Allie
The diner fell silent the moment Logan spoke. Forks paused mid-air. Conversations died. Even the waitress behind the counter seemed to hold her breath. All eyes turned toward our corner booth—Logan standing tall and furious, Chase positioned protectively between us, and me frozen in my seat with my heart hammering against my ribs.
“I said we need to talk, Allie,” Logan repeated, voice low but edged with that familiar demand. “Alone.”
Chase didn’t move. His broad frame stayed rooted like a wall, shoulders tense but voice steady when he spoke. “That’s not happening unless she wants it. Your call, Allie.”
I swallowed hard, glancing between them. Part of me wanted to hide behind Chase and let him handle it. But another part—the angry, healing part—knew I had to face this. Running had
