Chapter Twelve
Logan’s heart nearly stopped in his damn chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Not at all.” Tess met his stare, a confident gleam in her eyes that unnerved him. “There would be conditions, of course. And legal documents and the like I’d need you to agree to and sign. But yes, I want you to be my donor. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I know you’re a fantastic choice.”
“The more you—you’ve thought about this?” he stammered. “About me?”
“A lot.”
“This is nuts.” He practically flung down his knife and fork. “You’ve been here for what, two weeks?”
“Tomorrow will be three, actually. But I know what I know.”
“And what’s that, Tess?” He felt his blood race and start a low simmer. “What do you know?”
“That you’re a smart, caring, seriously decent man,” she said fervently. “That you possess quiet strength and deep compassion for others. You also have a sense of humor, dry as it is, and you’re clever and friendly. Those traits alone made me unable to knock you off the top of my wish list.” She fidgeted with the edge of her plate, rubbing at something that wasn’t there. “Add to all that your physical attributes, of which there are many, and it made so much sense. You’re . . . you’re the package deal I’ve been looking for. You bring so much . . . I’m convinced it’s the right choice.” She sat up a little straighter, took a quick breath, and met his stare directly. “So, that’s my proposition. I’m not asking for an immediate answer, but for you to think about it. Would you consider being my donor?”
He gaped at her, stunned speechless. His head was spinning.
“I’d need you to have a full screening, of course,” she continued. “Both medical and psychosocial. But we know each other. We’ve become friends. So we can actually talk about things, which is such an amazing advantage! I can ask you any questions directly, and I trust you’ll be truthful with me in answering them.” She drew a quick breath and licked her lips. “It just makes so much sense to me.”
He stared at her, this beautiful, commanding woman, as a million thoughts raced through his head. Finally he said, “You’re out of your damn mind.”
She blinked but said simply, “I disagree.”
He swore under his breath. “Tess, I’m . . . flattered. Really. I had no idea you thought . . . so highly of me.”
“I do.”
“Thank you. But no way can I help you on this.” His chest was tight, and he had to push out air to speak. “It’s a terrible idea. You haven’t totally thought it through.”
“On the contrary,” she said with such composed sureness that it threw him. “I’ve thought of little else the past few days.”
Jesus. How could he make her see he was the worst candidate on earth for something like this? “I’m a recovering alcoholic,” he said staunchly.
“Stress on recovering. Which speaks volumes about your character, willpower, and strength.”
“Thank you, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone forever. I could relapse at any time.”
“I suppose you could,” she conceded. “But if you haven’t relapsed even once in eleven years, the chances get lower as more time passes. My money’s on you.”
“And that’s okay with you? That risk factor?” He glared at her, trying to get her to understand. “It’s in my genes, Tess. It’s a disease.”
“I’m fully aware of that. I’m not downplaying it.”
“But you are, enough so that it passes the tests? Both medical and psychosocial?”
Her lips pressed together as she formulated her thoughts. He was about to forge ahead when she said, “Yes, it warrants notice. But not enough to knock you out of contention.” Her voice and expression turned wry as she added, “My own father is a borderline alcoholic, who just won’t ever admit to it. He certainly didn’t have traumatic circumstances like you did. You’ve worked hard to overcome that part of your life, and you have. Admirably. That strength of mind and character outweighs the potential risk. At least, for me.” She smiled softly. “Besides. You won’t be raising the child. I will. Even if you do fall off the wagon . . . it won’t be around my child. So. Next rebuttal. Hit me.”
Logan’s jaw went slack. “You’re serious. You’re fucking serious about this.”
“Dead serious,” she said.
“My mother has cancer,” he said. “What about that? That’s in my medical history.”
“My aunt had breast cancer,” she said. “Thankfully, she beat it, but she had it. That’s a direct link too. Unfortunately, most people have a relative who’s had cancer. I can’t take any potential donor off the list for that. What else?”
