by Tia Souders
They passed the wide expanse of maple trees. Most of their leaves had fallen earlier in the month, but a few remained, dappling the darkening backdrop of the sky in shades of orange and red. In the distance, the ever-present sound of traffic, along with the clopping sound of a horse and buggy nearby filled the silence.
“I need to get back soon,” Marti said with a sigh.
“So soon?”
Marti grimaced. “I have a deadline looming. I’d stay longer if I could though. I don’t get out here often enough.”
“No?” Logan glanced over at her, shoving his hands in his pockets, wondering why he suddenly felt nervous. It wasn’t like this was their first date. But it was, he realized, the first time they had gone somewhere without pretense. “What do you miss about it?”
“The simplicity. But also how it feels. Things slow down when you’re here. I don’t know. That probably sounds stupid.” She ran a hand through her hair, peeking up at him from underneath her lashes. She almost looked self-conscious, and he wondered if it was because it had been one of the first real things she had said upon meeting him. A genuine admission of how she felt.
“Do you get out here often?” she asked.
“I run a few times a week, so I do. In the summer, I make it a point to come out more often though just to relax or hang with friends.”
Marti grinned and arched a brow. “Do you picnic?”
“Of course. Men picnic. We can’t enjoy food outside?”
Marti laughed. “No, of course not. I don’t know why it seems funny. I guess I just figured you’d come here to pick up chicks.”
“You have a really shallow view of me and an ill-conceived notion of my dating life.”
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “When I first moved here, I was a sophomore in college, and I shared this horrid apartment with two other girls because I couldn’t bear to leave my cat.”
“See? Aren’t you glad I saved his life?”
Marti laughed. “It was this little studio with leaky faucets, a defunct furnace, and stained carpet, but it was all we could afford in the city. It didn’t matter that we were crammed into it or that the stove didn’t work half the time. We were all just so excited to be here, you know? Living the dream.”
“I can picture it. A slightly younger Marti, yet to be seasoned by fame.”
She rolled her eyes. “We used to come here all the time to study or just walk.”
“Why’d you stop?”
A wistful smile curled one corner of her mouth. “I got the gig with PopNewz before I even finished school and my column took off. It was a total whirlwind. I went from being a nobody student to being this symbol of feminism overnight. Meanwhile, I was just living my life. But I got paid for it. It was pretty amazing. Suddenly, people I hadn’t ever met before started recognizing me at the coffee shop or the deli. After a while, the walks ended because I was too busy making appearances and attending events for the magazine.”
“Poor little Marti. Surely you could carve out time for something as little as taking a stroll through the park. We’re doing it right now. See?” He turned, gesturing around them, shoving down the urge to reach out and grab her hand.
“I know. Life just moved too fast.” She shrugged. “When I did have a moment of free time, all I wanted to do was spend it at my place alone. After I graduated, I moved out. I could afford my own place, and so there was no need to live in a shoebox with two other women, but there are times when I miss it. The newness of it all. The shared excitement. That struggle before the success.”
She stopped walking and turned around, her blue eyes blazing a path everywhere she looked as if seeing it for the first time like she had years ago, and Logan felt bad for anyone who came in contact with those eyes. They packed a punch. Those eyes had the ability to reach inside a man and steal a piece of him. Suddenly, Logan wished he knew the girl she described. The one living in the city on a dime, full of nothing but dreams. The girl without the label—Queen of Single—he wondered if her heart was less hardened back then.
Dusk had all but fallen. The lamplight surrounding them illuminated her silhouette. Huge trees framed the path they were on. Leaves stirred in the breeze as a jogger passed behind them, followed by a couple walking their dog. But Logan just stared, the ground beneath him shifting.
“I miss this,” she said, spinning around.
So did he. Not the park or the quiet, Logan realized. But this—what he felt right here, right now with Marti. That heady zip of attraction. The urge to pull a woman closer. To see just how well they fit as he tipped her mouth to his.
Warmth flooded his veins. It made him want to kiss her. To see if he could crack her walls.
He pulled his gaze from hers, reminding himself of the time and place and how this all started. More importantly, he remembered who she was. Because nothing would come of this, and he would do well never to forget that.
“Tell me more about what happened with the woman in the pictures, your ex,” Marti asked.
For a moment, Logan debated feeding her lies. What Marti said earlier was true. They hardly knew each other. And though there was only one way to remedy that—and an inexplicable part of him wanted to—he wasn’t entirely sure he could trust her. She was a woman who regularly made her personal life public, openly admitting to embellishing the truth and sometimes lying when necessary for the sake of her career. Nothing was off limits. He knew that. And yet, he wanted to tell her. He was an idiot with an MD.
Logan ground his teeth. Regardless, the words spilled out. “We started dating early in college, clear through graduation. When I went into Med school, it was with her by my side. I knew it would be tough. The curriculum was demanding. It was stressful and the hours grueling. Once I started my residency, I knew I’d have even less time, but I proposed a year into Med school, anyway. Maybe I felt us slipping apart, and I thought a ring would be enough to hold us together. I don’t know . . .” He shrugged.
“It’s a common mistake.” Marti reached out and touched his arm.
