Chapter 13: Shame
Logan's POV
I scoop another handful of water from the running tap, pressing it to my mouth and swishing hard, desperate to rinse out the taste of bile and blood. The metallic tang clings to my tongue anyways, and no matter how many times I spit, it doesn't go away.
The bathroom is quiet except for the sound of the faucet and my shaky breaths. The silence only gives me the space to think and all the events of tonight cut through my mind like jagged glass. The porcelain walls are so clear that I can see my reflection in them and my reflection looks like shit. I look like shit.
I can barely recognise the man looking back at me. My silver hair is matted to my forehead, the only reason I'm not completely covered in blood is because I'm in a tub and dark circles under my eyes make them look hollow.
I feel disgusting. I feel foolish. I feel... weak.
The nausea comes in waves, and for a moment, I think I might throw up again. My stomach churns, but there's nothing left to bring up. I sink deeper into the tub, my head hanging low, droplets of water splattering onto the porcelain.
What the hell just happened to me?
Odessa's voice echoes in my mind like a haunting melody:
"I promise it'll make you feel good."
"Just one bite."
"I'm sure you taste divine."
My chest tightens, the shame twisting into my organs like a rusty knife. I can't name this feeling, I can't process it. Is confusion supposed to hurt this much?
We'd been drinking, dancing, laughing. We were supposed to end the night with mind-blowing sex, not… not this.
I swallow hard, my throat burning. Why would she do that to me?
I glance over at Noah. He's perched on the edge of the tub, his arms resting on his knees, his head bowed like he's catching his breath. He looks tired—exhausted, really. His harness is askew, his dark hair sticking up in odd places. He's still covered in my blood, the crimson stains drying in streaks down his chest and arms.
I can't even look him in the eyes.
"Noah," I croak, my voice rough and strained. "I'm... I'm sorry."
His head snaps up, his hazel eyes narrowing. "What for?"
"For dragging you into this," I mutter, sinking back against the tub. "You shouldn't have to be here. You must have better things to do—your son—"
"No, Logan. Stop." His tone is firm, but not unkind.
I shake my head, pressing my hands to my face. "I mean it. You're a dad, Noah. You should be home, not here cleaning up after me."
Noah lets out a tired sigh and sits up a bit straighter. "I called the babysitter earlier," he says. "I told her I planned on staying out late tonight. If there's an emergency, she knows to call Mrs. Reilly next door. Oliver's fine."
"That's not the point," I argue weakly. "You shouldn't have to do this."
Noah's quiet for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, finally, he says, "You're right. I'd rather be home."
My chest tightens, the shame cutting deeper.
"But," he continues, his voice softer now, "I'm not going to leave you alone like this."
I glance at him, my throat tightening even more. My heart swells at his words, but it also makes me feel worse. Because I know Noah too well. He's not staying because he wants to. He's staying because he's the Coyotes coach and he feels responsible for me. He's staying because he's too kind to walk away when someone needs help.
And that's all this is—kindness.
"None of this would've happened if I hadn't been so damn stupid," I mutter, my voice cracking. "If I hadn't been so trusting—if I hadn't wanted to make you jealous so badly—"
Noah interrupts, his voice cutting through my self-loathing. "Logan, you were dancing with her before I even walked into that club."
"Still..."
"No. Stop blaming yourself," he says firmly. His hazel eyes bore into mine, and I don't dare look away.
He hesitates, then asks, "Were you planning on sleeping with her?"
I nod slowly, embarrassment creeping up my neck like a noose tightening around my throat. "Yeah... I was."
"That's fair," Noah says, surprising me with his calm tone. "You're an alpha, Logan. It's natural to want to blow off steam." He pauses, his gaze softening. "You had no way of knowing she would've... assaulted you."
The word hits me like a slap to the face.
"Assaulted?" I whisper, my chest tightening.
Noah's expression is sad but steady. "Logan... was the bite consensual?"
I open my mouth to argue, to defend myself, to say something that makes me feel less pathetic. But the truth is... no. It wasn't. I said no. I'm sure I said no.
I close my eyes, my hands trembling. "No," I admit quietly. "It wasn't."
Noah exhales slowly, his sadness deepening. He doesn't say anything, doesn't push me further. But his silence is enough to crack something inside me.
The tears come without warning, hot and fast, spilling down my cheeks as I bury my face in my hands. I'm shaking, my body trembling harder than I've ever felt it. I've slept under layers of snow before, endured the bite of winter. Being a werewolf means the elements affect me differently; I do not shiver, I do not shake. But now my muscles are spasming and I feel like I'm drowning in an ocean made of ink. It's dark, it's heavy and I can't breathe.
Noah doesn't say anything. He doesn't tell me to stop or try to shush me. He just reaches out, his hand resting gently on my shoulder.
"It's okay," he says softly. "You're safe now, Logan. I've got you."
"No No…" it's so embarrassing. I haven't called him that in forever. But I can't bring my mouth to form his name when I'm crying like a blubbering idiot.
"You don't have to say anything," he replies. "Just let it out."
So I do. I cry until I have no tears left to shed. Until my eyes feel raw and I feel completely drained. Then the bathroom is silent once more.
"You're good at this," I murmur hoarsely, wiping at my face. "Taking care of people. You're good at it. I'm sure you're an amazing dad."
Noah chuckles lightly, a soft, tired sound. "I wake up some days surprised Oliver's still alive. I've get so many things wrong all the time. But I learn. I grow. Because I love him, and I don't want anything to happen to him."
"In my books," I say quietly, "that's what makes you an amazing dad."
A faint smile tugs at Noah's lips, but it fades quickly. He clears his throat, his expression turning serious. "Logan... are you okay? Like, physically? Mentally? If you're not up for playing, I can put you on the bench for the upcoming game."
Like I said, he's the coach and he's responsible for me. The thought of sitting out makes my stomach churn. As the Coyotes saviour, the one who's going to win their games and keeping them from getting sold, I have to be on the field,
I shake my head, forcing a weak smile. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. I can play."
Noah doesn't look convinced, "Are you sure?"
I laugh but even I can hear how fake it sounds. "Of course. I'm Logan Whittaker. This ass is not for the bench."
He knows me too well. Because I can see how clearly he sees through my bullshit. He knows I'm putting up a facade; big strong Alpha baseball star Logan. He can see that I'm trying o hide the fact that what I feel like right now is 'Stupid Alpha Logan who got assaulted by a vampire in a kink club.'
Still, he nods anyway. "Alright," he says softly.
The room falls quiet again, the sound of the running water filling the silence.