He raked his hands through his hair and sat back. This woman was insane. She was out of her goddamn mind if she thought he was the answer to her prayers. But she seemed so fiercely convinced, it was mind-blowing. And made him want to shake her. He pulled at the neck of his sweater, which suddenly felt too tight around his throat. “I’m not a good candidate.”
“I think you are. For many reasons.”
“Why, because we have some chemistry? You’re attracted to me, you think I’m good-looking?” he said, knowing he was losing control but unable to stop the slide. “You want to make sure your child is tall and pretty? That’s super flattering, but not enough of a reason to—”
“Of course you’re good-looking,” she said flatly. “Yes, I’m attracted to you. Come on, you’re gorgeous. That’s just a fact. Do your physical traits help keep you on the yes list? Absolutely, I won’t deny that. You will make strong, beautiful children. But that’s not enough of a reason for me to ask you to be my donor, to make up half the DNA of my child.” Her elegant brows arched as she added sharply, “Give me a little more credit than that. I can find a good-looking man anywhere. It’s what’s inside that counts. Do I really have to say that?”
He scratched at his beard. She kept throwing him for loops, and her single-minded focus on what she wanted was scary as hell. He had to get real with her. Remind her he was so far from perfect, it was laughable that she’d even consider him a prospect. “There’s something you seem to have forgotten about me.” His voice hardened, and every muscle in his body went taut with tension. “I don’t want kids.”
He thought it’d be the thing that stopped her cold. But her big blue eyes took on an almost victorious gleam, and she practically purred, “That, Logan, is what makes you absolutely ideal as my donor.” She smiled, and he imagined that must be what she looked like at work when she was about to close in for a killer deal in the boardroom. It was both glorious and intimidating. “I don’t want you to be my baby’s father. I want you to be the sperm donor. There’s a world of difference in there. Can I explain further? Are you willing to listen?”
Too mixed up to say much, he nodded, figuring the least he could do was hear her out. Plus, hell yes, he was curious to know what was going on in that sharp mind of hers.
“I want to have a baby and raise it on my own. I don’t want a partner, and I don’t need a father figure.” A long, wayward curl bounced into her eyes, and she brushed it back impatiently. “You know I have the resources to ensure I can raise a child well. I have the money, I’ll make the time, and I have so much love to give . . . my child will want for nothing.”
“Except a father.” Logan couldn’t believe that’d burst from his mouth, but it had.
She didn’t even blink. “I have three amazing brothers,” she said. “My child will never lack for male role models or fatherlike affection. If anything, I can say with full confidence that my child’s three uncles will make sure he or she never feels unloved, or feels a lack of that kind of attention.”
Logan found himself nodding. “Well . . . I’ve never met Pierce, but from what I know of Charles and Dane, you’re probably right.”
“I know I’m right. We’re all very close. My child will have three doting uncles, three lovely aunts, and a ton of cousins. He or she will have a big, loving family.” That hurdle cleared, Tess barreled on. “I hate to say it, but the fact that you’ve told me in no uncertain terms that you don’t want kids is so ideal for me, it’s ridiculous. The fact that you don’t want to be a father is perfect, because I don’t want you to be its father.”
She paused for a moment to let that sink in. “In fact, I’ll be drawing up legal documents for my donor—you, hopefully, but if not, whoever I choose—stating that the donor agrees to relinquish any and all parental rights. All parental rights, all financial rights, everything. This child is going to be mine, and mine alone. I take full responsibility. I want it that way. I’m not asking you to be a father. I’m not asking anything of you . . . except for your badass DNA.”
Logan wanted to be affronted, offended, and outraged. But seeing it from her side, it all made a lot of sense. Did that make her controlling? Maybe. It also showed just how much thought she’d put into this. She was clear on her wants and decisions, wasn’t hiding that, was going to cover her ass legally . . . He had to give her credit for covering every angle.
