He nods and replies, “She won’t be on club property for long,” and I nod as I slam the door in Lyndsey’s face before heading upstairs.
“Dad, make sure your granddaughter doesn’t drink the whole carton. She likes milk. I need to go have words with her mama,” I call over my shoulder, and I climb the stairs two at a time.
His chuckles echo before I hear him call, “Where’s my favorite granddaughter? Grandpa wants a hug.”
I smile slightly despite the anger and pain I feel, and I head to the master bedroom knowing she’ll be looking for a way to get herself back to Huntingdon, where, unfortunately for her, she has no apartment and no job, Doc ensured it after claiming I’ll be back in my cut by the end of the fucking month.
Never going to happen.
I storm down the hallway ready for a fight, ready to ensure Jas stays right where she belongs – here with me.
Chapter 18
Jasmine
I pace the master bedroom, eyes drawn to the nightstand where pictures of Logan and me sit while my body trembles, my breathing erratic.
In one, we’re at the beach, my back leaned against Logan’s shirtless front, his right arm wrapped around my waist, his left out long holding the camera and I’m grinning widely while Logan is kissing my cheek.
It was the first time I’d ever been to the beach before and now, it seems like such a lifetime ago. He was all I could see back then, all I wanted and I was naïve to think my mother would just let me go.
I guess appearances mean more to her than I realized, I mean, why else would she fight so hard to get me with Bruce?
Why would she look the other way each time he tried to assault me?
Why would she try to kill her own grandchild?
A few tears fall but I quickly wipe them away and look from the photos to around the room that hasn’t changed at all since I ran.
All my stuff still sits on the vanity, my jacket that looks like it’s been washed a few times draped over the chair.
I really hurt him. At first I was angry when I came up here, but now I’m overwhelmed by guilt, and I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for what I did to him, what I kept from him.
Dammit, I can’t even be mad at him for going back to the cougar, can I? I want to be mad—really fricking mad—but I can’t. I left him without an explanation, I didn’t give him the chance to help me.
I should have trusted he would have put our daughter and me first, that he would have protected her against his mama and mine, and now, I’ve ruined everything.
Dammit, I sound like a fricking martyr.
Sniffling, I walk toward the walk-in closet and a few tears fall at the sight before me in the light grey room.
All my clothes hang in my side of the closet, or the side he gave me, my shoes still in the racks, and I shake my head at my stupidity as I walk over to the drawers, open them, and find my black leggings I used to live in when I knew we weren’t going out and I grab them before I look at his side of the closet, my eyes instantly going to the shirts I used to wear but can’t hung up, and disappointment fills me.
Stupid, stupid, stupid…. the thought echoes over and over in my mind.
Wiping away tears, I rummage through the tops, looking for one that hides my weight loss.
I don’t need Logan finding out I’m barely eating, and that everything I have goes to our daughter.
My body hums after a few minutes and my stomach tightens, warning me of his presence before I hear his soft “She’s gone,” and tension coils in me.
I hum without looking at him, if I did, I’d break—either I’d cry and beg for forgiveness or lash out at him for going there again.
Do I have a right? Probably not, but tell my heart that.
I never wanted a relationship, but this man, he became my everything, and I just made wrong decision after wrong decision.
I scrunch my nose in distaste, finding nothing to wear, and open the drawer next to my strappy tops to pull out my shirts—some actually Logan's.
