Hot water cascaded down my body. Usually, the combination of the water, the heat, and the sound of the spray hitting me would have relaxed me. Not so much today. Everything had been going perfectly. Emily was happily distracted by the sealed envelope she carried in her purse that would reveal the gender of her first niece or nephew, instead of by thoughts of her missing love, Declan. After my appointment with the lawyer, I knew what I needed to do regarding Edward and his parental rights and how to best protect my child from him. I had something special planned for Logan. We had promised not to do anything for Valentine’s Day, but technically by the time we got home it would be the fifteenth, so I wasn’t breaking any promises I made to him. Could he say the same? In my mind, an omission was just as bad as a lie.
I tilted my head back; if only I could wash away what I had just seen, like the suds, I rinsed off my body. “Do you really even know this guy?” I asked myself out loud; my baby kicked in response. I splayed my hands across my expanding waistline, “Was that a yes or a no?” I couldn’t help but laugh when my child kicked again. “Some help you are.” Until thirty minutes ago, I was convinced I knew everything I needed to know about the man who had barged into my doctor’s office visit and life, now, not so much. What did I really know? Besides the fact that he made the best breakfast for dinner, played guitar, and sang silly songs he made up because it was helpful to fetal development, which in turn made me laugh so hard I almost peed my pants. That just the sound of his voice or the tilt of his chin could make me wet, and don’t even get me started on his ink. The man lived without regret, hell he even had the moto inked on his arm.
Chris Wheeler. I turned off the water and nearly tore the bar from the wall when I yanked on my towel. I wrapped the terry cloth around my body and wiped away the fog from the mirror with my hand. My angry red skin looked back at me as I leaned forward. “Get a grip Libby, Chris Wheeler could be anyone,” I reasoned. Male or female, I didn’t know. I guess I could have easily looked up Scribner Correctional Facility. 6-8-2-4-8-0-7. It wasn’t just a number. It was a person, and that person could have been a wife, brother, or cousin. Hell, maybe even an aunt, uncle, or parent. Chris Wheeler could have been anyone. It didn’t bother me Logan knew someone who was locked up. The relation didn’t matter. Okay, that’s not true. A wife would have mattered a whole hell of a lot. What mattered was he didn’t tell me. He knew everything about me; the name of my first-grade teacher, where I was on 9/11 when I lost my virginity. He even knew about the baby I decided not to have. Telling him hadn’t been easy, and he knew it. He kissed every inch of me, including the sunflower tattoo on my ankle. “What does this one represent?” People asked me all the time. I never cried. Maybe because you told them it was for sunshine and happiness. I couldn’t feed that crap to Logan, so I told him the truth, and he held me in his strong arms as I cried for the baby I would never know, the baby who would live forever in my heart. He could have told me about Chris then. Maybe shared something about himself, but he didn’t. “No, he held you when you cried and when you finally stopped he kissed your belly and told this baby how lucky she was to have you as a mother.” Fresh tears rolled down both my cheeks as I remembered that night. It was the night I decided I loved him, and the night I dared to dream he would be a father to my baby. “Get your shit together Libby, baby needs a new pair of shoes.” Another kick reminded me just how true that statement was.
“How’s it going?” I asked Travis, a bartender I’d hired, as I tied an apron around my waist.
Travis looked at his watch, “Aren’t you going to be working in the office until my break?” Logan didn’t like me on my feet for my entire shift, so he made me hire two new barkeeps and had me spending time in his “boom room” doing the orders and crunching numbers. Before tonight, I’d thought it was a sweet, although unneeded gesture, now I found myself questioning everything Logan did or said. I looked around the packed restaurant.
“Looks like you could use the help.” I didn’t bother to tell Travis I had been a chicken shit and completely bypassed the kitchen when I’d arrived. I wasn’t ready to see Logan. Not now, maybe not ever. I never stopped, not even when Darcy brought out my favorite sandwich from the kitchen. It wasn’t on the menu. Obviously, Logan knew I was there.
“Are you going to eat that?” The man sitting next to the pass eyed the golden deliciousness that sat untouched on the plate. If I’d stopped to eat, it meant I had time to think, and thinking was the last thing I wanted to do right now. I felt sorry for the guy out alone on a day you are supposed to spend with those you love.
I shrugged, “Have at it,” before sliding the plate in his direction. I knew from experience, and the evil scale I’d had to stand on earlier today, that the perfectly toasted bread was seasoned with herbed rosemary butter. Between the slices of crispy goodness were a trio of gooey meltiness; Gruyere, Munster, and white cheddar. Onions caramelized until they melted in your mouth and as if that wasn’t enough, bacon. Need I say more? I had to wipe my mouth. The lucky lonely guy moaned and closed his eyes in pleasure. Yeah, it was that good.
