Giving It All

by Christi Barth

  Great. Now he’d insulted the man by sharing his honest feelings. This was why it was easier to keep emotions bottled up. “Look, I’m honored you feel safe about handing the reins over to me.”

  As he stood, Adrian said, “This is about your stubborn belief that you’re single-handedly saving the world, isn’t it?”

  “No. But I believe I can make a difference. I do make a difference.” Staying calm was getting harder. Not impossible. But his dad sure knew which buttons to push.

  “You’ve got to shelve this hero complex of yours, son.”

  At any other time, Logan would’ve laughed, since that’s what the ACSs—himself included—always said to Griff. No chance the old man was in the mood to see the irony now, though. “I’m not trying to be hero. I don’t need a cape, or a headline giving me credit. When I’m at a site, I save lives. That’s it. That’s the bottom line. Me being out at a disaster site saves lives. You can’t dispute that.” He made a fist, but stopped short of banging it against the desk. Barely.

  Adrian crossed swiftly to the map. Stabbed a finger at Kazakhstan, then at the last four spots where Logan had led a team. “You save some lives. When you’re on-site, you probably save, on average, fewer than a hundred people.”

  What the fuck? “I didn’t know we were running a tote board, Dad. And regardless of just how many triple-digit saves I’ve racked up, isn’t every single life worth it? Since when do we deal in quantity?”

  “Every single day!” his dad thundered. Frowning, Adrian winced, as though Logan’s argument physically hurt him. “You’re looking at this all wrong. Running the Foundation, bringing in money, and deciding where to send our rescue teams, means you could help thousands of people at a time. Not one shovelful at a—” Groaning, Adrian slumped against the wall. Fisted his hand over his heart.

  “Dad? What’s wrong?” Logan was terrified. At Adrian’s paleness. At his obvious pain. At not having any idea in the world what to do about it.

  “Pills. Top drawer.”

  Logan swung his legs over the desk to land on the opposite side. Scrabbled for the opaque orange bottle. He emptied half a dozen into his palm and thrust them at his father. As soon as Adrian tucked one into his mouth, Logan half carried him to the leather chair.

  “Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No. I’ll be fine.” And almost that fast, the lines of pain smoothed out. The gray pallor subsided.

  “What the hell is going on? Madison told me that you contacted her mother because you thought you were sick. But she said then you told her you weren’t.” Logan was positive about that. Otherwise, he’d have taken the extraordinary measure of going to his mother to get all the facts on the potential illness as soon as he landed in the States. “Right?”

  “Not exactly. Would you get me some water?”

  In the time it took Logan to pour a glass from the pitcher on the file cabinet, his father looked almost fully recovered. Which in no way mitigated the scariness of the last three minutes. “Here. Now tell me the truth.”

  “The truth is that I have congestive heart failure. Serious, but I’m learning to manage it. Yet when I started feeling poorly and they were running a million tests, the doctors initially mentioned leukemia as a possibility. I panicked. I didn’t wait for the diagnosis. I did what I do best—I tackled the disaster and started planning how to fix it. The best fix is a bone marrow transplant, from a relative. So I reached out to Suzanne to get Madison’s information.”

  Logan’s mind was reeling with so much to absorb. It sounded bad. It sounded…well, fatal. It sounded like dear old Dad had just sugarcoated his diagnosis with more than a coneful of cotton candy. Clearly Logan wouldn’t get the straight shit out of him. Logan needed to get home and hit the Internet. After figuring out how this all led to Madison finding out about him.

  “But…you hadn’t spoken to her in all that time?”

  “No. It was stupid and selfish and I regretted it instantly. Madison deserves better than me contacting her because I wanted something from her. I wouldn’t blame her if she never talked to me. It was a knee-jerk reaction. As soon as I found out it wasn’t leukemia, I backed off.”

  Still didn’t make sense. At the fuck all. “Why wasn’t your knee-jerk reaction to ask me, Dad? You know I’d do anything for you. Bone marrow, kidney, a piece of my liver—whatever you need. Aside from that Cal Ripken signed ball from his last game, of course.”

