by Robin Kaye
Harrison handed her an order. “Pretty much.”
* * *
Logan gave Payton her drink and took a long draw of his beer. He set it on the desk, not ready to meet Payton’s questioning eyes. “I hope you don’t mind having dinner with the family.”
“No. I mean, I don’t mind.” Payton shook her head, confusion wrinkling her brow. “Logan, I don’t understand what’s going on.”
He sat on the edge of the desk. “What’s to understand, Payton? This is where I grew up. Well, actually I grew up upstairs in a three-bedroom apartment you could probably fit in our living room. I have two foster brothers, Storm and Slater. Pop took us all in within a few months of each other. I was about twelve, I think.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.” He took her hand in his and watched the diamond she’d picked out for her engagement ring catch the light. “Not everyone grew up like you did. You had everything you could ever want. I was the kid on the other end of the spectrum.”
He straightened and looked out the window trying to remember. He didn’t know why he bothered; it had never worked before. He’d spent a lifetime trying to remember. “I was the kid who got dumped off at a police station or a hospital when I was about three, the nearest they could tell. I wasn’t talking. Either I couldn’t or wouldn’t tell them a thing. I was put into the foster system and bounced from one foster home to another until I landed here.” He blew out a breath and turned to look at her.
A tear ran down the side of her face and she brushed it away with a shaking, perfectly manicured hand. Her false eyelashes looked as if they should be running for the ark.
He handed her his handkerchief. God, he’d dreaded doing this for years, and it sucked as badly as he thought it would. “The only thing I have from my life before Pete Calahan is a memory book filled with faded photographs of foster parents and kids I hardly recognize. All I have of my life before I moved here is a fucking book. I left it here when I left Red Hook. I buried that kid.”
“Your parents gave you up willingly?”
“I never saw my picture on the back of a milk carton, if that’s what you’re asking.” And he had looked. At least Storm and Slater knew who the hell they were. But then that knowledge came with its own problems. “Let me spell it out for you. My parents dumped me. I was a foundling. I was a three-year-old kid no one wanted.”
“Didn’t you look for them? I mean, it’s not as if Blaise is a common name.”
“No one knew my name. My name and birth date were given to me by my case manager. I don’t even know how she came up with them.”
Pity clouded Payton’s eyes. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Because I knew if I had, you’d look at me the way you are now. I’m fine. Where I came from doesn’t make me the man I am. I made myself who I am. Lord knows, Pop helped, but when it comes right down to it, I decided who I wanted to be, what I wanted to do, and I made it happen. I went to Stanford on a full scholarship. I took a bus to California and never looked back.”
“You lied to me and everyone we know.” Her voice rose like an air-raid siren.
“I never lied to you. I don’t lie.”
“You might not have out-and-out lied, but you weren’t honest with me. What else don’t I know about you?”
“Nothing important.”
“Nothing important? My God, Logan, I don’t even know who you are. How is that not important? I’m marrying a stranger. How could I have lived with you for two years and not have known?”
“There wasn’t anything to know. You assumed I grew up on Park Avenue. I didn’t. I grew up in Brooklyn, living over a bar. It’s not that big a deal.”
“Not a big deal? You know everything about me. You know my parents—”
“And you met Pop. He’s the closest thing to a father I have. You know about Storm and Slater.”
“I never knew about Nicki.”
“That makes two of us. I didn’t know Nicki existed until Storm came to take care of Pop after his heart attack.”
Logan looked at his watch. He didn’t think this was a good time to get into the whole Nicki thing.
“Our whole relationship has been nothing but an illusion.”
“If it’s an illusion, it’s the way you wanted it. You only saw what you wanted to see.”
“No, I only saw what you showed me. What you allowed me to see. You had me fooled until I walked in the door. You’re all smoke and mirrors.”
“You seemed happy enough with it until now.”
She stood and walked to him, staring at his face as if she’d never seen him before. “What were you like when you were a boy?”