“Oh my God. How could you give that up?” For a second I wondered if my customer was talking about Logan or the sandwich. It hurt my heart to think about either, but I knew what I had to do.
I looked at the back of the restaurant and noticed Logan watching me from the kitchen. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” You will not cry, Libby Barnes.
“Why do I get the feeling we aren’t talking about the sandwich anymore?” Obviously, my bar side manner needed work. I was the one that should have been asking the questions.
“Can I get you anything else?” My smile was fake, and the kind man knew it. Thankfully he decided to show mercy to me.
“Just the bill.” Besides the sandwich, the gentleman had surprised me by ordering the special drink I created for the night. It wasn’t very manly, but it was delicious and sexy as hell. Surely not what I would have thought a man out by himself on a night known for romance would have ordered, but he did seem to enjoy it. I had been inspired when Logan asked me to create something special for the night. Logan and I did extensive research on aphrodisiacs; it was the first time I’d ever enjoyed homework. The Soulmate as I called it, was a mix of crème de cocoa blanc, pomegranate liqueur, honey, strawberry puree, and lemon juice topped with sparkling wine and a few drops of olive oil. Emily, Nat, Willow, and Suzie were more than happy to volunteer to be taste testers. I felt bad sending Willow home alone after I filled her full of my love potion, but she assured me she had batteries and a video call planned with her husband, Dillon. That reminds me; add batteries to your list. I placed the tab for just the drink, since I gave him the sandwich, on the bar top as the gentleman pulled out a hundred dollar bill from his wallet. I turned to get his change when he told me to “keep the change.”
It wasn’t the first time I had received a generous tip but, “I can’t possibly.”
“You can just do one thing for me.” Oh shit, I didn’t think I had given the guy the wrong idea. Hell, I didn’t flirt at all. I couldn’t. It was taking everything I had in me to even make drinks in the same building as Logan tonight.
“What’s that?” My hand rested on my stomach lovingly over my unborn child as I took a step back from the bar. Surely, he wouldn’t proposition a mother to be. Would he?
He looked over his shoulder. Logan was still watching and from the way he stood; head up, back straight, and face hardened, we were only minutes away from him charging out of his kitchen. I hadn’t noticed before, but he was worrying the one-year chip he left on his nightstand every night in his hand. I had asked Logan about it once. He wasn’t a recovering alcoholic; he didn’t give me any details other than to say the medallion belonged to someone he once cared about. Maybe it belonged to Chris Wheeler. I didn’t think Logan even realized half the time when he got it out. I had come to think of it as his fidget spinner. “Tell the chef that was the best, grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”
I finally let out a breath when he stood to leave, “I can do that.” Logan still stood sentry at the kitchen door. The customer turned to see what had my attention.
“One more thing. Give the guy a chance to make it right.” The baby kicked. Was that in agreement? Sadly, that was something I couldn’t promise.
Travis closed for the night, so I returned to Logan’s apartment before he did. I vacillated on what to do. Should I just pack up my things and go back to Emily’s place? Logan’s apartment had already changed in the short time I’d been here. I’d been other places much longer, and they never felt like home, not like this place already did. Sonogram pictures now hung with magnets of places we had visited together on the once bare refrigerator along with a notepad with things to buy on our next trip to the store. His, hers, ours, it didn’t matter, if we needed it, it went on the list. A new tube of the only toothpaste I had found that didn’t make me gag and a bottle of particular “EVOO” was currently scrawled in letters in his messy handwriting. I opened the door with a sigh. The shelves no longer resembled those of a bachelor who never ate at home. “Why?” I questioned the empty space. I didn’t know if I was mad at myself or Logan. I should have known it was too good to be true. He was no different than the men who came before him. Only he was. Pillows now decorated the sofa, and my pictures had been added to his single framed photo, along with two of us together, one from our first “family meal” at the restaurant after we came out as a couple. Darcy snapped it when Logan pulled me into his lap. We both look ridiculous because were laughing so hard, but every single time I looked at it, I couldn’t help but smile. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d ever feel that happy again. Dang tears.
“What’s going on Libby?” I had been so entranced I didn’t even hear him come in. He put his arms around me from behind, and I couldn’t help but sink into his embrace. It may have been the last time I would ever feel his arms around. Give the guy a chance. Could I? The future wasn’t only about me. I had a baby to consider. I looked at the bookshelves. Baby books now joined his cookbooks. “You’re scaring the shit out of me sweetheart.”
