Logan POV

The bus roared as it pulled away from the terminal, leaving behind the city I used to call home. I sat stiffly in the back row, the seat sticky against my jacket, my long legs aching from the ride. The city I was in was unfamiliar, Even the air smelled different here. Like rust and rain, instead of the salty, familiar breeze back home.

I had no name here. I was not the star quarterback, Westbridge heart throb,nor the son of the famous Billionaire.

No one knew me here. The ...