“You’re being kind.” He flashed her a tight-lipped smile. “But I know what you really think. It was a stupid mistake, to think a further commitment might fix the fissures in our current one.”
“Me? Think an engagement stupid? Pah.” She grinned, and he felt a surge of affection for her attempt to bring levity to what was an uncomfortable conversation.
“I was in my final year, mid-deep in my residency when she told me she was pregnant. At first, I was shocked. Then shock quickly turned to fear. I was fresh out of school and had no clue how I’d help care for a baby. And more selfishly, my dreams of starting my own practice and starting Hidden Heartbeat seemed impossible. But I warmed to the idea. A family of my own was something I’d always wanted.”
“Because of your mom?”
She saw more than he gave her credit for. “Yeah. It’s stupid to think you can make up for the loss of a parent by having your own kids, but—”
“It’s not stupid.” She gripped his arm, her eyes fierce.
He reached up and lifted her hand off his arm, threading his fingers through hers. She shivered at the touch. “Are you cold?”
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
Regardless, he shrugged off his coat and slid it over her shoulders, ignoring her protests. His fingers lingered on the collar, smoothing it down. His knuckles brushed her skin and an electric jolt cut through him. He dropped his hands, then guided her to a bench.
He sat a moment, trying to clear his head.
“What happened after?” Marti asked, hugging his coat to her.
“Allison’s doctor was a physician with the practice where I was doing my residency, and just so happened to be my attending physician. About six months into her pregnancy, her symptoms seemed to become more pronounced—just little things. Her blood pressure spiked. She was often nauseous, complained of shortness of breath, and abdominal pain. Around this time, I not only started attending all her check-ups, but I assist
ed as a resident. I gave the doctor my opinion that she may have preeclampsia. He insisted she didn’t, that all these things were perfectly normal. And I supposed they could be normal symptoms. There was nothing off the charts, nothing that stuck out like a red flag. All I had was this feeling . . .”
Logan clutched at the center of his chest, his gaze lost in the indigo sky above them. The gnawing ache his words brought on was the same one he felt years ago.
“You don’t have to tell me. If it’s too hard,” Marti said.
He glanced over at her, and her words rang true. He saw the sincerity. She could leave this bench and go back home without hearing the rest. It would suit her just fine. Because she avoided anything real. If she could gloss over the tough stuff, she was okay.
“No. I want to,” Logan said, not even fully understanding how true it was until that moment, looking over at her. “I didn’t argue with the attending, despite my better judgment. I told myself I was being paranoid. It was my child. I was biased, overreacting. So I let it go.”
He swallowed over the lump in his throat, meeting Marti’s gaze as regret pumped through his veins. His breath puffed in the air in front of him as he mustered his courage. The temperature had dropped, and whether it was the chill in the air or the memories, he went numb. “She went into labor early. Way too early. I was at the hospital, just finishing a twelve-hour shift when she came in. Things went from bad to worse, and when she delivered the baby, it was already gone.”
Marti covered her mouth, shock turning her eyes black. “But I thought you said . . .” she trailed off as Logan nodded.
“Turns out she did have preeclampsia. It was news I would torture myself with in the months to come, and even years later, because I could have prevented all of it, had I just listened to my instincts. I should have insisted she get a second opinion. Something.” He laughed bitterly. “Heck, there I was seven months away from becoming a doctor myself, and I didn’t diagnose her. And it wasn’t just some random patient. It was my fiancé. I thought it was my baby.”
“Logan, you tried.”
“I caved. Because I was afraid I was wrong. Because I didn’t want to look stupid or cause trouble as a new resident. I told myself my attending knew better, ignoring my instincts. But I was right, and he wasn’t. And we all paid the price—Allison, me, and the baby most of all.”
Logan felt her fingers slide over his, her palm cupping his hand, giving him the courage to continue.
He cleared his throat and squeezed, wondering if when he finished, she’d feel differently about him. “It was months later when I read the official autopsy report for myself. That’s when I discovered I wasn’t the father. It was nearly impossible with the baby’s blood type, mine, and Allison’s. It’s not conclusive, but when I confronted her about it, she readily admitted to sleeping with one of my classmates, a fellow resident, for years. And I knew. I was right, and the baby wasn’t my daughter. I called the engagement off and moved on as best I could.”
Logan hung his head, staring down at their joined hands, hoping in vain she didn’t let go because at that moment, it felt like she was the only thing holding him together. He was nothing but a sheet of tissue paper—gauze-thin and fragile—stitched together at the seams.
“I don’t know what to say,” Marti said beside him.
Logan lifted his shoulders, staring at the ground. “There’s nothing to say.”
“But you stuck with it. You’re a doctor, and you started Hidden Heartbeat. You should be proud.”
Her words filled him with a fresh shock of relief. “No, I didn’t quit,” he breathed.
His eyes met hers, and he wished he knew what she was thinking. How could he feel like he knew her better than anyone else, yet not at all?
“Tell me something about yourself.”
“Like what?” When she pulled her hand away, Logan couldn’t help but feel like it was a reprimand.