  His father’s gaze shifted away. Silence throbbed in the room for a few beats. “I tried. You’d lost your third phone by then. We couldn’t get ahold of you. Not right away.”

  Guilt swamped him. It literally took his breath away with its crushing weight. All Logan ever wanted was to be there for people who needed him. To make a difference by his sheer presence.

  That’s all it would’ve taken. Just fricking being here. Just his body, asleep on a gurney while doctors sucked out his marrow to save his dad’s life. Not some stranger’s—his father’s.

  He’d been so busy being there for strangers that he’d let down the people here, at home, who mattered to him most. How was he supposed to know? How was he supposed to choose?

  “This is why you want me to take over, isn’t it?”

  “I’m measuredly assured that as long as I behave and follow instructions, I’ve still got some kicking-around years in me. But scaling back would be a good thing, in the long run.”

  “How long?”

  “It doesn’t have to be immediate. I can bend on that. We can work out some long-range transition plan. I do, however, want to announce at the Board meeting on Friday that you’re willing to take over.”

  Logan looked at the map on the wall. Looked at all the dots representing lives he’d saved, more lives that he’d impacted.

  Then he looked back into the eyes that were a mirror image of his own. How did you measure one life against dozens or hundreds? Something he’d asked his father only a few minutes ago.

  You just did.

  Chapter 21

  Katrina dragged a lime wedge around the rim of the glass, and then inserted a sprig of mint. “There. That looks pretty enough to have come right off the bar at Cuba Libre. Maybe that’s my new job. I could be a bartender.”

  It was the seventh job possibility she’d come up with since arriving at Brooke’s apartment an hour ago. Amazingly, it was the best so far. “Hon, do you want to be a bartender, or do you want to own a bar? I need to know which idea balloon I’m popping.”

  “Taste this. A perfect balance of tart and sweet. I’d be a great bartender. And of course I’d own the bar. The whole point is to run a business.”

  The quickest way to shut down this flight of fancy was obvious. Brooke pointed at Katrina’s feet. “You wouldn’t be able to wear shoes that fabulous. They’d be ruined in one shift.”

  “Oh.” Katrina looked down at her green leaf embroidered Manolo Blahniks with a frown. “I hadn’t factored that in. The perfect business is me owning it and still wearing fabulous shoes. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  Chloe patted her arm. “Not at all. My ideal job is wearing yoga pants and hoodies every day. Which I do, as a professional letter writer. Summer, on the other hand, cares deeply about clothes, and thus owns a clothing boutique. Wardrobe requirements matter in career planning.”

  “I thoroughly approve of your new friends,” Katrina said, lifting her glass in the air.

  “Ditto,” Summer said, tossing her dark hair over her shoulders. “Anyone who pairs Manolos with denim shorts and a silk cami for a spa party? Definitely someone fashionable, quirky, and fun enough to hang with our group.”

  Brooke beamed. She’d had misgivings about inviting so many people she knew so little about over to her weirdly decorated apartment. But meeting new people was integral to her plan for the next few months. The one where she got a new job doing God knows what and stayed busy enough not to mope, pout, and put on twenty pounds in depression ice cream once Logan jetted off to the latest and greate
st disaster site.

  Because leave he would.

  It didn’t matter that she’d fallen in love with him. It didn’t even matter that she believed he’d fallen in love with her. A man didn’t go to all the trouble to make romantic gestures and spill his heart if he wasn’t already free-falling down the rabbit hole of love. No, Brooke suspected they were pretty equally crazy for each other. Friends turned lovers, turning into best friends. The perfect progression to the future for any other couple.

  Just not for them.

  Logan hadn’t played games. Hadn’t made false promises. No, he’d said from the start—guaranteed from the start—that he’d always prioritize his rescue missions over everything else. That he would not stay in D.C. long term. The ACSs made the District his touchstone, his anchor. But a ship didn’t sail with its anchor down.

  So she’d quit her old job. Had no idea of what new one she wanted to try to land. And had to brace every time she turned on the morning news for the potential of an earthquake or landslide or hurricane that would signal Logan’s imminent departure.

