“You’re not?” she asks.

“Hell, no,” I tell her and I’m pretty sure I’m not completely lying. My attraction to her is not the only reason I’m here.

“Then why?”

“Because whatever else we were, Torrent, I think we were friends.”

“Friends…”

“Yeah, and I think you really look like you could use one right now.”

“Don’t pity me, Logan,” she responds, her eyes suddenly looking haunted again.

“Why would I pity you?”

She studies my face for a bit. She looks so tired I fight the urge to take her into my arms. If ever there was a woman who needed someone to lean on it would be her.

“So you’re here… out of friendship?”

“Is that so hard to believe, Torrent?”

“After the way I left things… Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I admit, the way you kicked me to the curb wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t all bad,” I tell her with a grin—even though nothing about this entire situation is worth smiling about.

It takes a minute, but I see when my meaning registers with her. Her face blooms with a bright pink color. She shakes her head and some of the sadness leaves her eyes. Those subtle changes bring me hope that the Torrent I knew is not completely gone.

“I can’t believe you went there! It was just a m—”

“A moment I will never forget.”

“I was going to say a mistake,” she mumbles, avoiding my gaze.

Unable to stop myself—even if I should—I put my hand along the side of her neck and pull her gaze up to mine, needing her attention.

“It didn’t feel like a mistake to me, Torrent. Hell, I think about touching you… I think about you often.”

“You should go, Logan,” she answers, fear threaded in her voice.

“You could go with me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because there are things we need to talk about. Things we didn’t get to finish.”

“Devil—”

“You call me Logan, Angel. You’ve always called me Logan.”

“Things are different now, Dev—”

I put my fingers on her lips, stopping her from talking.

“Logan,” I remind her.

“Things are different now, Logan.”

“So we’re different. Does that mean we can’t talk, especially since I’m in town?”

“Is talking all you want?” she asks. Right now wouldn’t be a good time to be truthful; besides, I don’t honestly know what I want from Torrent anyway.

“Isn’t that what friends do, Torrent? Talk?”

“I—”

“I’m staying at the Golden Pecker off of 63. I’ll be there for a few more days. Do you know it?”

“You’re horrible,” she says and she smiles—it’s weak, but it’s a smile.

“It sounded like the place was made for me,” I whisper, stepping in a little closer, and giving an easygoing shrug—like I don’t have a care in the world.

“It’s called The Golden Woodpecker,” she mutters.

“Potato, Po-tat-toe,” I mutter, watching her eyes and memorizing the bright flecks in her dark eyes and silently counting them.

“I shouldn’t,” she says, but she doesn’t outright say no, so that encourages me.

For a minute, we’re so close that I can smell her sweet vanilla scent and it fires the memories I’ve been trying to bury. A man could get drunk on that scent. She stares up at me and there’s not much space between our lips. I could lean in a little farther and kiss her. The urge is there and I’m having trouble finding the reasons why I shouldn’t…

Until…

“What’s going on here?” Wolf says, his voice harsh.

And just like that the chance is gone and I see the light go out of Torrent’s eyes.

Motherfucker!

“I’m merely saying goodbye to an old friend. No harm in that, is there? The woman is allowed to talk to old friends, isn’t she?” I ask, innocently. I see the hate in his eyes; he’s not trying to hide it. I can’t say as I blame him. If our roles were reversed I’d probably hate me too.

“Torrent, are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks instead of answering me.

“I’m fine, Wolf. Devil was only offering me his condolences.”

“That was awful nice of him,” Wolf answers, his voice cold.

“That’s me. Mr. Nice Guy. Torrent, you know where to find me if you ever want to talk,” I tell her, walking backwards so I can keep my eyes on both of them as I walk away.

“I’ll be fine. Have a safe trip back home,” she answers.

I ignore the disappointment I feel at her words. Give them both a half-salute with my hand and keep walking away.