“But it couldn’t hurt. You could do it for me? When the Counts killed you off all those years ago, it was me who helped bring you back to life in Ezrina’s OG lair.” Sort of true. Sort of not. “You could just humor me and satisfy my curiosity. No Ezrina. Just you and me and some at-home who’s your daddy test.”
Her mouth falls open and a dull laugh emits from her before she shifts her gaze to my right. “Logan, you should really take Skyla home before she offends anyone else. I’d kill her, but she’s playing host to your child.” She leans in and glares at me. “That is, if itisLogan’s child. Goodnight, Skyla. Good show.”
She takes off for Coop, and Logan pulls me in.
“You went for the paternity jugular again, didn’t you?”
“I had to. I hate the spell Wes has cast over her. Look at those two,” I say nodding over to her and Coop. “They clearly belong with one another.”
Laken finishes telling Coop something and he grimaces our way a moment.
“She told him.” He takes a breath. “What’s done is done, but I bet Coop would love it. Let’s get home to the boys.”
“Not before we hit Taco Bell. And every burger place between here and Whitehorse.”
“What’s at Whitehorse?”
“Have I mentioned that I’m craving a slice of Logan Oliver pie? I’m sorry, but my hormones have me hot and bothered and I need to moan my lungs out. I just can’t do that with the boys in the room.”
His lips twitch and his lids hood low as if he were threatening to hike my dress up and take me right here. Not that I would mind all that much. There is a mighty big, relatively private yard out back.
“To Whitehorse,” Logan says, navigating me to the door.
“What about the food?”
“I’m going to make sure you really work up an appetite.”
“That won’t be a problem. And for the record, I always have an appetite for you.”
“Good. Because I’m about to give you a whole lot more than a slice.”
And he does. Logan gives me every luscious bite of him.
Halloween on Paragon is more or less a day to celebrate the true identity of this island. At its core it holds the essence of that haunted day. It seems every house has donned its own version of a mask, with its adorable pumpkins, spider webs covering every spare inch, the scarecrows, the witches, the ghosts, and the blowup cats and spiders alike.
Logan and I drop off the boys at preschool as usual. There are no costumes allowed at Emma’s pristine little snooty institute of learning. I should have known that with Emma in charge there would be no fun. But on the way over Logan and I had a great time pointing out the people already dressed for trick-or-treating success on the streets and in the cars around us. Both Nathan and Barron could hardly contain themselves. They’re both going to dress up as dinosaurs for Tobie’s birthday party, which is being held at Laken and Wesley’s right after school is out. Then, of course, it’s time to party for the rest of us at Marshall’s estate later this evening. My mother has taken great pains these last few weeks to make sure everything goes off without ahairyhitch this time. As if it were her fault the feds or the new Faction war had put a pin in the festivities in years past.
My stomach tightens and I grunt.
“Another one?” Logan’s eyes widen as he drives us to Whitehorse.
“Just something small. I promise you they’re nothing but harmless Braxton Hicks—practice contractions basically. I’ve done this before, remember?”
“I remember. I was there. Remember?” He flashes a grin as we pull into the driveway and Logan helps me waddle inside and all the way to the Wonderground.
Both Ezrina and Nev are there to greet us with a fresh box of donuts, every variety and every delicious color. Nev presents me with yet another pink box fresh from the Gas Lab.
“This one is exclusively for Skyla.” He opens it up to reveal six glazed crullers and six regular glazed, and my heart seizes with delight at the sight of them.
“I’m going to eat them all.”
“No one doubted you,” a chipper voice calls from behind, and soon enough we’re treated to Ellis’ smiling face. “You ready to do this?”
“I’m ready to do it all,” I say.
Brody and Coop join us, and soon Marshall arrives.
“Yourmother,” Marshall says it directly to me as he closes his eyes with a look of exasperation on his face. He doesn’t need to add another word because I get it. Lizbeth Landon can beextraany day of the week. But put her in charge of a holiday extravaganza, and you have a recipe for disaster.
