by Jane Porter
Logan struggled to speak but the words wouldn’t come. She looked away, eyes gritty, throat sealing closed. “Why isn’t he responding to treatment?”
“He’d been ill for weeks before he was shot. His body just can’t keep fighting.”
“I want to go to him now.”
“They have him sedated. You won’t be able to see him until tomorrow.”
“I want to be there when he wakes up.”
“You will be. We’ll go in the morning—”
“I’ll go in the morning,” she corrected. “Jax and I will go. This is a Copeland family matter, and you hate the Copelands.”
“You can’t take Jax to the hospital.”
“We’re going, Rowan.” She stepped aside and gestured to the suitcase by the bed. “I’d already planned on leaving. You just need to put us on a plane and get us to London so I can see my brother. He needs me.”
He heard the words she didn’t say. Bronson needed her, whereas he, Rowan Argyros, didn’t. “And what about Jax?” he said gruffly.
Her eyes suddenly shone with tears. “You’ll miss her, but not me,” she said with a rough, raw laugh before shaking her head. “Don’t worry. I won’t keep her from you. I promise to sort out custody and visitation rights, but surely we can do it later, when my brother isn’t dying?”
Rowan’s chest squeezed. He felt an odd ache in his chest. And looking at her in the doorway, in her pink-and-red pajamas, wearing no makeup, her long hair in a loose ponytail, she looked young and impossibly pretty, and it crossed his mind that one day Jax would look just like this: fresh, sweet, pretty. Little girls did grow up. Little girls became grown-up girls and grown-up girls should never be crushed. Not by anyone.
“We can make this work, Logan. You just have to give us a chance.”
She made a soft, rough sound and blinked away tears. “I did. And the sex was great. It was fantastic. But I don’t want your body, Rowan, not without your heart.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON was short, just an hour and fifteen minutes long. Rowan had let them go, putting them on his plane first thing in the morning. But he hadn’t sent them off alone. He’d sent Orla with them as well as passports, including a brand-new Irish passport for Jax.
She had no idea how he’d managed that feat. But then, he had incredible connections, having worked for several governments.
Logan looked from Jax’s new passport to Jax where the little girl sat quietly in Orla’s arms across from her, and then to Orla herself and suddenly something about the Irish nanny made Logan stare harder.
Orla looked less like an Irish nanny this morning and more like...
Protection.
Logan frowned slightly, brows pulling.
Orla must have read Logan’s expression because she suddenly asked Logan, “Are you okay, Miss Copeland?”
Logan nodded once, but she wasn’t really okay. Her heart hurt. And she was worried about Bronson. And she couldn’t see the future. And she wasn’t even sure the nanny was a real nanny anymore...
“Orla, are you really a professional nanny?” Logan asked, feeling foolish for voicing the question but unable to stop herself.
“I did go to nanny college, and I have worked for quite a few years now as a nanny. Why do you ask?”
“Because you remind me a little bit of Joe.”
Orla’s eyebrows arched.
“Joe was my assistant in Los Angeles,” Logan added. “Or I thought he was my assistant. It turned out he was a former member of an elite military group and an employee of Dunamas. And I just wondered if maybe you were also Dunamas.”
Orla just looked at her.
“Because I don’t see Rowan letting us leave Ireland without security. I can’t help thinking that maybe you’re...security.”
Orla’s lips curved, her expression amused. “You know Mr. Argyros well.”
* * *
Castle Ros felt empty without Logan and Jax. Rowan felt empty without Logan and Jax. He missed them already and they’d only been gone four hours.
He paced his study and then the library and then the length of the castle and finally the gardens, ignoring the drizzly rain.
He shouldn’t have let them go. It was a mistake to let them go. And he’d been the one to put them on the jet this morning. He’d personally escorted them onto the plane, checking seat belts, trying to do whatever he could to keep his family safe.
He’d come so close to telling Logan that he’d changed his mind, that they couldn’t go. Or at least, they couldn’t go without him. But she’d refused to look at him, refused to speak, other than to murmur a quiet, taut thanks.
And then he’d walked off the plane and the crew shut the door and the jet raced down the runway, before lifting off.
He felt as if his heart had gone with them, which was so odd as he didn’t have a heart. He was, as Logan mocked, worse than the Tin Man...
But she was wrong. He had a heart and he did care. He just didn’t know how to prove it to her since he didn’t trust words. He’d never liked them. Actions always spoke louder.
Actions, not words.
* * *
Once on the ground, they transferred into a waiting car. It was raining and the city streets were crowded but the driver navigated the traffic with ease, getting them to the private hospital in less time than the driver had anticipated.
Logan, who had been calm until now, was nervous, her stomach doing uncomfortable flips. She leaned down to kiss the top of Jax’s head, trying not to let her anxiety get the best of her. Bronson had to be okay. Bronson was the most ethical, moral man she knew. He’d spent the last three years trying to pay every investor back, working tirelessly to make amends.
