by Tia Souders
She followed him, reaching out to touch him, but he shrugged her off. “Logan. I’m—”
“What?” Anger darkened the green of his eyes to black. “Sorry? You’re sorry for what exactly? For making me fall in love with you? For breaking my heart? For not having the courage until now, once everything is ruined, to love me back?”
“Do you think I wanted this?” Her nostrils flared as she stepped forward poking a finger into his chest. “This is the last thing I wanted, but here I am.” She spread her arms wide. “Love never asked me what I wanted. But what good is love if you won’t even listen, if you won’t believe me?”
Logan stared at her, his breathing ragged. He couldn’t bear to hear anymore. So he said nothing, letting his silence speak for him.
She took a step back, retreating. It was exactly what he expected her to do.
Her words ran on a loop through his head. I think I might even love you.
I think . . .
I think . . .
I think . . .
All of this heartache over a woman who didn’t even know her own heart.
Her body shook as she moved toward the door. “You know, you accuse me of being the one who’s scared. But maybe it’s not me after all.”
It took everything in him to stand there and listen and not go to her and wrap her in his arms. But he wouldn’t play the fool twice.
She placed a hand on the door. “Maybe all along the one with walls was you. Because the second I lowered mine, it seems yours went up.”
Then, without a backward glance, she turned and left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
LOGAN
LOGAN OPENED HIS EYES and winced. A dull thudding followed by a stabbing sensation moved through the front of his head. It felt like a million tiny knives had a party in his cranium.
Rolling on his side, he groaned as he mustered the strength to sit up, lifting an arm to block the sunlight streaming through his apartment windows.
His thoughts were sluggish, which would have been a blessing if they hadn’t immediately turned to Marti. She begged him to believe her, and he wanted to, but . . . people seldom changed, and Marti was a serial heartbreaker. The first day they met in the pub, she admitted to making up stories for her column and stretching the truth about the men she encountered all in the name of her career. Why would she change now?
While it was true that any journalist worth a grain of salt could have dug up his past, it seemed implausible given the fact that this fell in step with Marti’s plan all along. Find some schmuck and fake a relationship. Get her ratings up, dump him, and make headlines. All her ducks were in a row. The fact that she regretted it now meant little in the grand scheme of things. She got attached to her shiny new toy. She’d get over it in a week while he’d still be licking his wounds for months, maybe years, to come.
Logan dropped his head in his hands and the pounding worsened.
What he needed to do now was assess the damage of her lies. He needed to make a statement, clear the air if he could and ensure he still had a viable practice to go back to on Monday. Then he’d worry about the repercussions to Hidden Heartbeat later, seeing as how that was the least of his concerns.
Taking a deep breath, he stood and shuffled his way into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. He retrieved the bottle of Advil, uncapped it, and shook two into the palm of his hand. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed them into his mouth, then turned the faucet on and bent forward, slurping down enough water to swallow the pills, ignoring the protests of his stomach.
Once he straightened, he braced his hands on the side of the sink and stared at his reflection. He was a sorry sight with his bloodshot eyes, dark hair askew, and a frown etched in stone.
And that was when it hit him.
He wasn’t the only one impacted by this story. There was someone else named that was probably falling to pieces too.
With a growl, he squeezed his eyes closed and raked his hands through his hair.
Allison. She’d be a basket case.
It was bad enough the article would bring up painful memories but it just so happened it was right around the anniversary of when she lost the baby.
Fantastic.
This day was getting better by the second because it looked like he would have to pay his ex a visit.
LOGAN LEANED AGAINST the door of Allison’s brownstone, his sunglasses shielding the worst of the glare from the sun, his headache minimized to a dull throb.
He rang the bell for the second time and fought his impatience. “Allison, I know you’re in there. I can hear you moving around.” He pounded on the door.
A second later, he heard the clicking of the deadbolt, and she opened the door. Her eyes were watery and bloodshot from what he imagined was a night of crying and drinking. Frowning, she asked, “What do you want?”
Logan blew out a breath. “You saw the article, I take it?”
“Who didn’t? There’s a piece about it, speculating over the status of your relationship in the entertainment section of the Times this morning too. The New York Times, Logan.” Her dark eyes flickered over him in disgust.
Logan swallowed, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “Can I come in?”
When she hesitated, a part of him hoped she’d refuse and he could be on his way. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could try to forget this ever happened. There’d be no need to, once again, grovel for forgiveness from a woman who never gave a crap about his happiness.
No such luck.
Allison stepped back, allowing him to squeeze past her. He moved into the living room and took a seat on the sofa before starting in on his apology. “Look, I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted was for this to happen and your past to get publicly splashed across the news. I know how hard this time of year is for you. The article, it’s crap timing with you grieving. Reminders like this don’t help.”
Allison stood in the entryway, arms crossed over her chest. “I think about my baby girl every day, you know that. And the reminder that she didn’t need to die, that my condition could have been treated . . .” she trailed off and glanced away from him.