  “ ’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” That was Tennyson’s stance on the subject. Brooke agreed for the time being. She just wasn’t so sure she’d agree two weeks or two months from now, once Logan was gone and her pitiful, flayed heart mourned his loss with every beat.

  “Um, why do you want to be a bartender?” Madison’s roommate, Annabeth, carried the full tray of five glasses and a brimming pitcher expertly to the living room, without spilling a drop. Her big silver hoops caught the mid-afternoon sun and reflected it in shimmering spikes of light that glanced off the other women in the room. “Because I wait tables. Occasionally fill in behind the bar. And let me tell you, it isn’t a job I want to keep my whole life. Or even a job I’d keep if I could make the same money doing something else. Well, something else legal.”

  Katrina wiped her hands on a dish towel. Tucked it into the wide belt on her sleeveless white tunic like a bartender might, frowned at the effect, and tossed it over her shoulder onto the counter. “I don’t necessarily want to tend bar. It’s more that I have no idea what I do want to do.”

  Brooke nodded ruefully. She’d had her whole life planned out—until discovering that no matter how much she enjoyed it, that path no longer worked for her. That while she loved teaching, the responsibility of caring for those teenage lives was simply too overwhelming for her. The now what thoughts that haunted her day and night had to be twice as bad for Katrina, who hadn’t ever started off with a career she enjoyed.

  “You really don’t have any idea? No passions or interests?” Chloe curled her shell-pink pedicured feet beneath her on the sofa. She wore a pink tank with a white mini and blended in perfectly with the room’s décor. Which made Brooke giggle a little inside.

  Chloe was the most reserved of the strangers Madison had brought along to turn this into a party, but her quiet sweetness sort of hovered in the air around her like perfume. If she’d been on Brooke’s squad, she would’ve been labeled the heart of the group. A hugger. Quick to smile and even quicker to sympathize. Brooke looked forward to getting to know all of them better over the course of the afternoon. Because it was a safe bet she wouldn’t be hanging out nearly as much with her teacher friends anymore.

  “No. Not other than to open my own business with the blood money my ex gave me to atone for his lying, cheating ways, and make it a brilliant success.”

  Summer bared her teeth in a decidedly evil grin. Probably the same one she wore when thanking a man for buying her champagne and lobster but leaving him at the restaurant door because he was a self-absorbed jerk. And telling him so. “That’s both a very specific plan, and a very general one. I like it.”

  “I do, too.” Katrina mirrored the evil grin. Which seemed out of place on her pretty, sweet face, which looked like she should be handing out lollipops at an amusement park. She was dressed in head-to-toe couture, but basically spread innocent joy at each turn. “The problem is that I’ve spent the last few months torturing poor Brooke here with every possible idea under the sun. She claims they all suck.”

  “They do. I love you; I think you’re tenacious and smart and more than capable of running a successful business.” Because behind the innocent wideness of her baby blue eyes, for all the cover model perfection of her figure and willfully excessive jewels, Katrina had the calculating mind of a litigator and the nonstop energy of an entrepreneur. It’s what had served her so well in surgically removing her snake of a husband and his sycophantic friends from her life in a series of strategic moves that had her retaining all her assets, her pride, and her reputation. “But it can’t just be a dart that you throw at the idea board. It has to be something you care about. A way, you truly believe, that you can make a difference.”

  “You’re idealistic,” Madison said, with an approving nod. “Like my new brother. No wonder you two are so great together.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Logan saves lives. My teaching doesn’t compare.”

  Summer loaded her plate with a caprese skewer, two slices of bruschetta, and a spring roll. Which tickled Brooke to no end, because she needed friends who enjoyed food as much as she did. “It does. Life skills matter a ton. They make you independent. Confident. Competent, freeing you up to spend time on your work, or hobbies, or friends.”