“Does that make you feel any better about it?” she asked, her voice softer and eyes shining with . . . ah hell, hope. She was really hoping he’d say yes to this craziness. “You’d still have your freedom, your own life. I’m just . . . well, to be blunt, I’m just asking for your sperm. That may sound callous, I know that. But also completely open and honest.” Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “I think you possess so many qualities I’d love to have in my child, Logan. I can sit here for a while and list all your good qualities . . .” She tried to grin, probably to offset the hesitance he caught in her voice.
Then those brilliant blue eyes of hers got glassy, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. “Will you help me, Logan? I know it may sound a little wild, and I know it’s a lot to ask. I do know that. I’m not taking this lightly, and neither should you. But would you at least think it over?”
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Something rose up in his chest and cut off his air. He shoved away from the table and shot to his feet. “I’m sorry, Tess.” His voice felt rough in his throat. “I can’t. No. Just no.”
She looked up at him, the hope in her eyes dissolving into disappointment. Goddammit, that sent a lance through his gut. But she blinked it away, put on her best game face, and murmured, “All right. I understand.” She sat up a little straighter, recomposing herself as her gaze dropped to the table. He was glad for that, because that stark look in her eyes had been almost too much to take. Then she reached for her water glass . . . and he noticed her hand was trembling.
His entire core clenched miserably.
“I have to go.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw a few bills on the table. He couldn’t look at her. He knew it was wrong, but he had to get out of there. “I’m sorry.” Grabbing his coat from the back of his chair, he headed for the door and stormed out into the night.
* * *
For three days, Logan stewed over Tess’s unbelievable request. The first day, he was upset and a little angry, but by that night he admitted to himself there was no good reason to be angry. How could he be anything other than flattered, really? The anger was misdirected. He was angry at himself, for being a damn coward. Running out on her like that . . . Jesus, what a dick move. He was better than that . . . or at least he thought he was, but he’d hightailed it out of that bistro like he was racing Usain Bolt.
He’d let her down, in more ways than one. He should have handled it so much better. He was ashamed of his knee-jerk reaction. Tess Harrison might be a formidable woman, but he knew it couldn’t have been easy for her to ask him what she had. She made a good case, he had to give her that. But despite her confident voice, level gaze, and regal bearing throughout most of it, her sad eyes and shaking hand at the end were what he couldn’t get out of his mind. Every time he replayed that moment in his mind, he cringed. He hated that he’d hurt her in any way. It’d been fight or flight in its purest, caveman form.
On the second day, he moved to indignation as he reminded himself he owed her nothing. They barely knew each other, right? If she was disappointed, that wasn’t his fault. He’d told her flat out, several times, that he didn’t want a family of his own. He did not want kids. He hadn’t even gone into the depths of his reasons for this, but he’d given her enough background that she’d had to know he’d likely turn her down. Yet there she sat, strikingly beautiful and brave as she listed reasons—many reasons—why she’d chosen him as the man she wanted to help her make a baby. The gravity of that decision humbled him when he thought about it, and by the second night, when he lay in bed unable to sleep, it really hit him. He was honored that any woman, much less a woman like Tess, would think highly enough of him to make such an important, life-changing request. It was astonishing and terrifying at the same time.
By the third day, he thought mainly of Tess herself. What a unique woman she was. He was unbelievably flattered that of all the men she could choose to father her child, she’d thought about it at length and chosen him. Him. She must’ve known men with more money and power, higher educations, equally attractive . . . and, not blinded by love or need, had decided he was the one she wanted to father her child. If that wasn’t the most mind-bendingly flattering, touching thing anyone could ever think of someone, he didn’t know what could top it.
And how had he repaid her lovely desire and bravery in asking? By blowing her off in every way. He hadn’t spoken to her, texted her, not a word to her since he’d walked out on their dinner. If he’d wanted to prove to her he was a total fucking asshole, he was doing a fine job of it, wasn’t he.
She hadn’t tried to contact him either. He didn’t blame her.
