He zips the bag violently and heads for the door. “Tell Donovan and Kai I said goodbye. Or don’t. I don’t really give a shit.”
The door slams behind him, rattling the frame.
I stand there in his empty room, hand throbbing, trying to get my breathing under control.
My son just threw his girlfriend at me like she’s a possession he’s bored with, and instead of being angry about that, I’m thinking about the way she looked at me earlier.
The way her eyes traveled down my body.
The way she felt pressed against my side when I helped her walk.
Logan just gave me permission, even if he didn’t mean it that way.
And I’m definitely a bad father for considering taking it.
7
DONOVAN
I wakeup at five forty-five out of habit, the kind that comes from years of reviewing reports before the rest of the world is awake.
My tablet is in Dad’s office, where I left it last night after going over acquisition documents, and I need it for the morning briefing. The hallway is quiet as I head toward the office, but when I pass Logan’s wing, I hear it. The violent sound of a zipper being ripped, something heavy hitting the floor, and muttered cursing that carries through his closed door.
I’m at his door before I fully process what I’m doing, running on instinct honed from years of crisis management.”
I push open his door without knocking.
Logan’s shoving clothes into a duffel bag with the kind of violence that says he’s pissed and wants everyone to know it. His lip is split, already swelling. There’s a bruise forming along his jaw.
“What happened?” I ask, though I can guess.
“Ask Dad.” He doesn’t look at me, but continues throwing shirts into the bag. “Better yet, don’t. I’m done with this family.”
“Logan—”
“Save it.” He zips the bag and turns to face me. His eyes are red, whether from crying or rage, I can’t tell. “I’m leaving with Chelsea. First flight out.”
I lean against the doorframe, studying him. The middle brother has always been the weak link. Too soft for the business. Too desperate for approval.
But this is new. This is him actually walking away.
“What did you do?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. “Why do you assume I did anything?”
“Because Dad doesn’t throw punches unless someone crosses a line.” I gesture to his face. “And that looks like a line got crossed.”
Logan laughs, bitter and sharp. “I fucked Chelsea while Samantha was out. She walked in on us. Then Dad decided to play white knight and beat the shit out of me for disrespecting his precious standards.”
Right. Logan’s never been discreet about anything.
“Where’s Samantha now?”
“Dad’s private wing.” He says it like an accusation. “He can have her. Clearly, he cares more about her feelings than mine.”
I process this information slowly. Dad let her into our private wing. The area nobody sees. The space we keep separate from everything and everyone else.
That’s not like him.
