The Summer Cottage by Lily Everett Page B

limo.”
    “A Bentley is not a limo. It’s a work of art, a precision piece of automotive engineering—”
    “I don’t care about your car!” Jessica realized her voice had risen an octave, but
     she couldn’t seem to bring it back down into normal range. “Why are we fighting about
     this?”
    “We’re clearing up confusion,” Logan told her. “You seem to think I’m incapable of
     social interaction, as if I suffer from Asperger’s syndrome or crippling shyness.
     That’s not the case at all. I’m perfectly capable of interpersonal relationships.
     I simply choose not to indulge.”
    Ignoring the dart of pain his calm, cool statement sent through her chest, Jessica
     pulled back her shoulders and stared him down. “Understood. But it changes nothing.
     Your brother has something important to tell you. We’re going. Or I revoke your question
     for the day.”
    “That violates our agreement.” His face darkened. “You want to get me out into the
     world—to be healthier and more well-adjusted, yet you want me to start with a man
     who has every cause to hate and resent me.”
    Shocked at the depth of angry despair in his voice, Jessica choked out, “What? Why
     would Dylan hate you? You’re family.”
    “Exactly. Whose cuts slice deeper than your family’s? When your parents rejected you
     after they found out about your affair, did it hurt more or less than the rejection
     you faced at work?”
    Sucking in a breath, Jessica straightened. “My parents did not reject me. We may not
     be as close as we once were, but that doesn’t mean—”
    “You said you asked them for help,” Logan went on, relentless as the tide. “You asked
     to go home. They refused to take you in.”
    “They did help me.” Jessica swallowed, hating how thin and plaintive she sounded.
     In her heart, she knew Logan was right. Her parents’ reaction to her mistakes had
     been a kick to the ribs when she was already down. It had opened up a dark chasm between
     Jessica and her family that no amount of polite chitchat on Thanksgiving and Christmas
     could bridge. But that didn’t answer her original question.
    “We’re not talking about my relationship with my parents,” she said, proud of the
     steadiness of her tone. “We’re talking about you and your brothers. What happened,
     Logan? What makes you think Dylan hates you?”
    The emotion in his eyes was so raw, so visceral, Jessica almost took a step back.
     But she forced herself to hold her ground as Logan ground out, “Because Dylan was
     eight when our parents died. Miles was already gone, in college. Our grandparents,
     the ones who owned the vacation house here on the island, offered to take Dylan in.
     He begged me to come with him, but instead…”
    Logan broke off, his hoarse voice grinding to a halt as he turned his back and braced
     his hands on the kitchen table. Jessica had to curl her fingers under the edge of
     the counter to stop herself from going to him.
    She wanted nothing more in the world than to wrap Logan up in her arms and shield
     him from this pain—but the pain was inside him already, and he had to get it out.
     Terrified that if she moved, she’d shatter this rare confessional moment, Jessica
     held her breath.
    “Instead,” Logan said, low and hoarse, “I tested out of my senior year of high school
     and escaped to college a year early. I abandoned my grief-stricken eight-year-old
     brother to life in a new city with grandparents he hardly knew, buried myself in school
     and work and research, and I never looked back. Of course Dylan hates me.”
    Jessica’s throat ached with tears she wouldn’t shed. Logan hated tears, mostly because
     he was bewildered by them and didn’t know how to react, she’d learned. So she wouldn’t
     cry for this proud, lonely, regret-ridden man, no matter how badly she wanted to.
    Instead, she finally pushed away from the counter and took the few steps that would
     allow her to slide her arms