But no matter what he did, he couldn’t get her out of his head. He worked every day, he hit the gym, worked some more, watched movies at night . . . but nope, there she was, in his mind. Her presence had infiltrated him, and he couldn’t get away from it . . . from himself.
She even permeated his dreams. Not the occasional steamy, erotic dreams that had him waking up hard and needy. No, these dreams all featured that crushed look that had flickered in her marine-blue eyes before she’d managed to cover. Some dreams, she was at his house, trying to talk to him, with him rebuffing her, trying to get away from her, feeling like shit about it even as he did so. In one dream, she rocked in the rocking chair at his mother’s house, holding a little pink bundle in her arms. When he went over to take a peek at the baby, she glared at him, stood up, and stalked away from him, slamming the door behind her. That one woke him with a start, bathed in sweat. What the hell had that woman done to him?
At the end of the third day, he knew he couldn’t just avoid her forever, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to talk to her, to reach out . . . He just had no idea what the hell to say beyond I’m sorry. And he had to go over there that evening to take out her garbage . . . Maybe when he did, he’d try to talk to her. If she even wanted to.
But he had dinner plans. He’d go do her trash run afterwards. By the time he pulled into his mother’s driveway at six, the stars overhead had been twinkling for a while already. His breath came in white puffs against the clear, frigid night air.
Annmarie looked up at him from the couch as he let himself into the house. Her smile faded into a frown of confusion. “What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?” Logan shrugged out of his coat and dropped it onto the armchair. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a rotten liar.”
“Good to know.”
“You look down. Or pissed off. Or both.” She grabbed his shirtsleeve as he sat down beside her, and demanded, “Talk to me.”
He shook his head, then mumbled, “I hurt someone’s feelings. Someone I like and respect. I’ve been a total jackass. So I’m just . . .”
“Mad at yourself. Stewing over it.” She sighed and patted his knee. “So fix it.”
“I know. I have to. I’m just not sure if I can.”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Yup.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “So, lady? Ready for dinner?”
“I’m not too hungry,” she said. “Just something simple would be fine. I was going to make a can of soup and tell you not to come, but I knew you wouldn’t listen.”
“Got that right.” He got back up and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make you something simple, and you’re going to eat it.”
“Yes, sir, Mister Bossman, sir,” she joked, and lay down again.
He found two cans of split-pea-and-ham soup in her cupboard and heated them, and sliced some of the thick sourdough bread she had. They enjoyed a quiet dinner.
“Tell me something,” Annmarie ventured. “Any chance the person you’re beating yourself up over is a woman?”
He looked at his mother. The hope in her eyes . . . He couldn’t stand to disappoint another woman he cared about. Not this week, anyway. “Yeah. But it’s not—”
“You seeing someone?”
“No, Mom. We’ve . . . just spent a little time together. We talk. Went skiing a few times.”
“Ah! I miss skiing. Wish I still had the energy.” She ripped off a piece of bread and dunked it lightly into her soup. “Where’ve you been skiing?”
“Ajax.”
“Great runs. She any good?”
“Yeah, she is, which is nice.”
“Of course it is.” Annmarie chewed her bread slowly, then asked, “Any chance you’ll tell me who this is?”
Why not? Let his mom have her thrills. “Tess Harrison. The one who—”
“I know who that is. You went out with her on New Year’s Eve. Pretty girl?”
“Stunning,” he admitted. “In fact, she might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Not kidding.”
Annmarie’s eyes flew wide. “I wanna see a picture then, dammit!”
Logan laughed for the first time all day. It felt good. And the spark of excitement in his mother’s eyes made him feel even better. He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket. “Here, I’ll show you, all right? Sate your curiosity before it gets out of control.” He typed in the Harrison Foundation website on the search engine. “But Mom, she’s just a friend. Don’t get too nuts, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand impatiently. “Gimme!”
He chuckled again and scrolled until he found the picture of Tess from the Harrison Foundation Holiday Ball a few weeks ago. In that knockout red dress, silk and sparkles draped over her long, willowy frame, her long dark curls everywhere. The one that had made him lose his breath the first time he saw it. “Here.” He handed the phone to his mother.