“I know.” Logan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “And I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do except apologize.” The moment the words left his mouth, he was struck with the irony that Marti had just uttered those same words to him.
“I told you dating this woman would come back to bite you, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Logan bit the inside of his cheek so he couldn’t snap and say something he’d further regret.
“And now it’s hurt both of us.”
Logan nodded. What else could he say?
He had no doubt the article brought up some unwelcome memories and emotions. He knew Allison still thought of her baby all the time, but if the past was any indication of the future, he knew she’d milk his role in this lovely reminder for all it was worth.
“Do you want some extra money? You leave soon for Europe, right? Maybe you can extend your trip.” He hated himself for it, even as the words left his mouth.
Allison pursed her lips, but he saw the glimmer of interest before she could smother it with her wary expression. “Maybe . . .”
Logan stood. Feeling like a jerk for offering her money didn’t stop him as he fished in his back pocket and slid out his wallet. A check couldn’t ease his guilt and buy him forgiveness, but it was all he had.
He opened his wallet and took out a blank check, then glanced around the room. “Do you have a pen?”
Allison sniffed. “I’ll get you one.” She scurried off down the hall.
Logan’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and when his gaze dipped to the floor, something on the coffee table caught his eye—an envelope with the PopNewz letterhead.
He glowered at it. Why on earth would Allison have anything from PopNewz?
With a glance toward the hallway to ensure she wasn’t coming, he stepped forward and snatched up the
envelope, slid the contents out and gasped. Among the paperwork was a check for seven thousand dollars.
“What are you doing?” Allison asked, her voice shrill.
He glanced up at her, shock roiling his stomach as he held up the check with a trembling hand. “What is this?”
“That’s private,” she snapped, rushing toward him. She tore the papers from his grasp.
He was too stunned to fight her as she scrambled to fold the contents back up. Her hands shook as she shoved everything back inside the envelope like it might make them disappear. Like it might erase the image of it from his head.
“Allison, why do you have a check from PopNewz?”
When she said nothing, the tiny thread on his patience snapped. “Answer me. Now,” he barked.
She met his eyes. Gone were her tears. In place was a mask of pain and hate. “I deserved something for my loss.”
Logan blinked at her in disbelief. “You sold them the story, didn’t you?”
“I need to start over. Every year, I think this is the year I’ll be able to move on with my life, but I never can. Not here. Not with all the reminders of how my baby girl is gone.”
Logan exhaled a shaky breath and turned around, unable to look at her any longer, for fear he might lose it altogether.
Shoving his hands into his hair, he tried to absorb this news. But it was too much.
“Why would you do this to me? You twisted the truth and lied, made me look like a villain.”
“You know who suffered when I lost my baby?” She stabbed at her chest. “I did. Only me. You and that doctor just went on with your lives while mine stopped.” The anger in her voice cut him like a thousand shards of glass.
“I was devastated when you lost the baby. Or are you forgetting I thought I was the father?” He gritted his teeth, pushing the words out. “I thought I was the father even after she died until I read the autopsy report and you admitted you’d cheated. Do you know how that felt? The emotional whiplash? I lost a baby and a fiancé. But the guilt that I couldn’t even save my own baby never went away. And you made darn sure of that these last few years.”
“If you felt any pain at all, you deserved all of it.” Her hands fisted at her sides, practically vibrating with emotion. “It was your fault.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Logan’s voice boomed across the apartment. He exhaled. For the first time in his life, a weight lifted off his chest as he realized it was true.
“It was not my fault. I’ve blamed myself, yes, and so have you, but I was just a resident—a student. I was in training. I tried to get the attending to take a closer look, to run more tests and consider a different diagnosis, but he refused. He insisted your symptoms were in range with a normal pregnancy, and he wasn’t wrong. Sometimes they are. Preeclampsia is misdiagnosed all the time. But he was the doctor. It was his responsibility, not mine. I was run ragged with school and my residency, working fifteen-hour shifts. I was exhausted, so I accepted what he said at face value because I had no reason to question it. I should have. I wish I did. But there is no culpability in that. He was the professional, and I was under his tutelage. He failed both of us. Meanwhile, that lowlife of a father was nowhere. Where was he?”
Logan ran a hand over the scruff his jaw, emotion clogging his throat. “I’ve blamed myself for years,” he said more to himself than her. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, but God knows I tried to make up for it.”
He placed his hands on his hips, ignoring the tears streaming down Allison’s face because he’d done all he could for her. He had no control over her grief, just like she had none over his.
“I’m done,” he said, realizing it was true.
“That’s it? You’re just going to walk out of here?” she said, her tone incredulous. “You’re not free from responsibility in this.”