I didn’t recognize my own voice when I asked, “Who is Chris Wheeler?”
“Son of a bitch.” Logan released me, and when I turned to face him, he was pacing the small living area with his hand pulling at his hair. He avoided looking at me, seconds passed. How did I know? Because the room was silent except for our combined breaths and the swishing sound of the second hand on the clock that hung on the wall. “Sit fucking down Libby,” he finally cursed after an eternity had passed. OK, that’s an exaggeration, it was only sixteen seconds. Normally I wasn’t a fan of people telling me what to do, but in this case, I thought sitting was probably a good idea. I sat in the single chair, in hindsight maybe that wasn’t the best place to sit because instead of sitting next to me on the couch, he was forced to sit on the coffee table right in front of me. His brown eyes stormed with emotion; a mix of anger, shock, pain, and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. I held his gaze; his Adam’s apple bobbed. He reached for my hands, but I pulled them back out of his reach. Hurt shown back, as he swallowed hard and retrieved the chip from his pocket. I watched as he rubbed the worn metal, pausing just before telling me, “Chris was my brother.” Instantly my eyes found his. My chest tightened. “He’s in jail for murder, and I’m the one that put him there.”
I didn’t know what was more shocking, the fact that he had a brother I knew nothing of or the fact that said brother was serving time behind bars. For murder no less, and Logan was somehow responsible. I had so many questions; I didn’t even know where to start. “I don’t understand.”
“Me either. How do you even know about Chris?” Was that why he was angry? Because I knew his dirty little secret? I couldn’t believe it. I tried to get up from my seat, but he boxed me in by leaning forward and placing his hands on the armrest of the chair.
“Don’t put this on me, Logan. You’re the one who has been lying. I don’t even know who you are.” Both of us were tense. I knew I needed some time and space to digest all of this. I also needed food and sleep. “I’m tired and hungry. Can we finish this in the morning?” Why did that sound so final? Logan stood and held his hand out for me. Even in his anger, he was always taking care of me, of us.
“I’ll make you something.” I knew better than to argue, so I took my seat at the counter while he made his way to the fridge. It took everything for me not to bawl when he put his head against the stainless steel appliance and just stared at the ultrasound picture that hung on the door. I lost the fight when he pressed his lips to the photo and vowed: “I’m going to fix this.” I honestly didn’t know who he was talking to; me, the baby, or maybe even himself.
His back was to me; the eggs were cracked against the side of the bowl before he began to tell his story. “Chris was two years older than me. He was a great big brother. One day when I was nine, and he was eleven, dad never came home from work. We didn’t have much, but we did have each other. In one day, something can happen that changes your entire world.” With that last sentence, he stood taller and raised his head to the sky, as if thanking someone above. There was no use in trying to stop the tears now. His shoulders slumped again as he began to whisk. “Chris lost his childhood that day and mom; she just lost it altogether. Chris started hanging out with the wrong crowd, and mom started drinking.” The sobriety chip he always carried. “We lived off government aid in a roach-infested one-bedroom apartment. Our neighbor, “mi Abuela” was the only reason I stayed out of trouble.” It was clear in how he intoned her name how important she was to him. “When I was thirteen, mom got sick. She got sober, but it was too late. She died when I was fourteen.” Oh fuck. I couldn’t just sit there any longer. My stool teetered to the ground as I rounded the corner, wrapping my arms around him from behind like he did me earlier.
“Stop,” I begged. I didn’t know that I could stand to hear the rest. Logan was trembling. Hell, I was shaking too, and I’d never cried so many tears in my entire life. This man, whose broken heart was inked on his chest. A constant reminder of all the loves he’d lost. The same heart that was now stitched and had been given wings, but to fly he would first need to let it all go.
“Let’s go to bed.” The batter he was mixing be damned.
“Lib. His voice cracked in defeat as I lead him to our bedroom. “I can’t go to sleep without knowing that you’ll be here when I finish telling you everything.”
I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say, but I could show Logan I would be here for him.
I felt like I’d been living on borrowed time since the second she’d breathed my brother’s name. I didn’t talk about my past. Ever. Somehow, I’d made it out. I had no desire to re-live it or even remember it. It may have been where I came from, but it had no bearing on who I was now. The problem was, Libby wasn’t the kind of girl who was okay with not knowing, and honestly, Sterling may have fixed the tattoo heart that was etched in my skin, but just because the tattoo was repaired didn’t mean my heart instantly was too. Even with Libby by my side it still hurt.