She looked up and her gaze met Orla’s. Orla’s expression was sympathetic.
“I’m scared,” Logan confessed.
“It’ll be all right, now that you’re here,” Orla answered firmly.
“You think so?”
“Everyone needs family. He’ll do better now that you’re at his side.”
Logan nodded and exhaled, forcing a smile. “So what are you and Jax going to do while I’m with Bronson? Go straight to the hotel or...?”
“I think we will go check in and maybe have a snack and perhaps a nap. Don’t worry about us. Focus on your brother.”
She nodded again, hands clenched as she glanced out the window at the streets of London, but she couldn’t focus on the city, not when she kept thinking about Bronson, and then Rowan.
Rowan who’d let them go.
Rowan who’d stopped fighting her and given in.
Funny how he finally gave her what she wanted, but she felt no relief. She felt just pain.
Just waves of sorrow, of deep aching grief.
The driver slowed before the hospital and then parked beneath the covered entrance and came round the side of the car to open the passenger door.
Logan kissed Jax goodbye and then stepped from the car, squaring her shoulders as she faced the hospital’s front door.
There were several rounds of desks and locked doors to pass through, some of the locked doors security to protect Bronson from outsiders, while the last was the hospital’s intensive care unit, where they were fighting to keep Bronson alive.
After checking in at the desk in ICU, she went to Bronson’s room. She stopped in the doorway and struggled to process everything. The hospital equipment. The monitors. The patient in the bed.
Tears filled her eyes. She drew a quick fierce breath, and then entered, going straight to the side of the bed, where she leaned over Bronson and carefully, tenderly kissed his cheek.
For the next four hours Logan sat next to Bronson’s bed. He slept the entire time she was there. The doctors and nurses came an
d went, checking the monitors, changing IV bags to keep him hydrated, shifting the bed a little to raise his head to ease his breathing.
She felt so guilty as she sat there next to him. He’d spent the past three years fighting to repay debts that were not even his. He’d battled alone, determined to clear the Copeland name.
It was an unbearable burden.
A thankless job.
And he’d never once complained.
Blinking away tears, she reached for his hand again. He needed to be okay. He needed to recover and have a life that mattered, because he mattered. But it wasn’t easy keeping vigil. He wasn’t the brother she remembered.
Bronson was handsome, heartbreakingly handsome, and yet he’d never paid the slightest bit of attention to his looks. He wasn’t shallow or superficial. He had heart. And integrity. So much integrity. He was nothing like their father...
“Hey, Lo,” a rough voice rasped.
She sat up quickly and moved closer to him. “Bronson.”
His blue gaze met hers. He struggled to smile. “What brings you to London?”
“You.” She leaned down, kissed his forehead and then murmured, “Oh, Bronson, what’s happened to you?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m just glad to see you. I’ve missed you.”
Tears filled her eyes and she couldn’t stop them. “I’ve missed you, too, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t here before.”
“You’re here now,” he rasped, before closing his eyes again.
Bronson slept for another three hours and Logan just sat next to him, unable to imagine leaving him here alone.
She was grateful she didn’t need to worry about Jax. Grateful that Orla was there. Grateful that Rowan had sent Orla. Grateful that Rowan wouldn’t let anything happen to Jax...or her.
Bronson woke up again just before dinner. He seemed pleased, even relieved, to see that Logan was still there. “Still here, Lo?”
She smiled at him. “Where else would I be?”
“Home, taking care of your baby.”
“She’s not much of a baby anymore. Jax is two, and she’s here in London right now, not California.”
“I’d love to meet her. I’m sorry I haven’t been out your way—”
“We’ve all been busy. It’s not been easy. I know.” She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Bronson, I need you to get better. And I’m going to do whatever I have to do to make sure you have the right care...the best care—”
“I am getting it,” he rasped, gesturing up toward the equipment. “I couldn’t get better care than this, and it’s because of you.”
“Not me.”
“Yes, you. Your friend Rowan did this. Arranged this. I’m alive because of him.”
Her friend Rowan.
Her eyes burned and her throat sealed closed. She gripped his hand tighter. “He’s not my friend.” Her voice was hoarse and unsteady. “But he is the father of my daughter.”
Bronson’s gaze met hers. “Why isn’t he your friend?”
“He’s not. He’s never been my friend.”
“Then why would he do all this? Get me this help? Fly you here?”
“How did you know he flew me here?”
“Well, you’re here, and he’s here, so...” His voice faded as his gaze lifted, his attention focused on the door.
Logan turned around, glancing toward the door, and yes, there was Rowan, on the other side of the observation glass.
Her heart thudded extra hard. She had to blink to clear her eyes.