“I was always in trouble.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t work. He wasn’t proud of what he’d been. “I liked to blow things up and by all accounts, I was pretty good at it. I was the youngest member of the Latin Kings, a gang around here. I got caught with a few pipe bombs and was handed over to Pop the next day.”
“You what?” All the color drained from her face and she sat back down.
He shrugged. “I liked to see things blow up. It was something to do. Then Pop took me in. He brought me home, introduced me to Storm, and told me exactly what I had to do to stay.”
Logan couldn’t look at her. Hell, maybe he was ashamed after all, but not of Pop, not of where he came from, but of who he was. “Pop was a real hard-ass ex-cop back then. Less than a week after I came here, I hooked up with my gang and took off. I wasn’t counting on Pop coming after me. I didn’t think anyone cared until Pop found me. The next day he took me to a prison. He dragged me by the collar through a cellblock and showed me what I had to look forward to. Then he took me to the high school and showed me the chem lab. He said the choice was mine. I chose school and the rest is history. Pop saved my life.”
“You have a record?”
“Had. It’s been sealed and from what I hear, after Slater hacked into the NYPD’s computer system, maybe deleted. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?” She looked shell-shocked.
“Payton, I’ve left all of that stuff behind. It only matters now if you want it to.”
CHAPTER 7
Logan slid Payton’s room key into the reader of her suite at the Plaza Hotel. She hadn’t said a word the entire trip from Red Hook. He followed her in, tossed the key card on the table in the entryway, and wondered how to broach the subject of Nicki’s paternity. He hadn’t a fucking clue how one did something like that, but he had to. It was time—past time. It couldn’t be avoided any longer. If there was a way to salvage this relationship, she had to know the whole truth.
A couple of months ago he wouldn’t have noticed the furnishings in the suite, but tonight when he switched on the lights, he noticed everything. This place made the apartment they’d just left look like a dump.
If he’d looked at his childhood home through Payton’s eyes, he’d have seen a shabby little space with scarred furniture, canned art, and people who had never even dreamed of stepping foot in the palatial suite Payton took for granted. Hell, he’d been living large for so long, he’d done the same thing until he’d come home.
Payton kicked off her shoes and tossed the cape she’d bought on their trip to Paris over the back of a chair. She made a beeline to the bar and handed him a bottle of chilled champagne to open—the same champagne he’d given to Skye. Payton wasn’t finished drinking, but then he couldn’t really blame her—she’d had a lot to take in today, and the day wasn’t over.
She slipped out of her blouse and did a striptease on the way to the bedroom. “Are you staying?” Her voice was low and deep and false. The way she’d asked made it impossible to know if she even wanted him to stay. It didn’t sound as if she gave a shit.
“No, I have to get back. I can’t leave Pop and Nicki overnight. Pop’s still on the mend. God forbid anything happens, I need to be there. He’s probably up on the roof smokin’ a stogie right now. I’ll stay for a whi
le, though.”
She let out a long, pained sigh. As long and pain-filled as a root canal with a dull drill and no painkiller. This told him a multitude of things. First of which was that she was severely put out that he hadn’t dropped everything—including his responsibilities—to spend the night with her. She’d always had a way of testing him and this time he’d failed. It also told him she was still mad as hell. Maybe she had a right to be. He honestly didn’t know.
He’d thought their relationship was the way she wanted it. No fuss, no muss. There was no depth of feeling, but that worked for him. They got along, they were assets to each other, and they didn’t make each other miserable—until today.
He poured her a champagne and Chambord, wondering how she could drink as much as she did of the stuff and not end up with the hangover from hell. He pulled a beer out of the fridge for himself and took a long draw.
Payton returned wearing one of her sexy-as-hell nightgowns and it didn’t escape his notice that she looked amazing in it. He’d never seen this one before and there was no way he’d ever have forgotten it if he had. If Payton had gone on another of her infamous shopping sprees, whatever town she chose to shop in was definitely happy.
