“Hey.” Logan came back from the back porch, the bottle in one hand, his phone in the other, wearing a dark frown. “Not to interrupt, but I just checked my phone.”
Mason stiffened underneath me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” That didn’t sound good. “We have a problem.”
Of course we did.
“Just say it, Logan. Stop beating around the bush.”
“Tate called me. Actually,” he lifted the phone as if we could see her calls, “she called me ten times and texted another seven times.”
Mason stiffened underneath me. He leaned his head back against the wall. “What about?”
“Uh…”
“Logan.”
“Okay.” His shoulders lifted when he sucked in a deep breath. “So when you shooed me out of Sam’s room when she was in the hospital, I wasn’t thinking clear, and I needed to get my mind off things…”
“Spill it.”
“Yeah.” The han