“Jax’s father,” Bronson said even more faintly, clearly tired.
“Yes.” She turned back to her brother. His eyes were closed. “Sleep,” she murmured, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be here when you wake.”
Logan left Bronson’s side and stepped out of his room into the hall. Rowan was no longer outside Bronson’s room but heading for the elevator.
She raced after him, catching him before he could take the elevator down. “What are you doing? Where are you going?” she demanded breathlessly.
“I left some things for you. Some snacks, a toothbrush, a change of clothes. Knowing you, you’re not going to want to leave him tonight.”
Her chest squeezed, making her heart ache. She searched his face, trying to see what he was thinking or feeling but Rowan was so damn hard to read, never mind reach. “But why were you leaving without speaking to me?”
His powerful shoulders shifted. “I think everything has been said already.”
Her eyes burned and frustration washed through her, hot and fierce. Not true, she thought. He hadn’t yet said the things she needed to hear.
She saw him look past her, down toward her brother’s room. “How is he?” Rowan asked.
“Weak, but mentally clear.” She swallowed. “He said you arranged for his care. That he’s here in this hospital because of you.”
Rowan shrugged carelessly.
Logan struggled to find the right words. “He thinks you’re my friend. I had to correct him. Because we’re not friends. We’ve never been friends.”
He just looked at her, eyes bright but hard. Just like the rest of him.
She pressed on, emotion thickening her voice. “We were lovers and then enemies. And now parents.”
“What do you want me to say?” he demanded tautly.
She was silent a moment, thinking. “I just want to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“What would have happened that morning if we’d had coffee and breakfast in my kitchen, and you’d glanced at the magazine and my name had simply been Logan Lane...what would have happened with us if I hadn’t been Logan Lane Copeland?”
He didn’t take long to answer. “I would have married you,” he said flatly.
She went hot then cold. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say.
His green gaze darkened. “You weren’t just sex. You were never just sex. You were home.”
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She just stared at him, numb.
“I’d never felt that way with anyone before,” he added curtly. “And I doubt I’ll ever feel that way again.” His strong jaw tightened. “I’ve only ever wanted you. And I still only want you.”
I still only want you.
“Because the sex was so good?” she whispered.
“Because you were so good. You were...are...the other half of me.”
Her eyes burned and she didn’t know where to look or what to say. If that wasn’t a declaration of love, she didn’t know what was, and yet she’d told him so many times that she wanted love. She wanted to be loved. And it suddenly crossed her mind that maybe they were just using different words for the same thing. “Rowan.”
But he took a step back, putting space between them, and pushed the elevator button again. “Go back to Bronson. Know that I’m with Jax and everything is fine.”
But everything wasn’t fine.
Nothing was fine.
They weren’t ever going to figure this out, were they?
They were just going to keep getting it wrong.
“Why did you come?” she whispered. “Why bring me a snack and clothes and a toothbrush?”
“Because you needed them.” He stepped into the elevator, the doors closed and he was gone.
* * *
Logan spent the night in a recliner in Bronson’s room. She dozed off and on, wanting to be available should Bronson wake up, but he didn’t wake again until morning, and she stepped out as the doctors and nurses made their rounds and did what they needed to do.
Her hair had come down and she felt tired and disheveled but grateful Bronson was getting such excellent care.
He would be all right. He would be.
Rowan.
A lump filled her throat.
Lovers to adversaries—but maybe they could be friends. Maybe they could find a way to get along for Jax’s sake. There was no reason they couldn’t figure this out.
She stepped out of the ladies’ room to discover Rowan standing guard outside Bronson’s door. The nurses were still with Bronson, changing bandages and linens.
Her pulse jumped when she spotted Rowan and kept pounding as she walked toward him.
“Thought you might like this,” he said, handing her a tall paper cup. “With milk and just enough sugar.”
She’d thought she’d wanted coffee, but now that he was here, she only wanted him. Gorgeous, horrible, awful, wonderful Rowan Argyros. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the cup while wishing he’d hug her instead.
She felt so sad. All night she’d been so sad. Why couldn’t they make it work?
“How is everything?” he asked.
She glanced through the observation window to her brother. “He slept all night,” she said. “The doctors seemed pleased earlier.”
“That’s good news.”
She nodded. She struggled to find the words that would move them forward. Or back. Or to whatever place they needed to be so she could be close to Rowan again. She loved being close to Rowan. She’d never felt safer than when in his arms.
But Bronson had seen them and was struggling to sit up.
Logan shot Rowan an intense, searching look before turning away to enter Bronson’s room.
“Don’t do that,” Logan said, moving to the side of her brother’s bed and gently pressing him back. “Save your energy for getting better, not for entertaining us.”
“But I do feel better already,” he answered, his voice still raspy but significantly steadier than yesterday.