He couldn’t keep his eyes off her in the sheer, black lace gown, artistically covering certain body parts and not others. She was beautiful—her long blond hair played peekaboo with her breasts; a side slit showed off her long length of tan, toned leg, and the fact that she wore absolutely nothing under the gown. He remembered a day he’d had to wipe his mouth after getting a load of Payton on her Killer Attraction setting. Unfortunately, today, he was completely immune.
She lowered herself onto the couch and went right into her practiced pose. It was like déjà vu. She’d done the same thing the night they’d decided to get married. Then, like tonight, she’d had just enough come-hither to make a man drool, but not enough to look too obvious. Together with the lingerie, any man would be toast. She was good, but for some reason, now it didn’t work on him.
He felt nothing. He handed her the drink and sat in the chair opposite.
She pouted. He wasn’t sure if she was pouting about him not sitting beside her or about the situation.
“Your family, such as it is, doesn’t like me.”
“My family, such as it is?” She was trying and failing to manipulate him and she didn’t have a clue. She also had no idea how insulting she was; either that or she didn’t care. “Let’s cut to the chase. What exactly are you getting at here, Payton?”
“Even you must admit they leave a little to be desired.” She ran the tip of her pointer finger from her full bottom lip southward to her perfectly displayed cleavage, and she tilted her head. “Would you feel comfortable bringing them to the country club for dinner?”
“No, but then I didn’t feel comfortable bringing you, such as you are, to the Crow’s Nest. That doesn’t mean you’re not a good person. It just means that you don’t fit in there.”
“And neither do you.”
He took a long draw from his beer, thinking about what she said. “The funny thing is, I do. I fit there fine.” He leaned back and crossed his legs. “I slid back into my old life as easily as my favorite pair of worn jeans. It’s relaxed and comfortable, and something I hadn’t realized I’d missed until I came home.” He had half a mind to put his feet up on the coffee table just to see her reaction.
“That place is not your home. Your home is with me. I’m not putting your family down, Logan. I’m sure they’re the salt of the earth and all that, but a man in your position can’t afford to be seen in that kind of an establishment or with those kinds of people. Not everyone will be as understanding as I am and overlook your humble beginnings.”
Was she serious? He expected the embarrassment he’d carried his whole life to crash over him like shards of broken glass—cutting him to ribbons—but it didn’t come. All he felt was anger. Hot, hard, settling in his chest just this side of rage. He set his beer on the coffee table, and squeezed the arms of the leather chair, leaning forward. “You’re willing to overlook my humble beginnings?”
She shot that practiced look of superior magnanimity right at him. “Yes, I see no reason to hold that against you. After all, it’s not as if you had much of a choice about your childhood, but you certainly have a choice of what to do now.”
“You better hold off on that until you get all the information.”
“There’s more?”
There was no easy way to give her the news about Nicki, so he figured it would be like pulling off a Band-Aid. In his experience, faster was less painful. “Yes. There’s a hell of a lot more. Payton, it’s about Nicki. She might be my daughter. I’m waiting for the results of the paternity test.”
Her face went ghostly pale, even under all that makeup. “You have a ten-year-old daughter and you’re just mentioning this to me?” She looked off—like a sick person trying to hide a terminal condition.
“I only found out after I arrived, and it wasn’t something I wanted to discuss over the phone. Besides, I’m still not sure of anything yet. I’m waiting for the results of the paternity test—they take a while. I saw no need to upset you before knowing all the facts.”
“No need to upset me?” Payton sank into the cushions. “She looks just like you.” Her voice was flat, emotionless. Her pale face might be blank, but he knew that look. Her mind was spinning.
“Nicki’s mother looks as if she’s of Hispanic descent too. Actually, Nicki’s a carbon copy of Marisa.”
“And where exactly is this Marisa woman?”