“Something you don’t tell people often. Something that had an impact. What made Marti McBride?”
“Okay.” Marti’s eyes scanned their surroundings, and he could practically hear the gears in her brain shifting into overdrive. “I once had a goldfish named Goldie. He died because I poured mouthwash into his water. I was eight. I figured he couldn’t brush his teeth, so . . .”
Logan chuckled. “Surely, you can do better than that.”
“What?” Marti feigned surprise at his reaction. “I cried for a week straight.”
“Okay, I get it. Say no more.”
“Get what?”
“Nothing.” Logan pretended to pick a piece of lint off his pants, a knowing glint in his eye.
“Oh, no. Now you have to say it.”
He shrugged. “You’ve just confirmed to me every preconceived notion I had of you.”
Marti narrowed her eyes. Her mouth pressed into a flat line. “Which is?”
“You’re uncomfortable sharing anything intimate about yourself with anyone, especially a guy. Anything involving feelings and putting yourself out there freaks you out. I just spilled my guts to you, and you tell me about a goldfish?”
She glanced away. At least she had the decency to look sheepish.
He rubbed his jaw, not yet finished with her. “Maybe I was wrong about one thing though. Maybe it’s not so much that you don’t want a relationship with men. Maybe you’re just . . . incapable. I mean, you can’t even share—”
“I am not incapable.” Marti scoffed.
“Prove it,” he said, throwing her challenge back at her.
Anger ignited her gaze—sharp and quick. Tension creased her forehead. Her lips thinned. A war waged in that pretty little head of hers. He could see the struggle. But he wouldn’t back down. No matter how uncomfortable it made her because he didn’t just want Marti to share something about herself with him. He wanted her to open herself up, to unbutton her skin and let him inside. He wanted to know her. Inside and out. And though that should scare him, in that moment, it didn’t.
“Fine. What do you want to know?” Marti asked, her tone flat.
Everything. “This wedding. Why are you so desperate to escape it that you made this deal with me? It must be pretty big if you’re willing to forgo your single status and pretend to be in a relationship.”
“My father left home when I was fifteen,” she said, her tone cold. She cleared her throat and shifted her gaze, clearly uncomfortable. Only he wanted her to continue more than he felt sorry for her. “I knew my parent’s relationship hadn’t been great, not for a long time, but still, I hadn’t expected it. For years, I barely heard from him. A card on my birthday if I was lucky, or some gifts on Christmas morning. And now he’s getting remarried, all these years later. Not only am I expected to go, but he wants me to be in the wedding.”
Logan said nothing as he combed through everything he already knew about her, and suddenly, things made a whole lot more sense. Her father’s absence left scars. Her lifestyle, her career, were living proof.
“Go ahead,” she huffed. “Say it.”
“What?” He tried to school his expression into something resembling ambivalence.
“How I have abandonment issues. I know it’s what you’re thinking. You practically said so the first time we met.”
Logan stared at her a moment, recognizing her sharp tongue for what it was—a defense mechanism. Slowly reaching out, he placed a finger under Marti’s chin, tipping her head up and forcing her to look at him. “We all have a past, Marti. And, yeah, it changes us. If anyone knows that, it’s me.”
She swallowed and the movement of her throat drew his gaze. When she spoke, he felt it vibrate through his fingertips. “It didn’t change me. It only made me see love for what it really is, fleeting at best.”
The lie in her eyes burned bright.
He slid his hand down the side of her face.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Looking at you.” He felt like he was seeing her for the first time.
&nbs
p; “What do you see?” She arched a brow in challenge, her tone light, counterbalancing the trembling of her hands.
He wouldn’t let her hide.
“I see a girl who doesn’t want to be right.”
Neither of them spoke. Seconds felt like hours.
Inching closer, he took in the floral scent of her perfume. Anticipation snapped between them like a live wire. Marti’s eyes widened, and his grip tightened his hold on her, his fingers raking into the hair at the base of her skull.
And like the slamming of a door, he saw the moment her guard went up. Fear flickered in her eyes before she pushed him away, palms firm on his chest.
Angling her head to the side, away from him, she said, “If we’re doing this, continuing this charade, we’ll be more and more in the spotlight. The stuff you told me tonight, it will be fair game for people to use how they see fit.”
Normally, the thought would petrify him. It probably should. If people ever questioned his ability as a doctor, it would crush him. But all her warning did was tick him off. “Is that supposed to scare me, McBride? Make me want to quit this?”
“No. But it’s reality. And I need to make sure you know what you’re up against.”
Oh, he knew what he was up against, all right. And it wasn’t the media. It was Marti McBride, with barbed wire around her heart.
Reaching out, he stroked a thumb over her cheek once before let his hands fall to his lap. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
LOGAN: Did you see the picture of us at Central Park? Were they hiding in the trees?
He stared at the somewhat blurry photo of them posted on some gossip account on Instagram. He’d wanted to drive to her workplace the moment he saw it, just for an excuse to talk to her, but after the other night, he thought he needed a couple days to cool down.
He would never have seen it had Brittney not called him a billion times, demanding to know if there was more going on with him and Marti than their intended arrangement.
Heck if he knew.