And watched her eyes bug out of her head, making him chuckle again. She gaped at the photo, then looked up at him. “She’s gorgeous! You weren’t exaggerating.”
“I rarely do, Mom.”
“Is she a model? An actress?”
“No. Her mother was, but she’s a businesswoman. She comes from a very wealthy family in New York. Long Island. She runs their charity foundation, and she’s damn good at it, from what I can tell. And she’s a painter on the sly, though most people don’t know that. That’s her real passion, art. She loves to paint.” Logan found himself running off at the mouth and swallowed a spoonful of soup.
Annmarie handed him back the phone, staring hard. “And you’re just friends.”
“Kind of. I mean . . . we’re starting to be. Or, were.” Recollection slammed him in the gut, the lick of shame washing through him. He shoveled more soup into his mouth.
“So what happened?” Annmarie folded her hands on the table and stared him down. “Come on, honey, talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
“She . . .” He sighed and put his spoon down. He couldn’t tell her everything. It occurred to him with a jolt that she’d probably be all for his being Tess’s donor, and holy hell to that. “She’s a good woman. A really good one. And she asked me to do something for her that I just can’t do.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Both.”
“And would that be something like becoming her boyfriend?”
“No,” he said with a wry grin. “I wish it were that simple.”
“You like her,” Annmarie almost purred, her eyes narrowing on her son.
“Yeah, I do. She’s really . . .” He huffed out a breath and admitted out loud, “If I were going to date someone, she’d be the kind of woman I’d want. She’s got it all.”
“So what’s the problem? She’s rich and you’re not?”
“Nah. I thought so at first, but no. She’s not like the others. She’s genuine. Down-to-earth. Kind and unpretentious.”
“So what’s holding you back?” she asked. “I don’t see a problem, other than you’re a grumpy stubborn jackass.”
He laughed and conceded, “You’re not totally wrong on that.”
“You haven’t had a woman in your life for such a long time. When are you going to take another chance?”
“I’m not looking to do that.”
“Why on earth not?”
He sighed again, frustration building in his chest. Telling her only parts of it wasn’t helping after all. “It’s complicated, Mom.”
“I bet you’re making it complicated. Just stop overthinking for once. Get out of your head and back into life.”
“I have done that,” he asserted curtly.
“Not enough,” she retorted. “You live a loner’s life. When I’m gone, you’re going to be completely alone, and that saddens me.”
“Well, don’t die, then.” He picked up his glass of ginger ale and chugged.
“Logan . . .” Her gaze turned somber.
His stomach lurched. “No. No, Mom. The doctor said if you keep up with the protocol, you have a shot at beating this.”
“A shot. Odds aren’t in my favor. It’s not going my way.”
“So what.” He pinned her with his gaze now, both glad to turn the topic away from him and needing to talk sense into his bullheaded mother. “You have to keep fighting. I’d do it for you if I could, but I can’t.”
“I know you would,” she said with a soft smile. She reached across and patted his arm, gave his hand a squeeze that he returned. Then she pushed back from the table. “Couch time for me.”
He moved to rise and she held up a hand. “I’m fine. I’m tired, but I’m fine. If I need your help, I’ll ask.”
“No, you won’t, you stubborn mule,” he grumbled.
She fixed him with a look and drawled sarcastically, “Gee, sounds like someone I know.”
“Hey, tree, I’m just the apple.”
She laughed and walked away from the table. “Okay if you clean up?”
“Like I’d let you help.”
“You’re the best, darlin’.” She turned back to look at him, leaning against the door frame that separated the tiny dining area from the living room. “You really are the best, Logan. The best son a woman could ask for, and the best man I know. I hope you know how much I appreciate you, and everything you do for me. I love you.”
He swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in his throat and managed roughly, “I do know. And I love you too.”