“I don’t know. We got together when she worked at the Crow’s Nest. No one had seen her in years until the day about four or five months ago—she dropped Nicki off at Pop’s and told him Nicki was his granddaughter.”
“Did she name you as the father?”
“No.” He shrugged and threaded his fingers together. “I slept with Marisa. I used protection, but there are warning labels all over the packaging for a reason.”
“And your other brothers?”
“Storm never slept with her. I’m not sure about Slater, but I highly doubt it. I have no idea if what Marisa said is even the truth. Even though Marisa might have lied, it doesn’t change the fact that Nicki needs a family.”
“She has a family. She has your father.”
“Pop can’t handle a girl her age on his own. What if something happened to him? He had a bypass surgery and he’s no spring chicken. Nicki is only ten.”
She threw her legs over the edge of the couch and leaned toward him. “Are you suggesting we take her?” Her expression made it clear how she felt about that idea.
He looked at Payton, really looked at her. He hadn’t thought about it before, maybe because in his mind, there was no other option. Nicki was part of him. And even if she wasn’t his biological child, he loved her. How could Payton know Nicki—even a little bit—and not see how incredible his little girl was? How could Payton know him and think that he would ever leave Nicki? How could Payton even entertain the idea? What kind of person would do that?
If Nicki was his child, he would never give her up. He’d never do what his parents did to him—he’d sooner cut off his arm than hurt Nicki. Parents were supposed to take care of their kids. Real parents. He might not have realized it until this very second, but he wanted to be a real parent. He wanted to be Nicki’s dad.
He tried to imagine his life without Nicki. Without tucking her into bed, without helping her with her homework, without hearing about the kids who teased her in school. He couldn’t—it was just too painful. Somehow, over the last month, Nicki had become one of the best parts of his life. He never wanted to lose whatever it was they shared. He wanted to watch her grow up into the incredible young woman he knew she would be. He wanted to scare her boyfriends and wait up for her when she was out on dates. He wanted to know where she was and who she was with every moment of the day. He wanted them to be a family. Hell, they were a family. “Ye
s, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. I want her with us. Nicki and I are a package deal.”
“Absolutely not.” Payton had obviously forgotten her agenda, and stomped to the bar for a refill.
Logan waited for her tirade to finish. She was worked up and nowhere near done.
Payton yanked the cork from the champagne, refilled her glass, and pointed the bottle at him, shaking her head. “Logan, I will not raise your bastard daughter.”
It was as if she’d kicked him in the diaphragm—all the air left his body, and blood roared through his ears like a riptide. He grabbed the back of the chair to anchor himself.
“I’m willing to overlook your shortcomings, but I will not spend the rest of my life paying for your mistakes.”
“That’s enough. Nicki is not a mistake. She’s a wonderful, smart, amazing little girl. I haven’t known her long and I already love her. I don’t know if she’s mine or not, but she deserves a family. She deserves a father. She deserves everything I never had. We can adopt her, Payton. We can be her parents. We can give her brothers and sisters and a happy family. We have so much to offer.”
“You can’t expect me to consider raising her with our future children. It wouldn’t be fair to them, and she most certainly will never be a part of the vineyard; she won’t get one red cent of my inheritance.”
Logan took a step toward her and stopped. He set the beer bottle carefully on the table and then stuffed his hands in his pockets, afraid of the rage he felt. Years of slurs and teasing, and a lifetime of self-hate caused by the cruel, thoughtless comments of people like Payton, coalesced into a boulder crushing his chest. He fought to draw breath, and then another. “Fine. It’s over.”
“What’s over?” Her voice rose an octave—gone was that sexy controlled woman. Her mouth tightened and if he wasn’t mistaken, he saw fear in her eyes.
“Everything. You, me, the wedding—every fucking thing we ever had between us is finished. Dead. Gone.”
She set the champagne bottle on the bar and slid her shaking hands down her sides. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to calm herself or look sexy—whatever she was going for wasn’t working.