  “Well, thank you.” It seemed…weird…to accept accolades for a part of her life on which she’d just slammed the door. Especially weird because Brooke still felt exactly the same way. It was why she’d always taken such great satisfaction in teaching her classes. To lighten the mood, she joked, “But I can assure you that Logan and I don’t sit around talking about our idealism into the wee, small hours of the night.”

  Madison gave an exaggerated wink. “I’ll bet you don’t sit around talking much at all.”

  Awkward! At least, partially as awkward as Logan might get discussing their sex life with his sister. Not that he’d had that chance yet. But she’d have to warn him before his excursion with Madison next week that apparently no topics were off the table. Instead of responding, Brooke got up to retrieve the plate of lemon bars from the kitchen.

  Chloe trailed her in, and picked up the other plate of powdered sugar–drenched Mexican wedding cookies. “You’re at that yummy start of a relationship, when you just want to climb all over each other twenty hours a day.”

  “True—wait, why only twenty?”

  “You need time to eat. Regroup and reenergize. And I don’t know about you, but I need time to stay up on my TBR pile of books. A girl can’t live on sex alone.”

  “Trying to, however…that’s fun,” Madison said with another wink as she grabbed a cookie when Brooke rejoined them. The smug, knowing grin on her face was eerily similar to an expression Brooke had seen on Logan’s numerous times. Softer, prettier, but the same. Brooke wondered if that similarity would be painful, or a comfort, once Logan left?

  Annabeth pointed at Chloe. “Speaking of the start of a relationship, yours is rolling into, what, month three of Griffin going crazy because you won’t wear his engagement ring? When are you going to put that boy out of his misery and propose?”

  “I’ve got a plan. A plan that is dependent on the calendar of the U.S. Coast Guard, so it can’t be hurried along. But it’ll be worth the wait. Hopefully you’ll all be there to watch.”

  Summer bounced on her seat and clapped her hands. “This sounds fun.”

  Brooke, however, was stunned by the casual assumption. “You just met me today.”

  “Yes, but you’re with Logan.” Chloe patted Brooke’s arm. “And you’re super nice and you cook like a dream, but mostly, you’re Logan’s, so that means you’re a part of this whole, crazy tight ACS family.”

  As much as she didn’t like to think about it, Brooke really didn’t like saying it, but the truth couldn’t be ignored. “Logan will be leaving again. Sooner rather than later, undoubtedly.”

  “So
what?” Chloe asked with a shrug. “He’ll come back, won’t he? Especially with you to come back home to?”

  Thus said the woman so steady and secure in her own relationship that a proposal was in the offing. Not everyone was so lucky. “I don’t know. We don’t talk about the future. Aside from the times he promised that he couldn’t give me one.”

  You could’ve ridden a rhinoceros through the gaping silence in the room. Like dominoes falling, each woman’s head slowly turned to look at the woman next to her for some sort of signal as to what to say next.

  “It’s fine. Really. I respect Logan for being up-front about it. Establishing low expectations keeps everyone from getting hurt.”

  “Is that so? Did it work? Because you two are googly-eyed over each other. Just like Knox and me. And look where that got us.” Madison waggled her ring finger, sporting the easily three-carat canary diamond.

  Brooke’s answer came out slowly. It was a big, messy package of Sarah’s suicide, giving up the career she adored, finding Logan and yet knowing she’d have to lose him again, as much as Madison discovering a previously unknown brother and Katrina rebooting her life and her heart from scratch. “Not everything in life goes according to plan.”

  The silence came back again. It was almost a physical presence. A dark, sound-sucking phantom of the past few months sitting next to Chloe. For the last time, though.

  That quiet, lonely darkness had engulfed Brooke for too many months. It had threatened to pull her under for good. Discovering Logan in Dominica, reconnecting with him—and connecting with him—had pulled her up into the light. Quitting her job, choosing no longer to carry the weight of responsibility of other people’s lives—be it perceived or real—had shown her the door to close on the darkness. And having friends over for the first time since Sarah’s death—aside from Katrina, who was more sister than friend—filling the place with laughter and positivity, gave Brooke the strength to plant her foot on the ass of that dark specter and boot him out the door for good. With a metaphorical slam of said door.