“I don’t mean to nag.” Her smile twisted, turning a little wicked. “Well, that’s not totally true. You need me to nag you sometimes.”
He barked out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know who you were if you didn’t, lady.”
“Damn right. But when I nag you about dating . . .” She sagged a little against the door frame. “I just want you to find someone, to know you won’t be alone. It’s a big world to be alone in. And . . . I saw what happened to you before when you isolated yourself. I desperately don’t want that to happen again.”
His stomach churned anew. A flash of a memory seared through his brain: When his mom came down to New Orleans, after he’d finally confessed to her he’d lost everything, she’d found him lying drunk as hell on his living room floor. And sprang into action, grabbing him from under his arms and tugging until she got him to his couch. She’d grunted and pushed; he was a big guy, and it took strength she barely had, but she’d picked him up off the ground, literally. God, how scared and sad she must’ve been, finding him in squalor like that . . .
“It won’t happen again,” he managed, his voice gruff. “I swear that to you. I was a different person then.”
“I know you were. You’ve come so far, that guy’s in the rearview.” She reached up to rub her shoulder as she spoke. “But you’ve got a big warm heart in there that you’ve tamped down for a long time. You’re a giver. I want you to find someone to give all that good in you to, you know? And someone who can give it back to you. You deserve that. We all do.” Annmarie’s moss-green eyes clouded over. “I had that with your father . . .” She smiled briefly, a mixture of sadness and pride in her features. “You would’ve been a great father. You’re so much like him. It’s such a shame you never had any kids. They’d have been lucky to have you for a dad.”
Her words hit his chest like she’d kicked him with steel-tipped boots.
“Maybe I’ll stick around long enough to at least make sure you find a solid woman to share your life with. That’s all I want for you, honey. I don’t want . . .” She paused, cleared her throat, and said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear, “I don’t want you to be lonely like I’ve been since I lost your father. After he was gone, at least I had you and your brother. Having you boys . . . that saved me. Gave me purpose, and light, a reason to live on and to live well.” Her eyes locked on him. “When I’m gone? You’ll have no one. You understand now? Why I worry about you? I don’t care how old you are. You never stop worrying about or wanting for your children.” She lifted her chin in a defiant gesture and added, “I’m not sorry for that.”
He stood slowly, his throat too tight to speak, and went to her. Drawing her into his arms for a hug, he could feel the loss of weight on her, feel the bones in her back . . . She’d never felt so fragile in his arms before. “I love you, Mom.” He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head. Her short blond hair, which had always been silky, felt coarse beneath his mouth. When it had grown back after the first round of chemo, it’d come back different. It still startled him on occasion. “I’ll be okay, no matter what. I swear it. Don’t you worry about that.”
“I know. I know.” She withdrew from his embrace, patted his cheek. “That beard is so thick. Again, so much like your father . . .” With a smile, she made her way to the couch.
Logan watched her as she went. Her pace was slow but steady. She didn’t need his help. So why did he have to rein in, with everything he had, the urge to help her? She was proud and still okay; he had to stop hovering. When she needed him, he had to trust she’d ask.
“So you never did say what Tess asked you for,” Annmarie said, once she was settled into her usual spot on the sofa. “But whatever it was, I say do it. Because life is short, and you like her, and why the hell not.”
“I want her to have what she wants,” he blurted. “She deserves it more than anyone. I just . . . don’t think I should be the person to give this particular thing to her.”
“Damn, you’re cryptic tonight.”
“I don’t want to betray her trust.”
Annmarie nodded. “I can understand that. You’re always honorable. One of the things I’m proudest of. So I’ll just ask you one thing.” Her tired eyes held his intently. “If you give her this . . . thing. Do you have anything to lose?”
That made him pause. “Truthfully? No, if I give her what she asked for, even on her terms, I have nothing to lose.”
“Well, then.” Annmarie grasped the woven blanket and spread it over her legs. “I’d say it warrants further consideration, don’t you?”
Something hummed in his core. “Maybe it does,” he murmured.