He glanced up at her, offering her a sad smile. “I always was. I just couldn’t see it, and you used my guilt against me for years. You cheated on me. With a fellow classmate, Allison. Then you got pregnant and pawned the child off as mine. And you let me take responsibility for what happened after, but the truth is, the tragedy was no more my fault than it was yours.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise as he tore up his check, then tossed the pieces to the floor. “Whatever role I played in it, consider me absolved. Between all the money I’ve given you these past few years, the payout from the magazine, and the way you’ve now publicly slandered me, I’d say we’re more than even.”
He made for the door but not before her hand shot out, and she gripped his arm. “Wait. We’re not done yet.”
He glanced back at her, his expression tight. “I’m afraid we are.” Then he pried her fingers from his arm. “Go.” He nodded toward the PopNewz envelope in her hands. “Find your new beginning, but leave me out of it.”
With that, he left to hail a cab, knowing exactly where he wanted to go from here.
CHAPTER THIRTY
MARTI
AFTER SPENDING THE rest of her weekend groveling in an industrial-sized tub of ice cream at Caroline’s place, Marti was ready to face Blue.
. . . Or as close as she was ever going to get.
Last night, she sent an anonymous tip to the Times that PopNewz’s article had been a complete fabrication. They were already investigating it, and the second Blue found out she was behind the leak, she’d be fired. But Logan would get his credibility back. So it was worth it.
Besides, she was about to beat Blue to the punch. It wasn’t every day a girl had to quit the job she loved and leave in a blaze of glory. She may as well look the part, which was why Caroline insisted she change into a tight sweater dress and boots despite her desire to wear a potato sack.
She yanked her hair up into a messy bun as Caroline squeezed her knee, because she drew the line at styling her hair when her life was crumbling apart at her feet.
“Repeat after me . . .” Mel said in a calm voice. “I quit. I, Marti McBride, quit.”
“I quit?”
Caroline arched a brow. “Why does it sound like you’re asking a question?”
“You’re right.” Marti nodded. “I can do better. Be more assertive.” She dropped her fist into her palm with finality. “I quit,” she squeaked, her voice cracking.
Mel grimaced. “You’re in trouble.”
Marti cradled her face in her hands and moaned. “I know. I mean, I can’t work here anymore. I won’t. Not after what she did to Logan. And even if I wanted to, she’s going to skin my hide when the Times calls her for an official statement. Am I a coward for not wanting to face her?”
“She is pretty scary.” Caroline grimaced.
Marti grunted. “Maybe there’s a third-world country I can move to and live off my meager savings. You know, like one of those places where I can live like royalty on ten thousand dollars.”
“Focus. You’re not leaving us.” Caroline squeezed her shoulders.
Marti crossed her arms over her chest, remembering the day the three of them met, and her heart filled with regret. “I loved my job.”
“Oh, sweetheart, we know you did.” Caroline patted her back.
“I love writing, and I love PopNewz. Or at least I did, before Blue completely ruined it. And I’ll miss you guys.” She glanced between her best friends. “I can’t imagine not getting to see you every day. I can’t picture life without our emergency meetings in the Freebie Room or making fun of Blue, or sneaking off for a cup of coffee when we should be working.”
Marti grabbed both of their hands. They sat together on the couch, linked together, with identical looks of sorrow. “We’ll miss you too,” Mel said.
“But we get it,” Caroline added. “It’s definitely the right thing for you, even if you are leaving us to fend for ourselves with the Wicked Witch of the West.”
Marti frowned. “I wish you guys could come with me, but considering the only place I’m probably going is to the back of the unemployment line, I get why you’re not scrambling to follow i
n my footsteps.”
Mel tipped her head skyward. “Man, I wish I could quit too. I would love to find something else, but I barely make enough for me and The Triple Threat as it is. If I didn’t have kids though, I would be gone.”
Caroline nodded solemnly. “Yeah, plus neither of us have a cult following like you do. You’ll find something, I promise. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
Marti exhaled and gave their hands one final squeeze, then released them.
“You ready for this?” Mel asked.
“It’s now or never.”
By the time they arrived at the office together, Marti’s nerves were tangled into a massive ball of knots. They took the elevator to the third floor, then made their way past Karen’s empty desk and down the hallway toward the cubicles while Marti contemplated the words she’d say to Blue with every step.
Her footsteps echoed down the halls. The scent of coffee and printer paper lingered in the air, and her eyes filled with tears.
They passed the break room on their right. Karen hurried from the open doorway, catching Marti’s arm. Her eyes flickered with excitement, darting around the room before she grinned. Marti already missed her homemade muffins.
“Did you hear yet?” Karen asked, practically vibrating with excitement.
Marti frowned. For the first time, she noticed music playing in the background, and not the typical jazz that filled the office walls, but . . . party music.
She scanned her surroundings. The office was in a frenzy. People zipped from one cubicle to the next, standing in groups, talking animatedly, their voices buzzing like bees.
Marti, Mel, and Caroline exchanged a questioning glance.
“Did we hear what?” Marti asked, tentatively.
Karen bounced on her toes. “You’ll never believe it. Blue is gone!”
Marti laughed half-heartedly. “What do you mean gone?”