The double doors whooshed open slowly, and my heart fractured into a million pieces at the sight of tiny, pale Noah in a wheelchair. But he was smiling, looking around like he was hoping for a bigger audience.
“Hi, you guys! Look at my go-cart.” Noah gestured to the wheelchair with his good hand. The nurse wheeling him out laughed.
He was clearly on some good pain meds. Fine by me—anything that made this easier for him.
“Hey, bud,” Logan said as he strode over. “How are you feeling?”
I joined them tentatively, like an outsider fighting for a spot. But my heart warmed and some of my fear faded at the way Noah’s eyes lit up when he saw me.
“Nina, will you draw a picture on my cast?”
I laughed despite the ugly emotions twisting in my belly. “Of course. Anything you want.”
“Should I, uh, wheel him out or—” Logan asked the nurse.
“Go get your car and pull up out front,” she instructed like she was used to delegating tasks to nervous parents. “I’ll bring him out to you.”
“I’ll stay with Noah,” I offered.
Logan gave me a terse nod and strode out to the parking lot. He was pulling up out front mere seconds later, but then again, he’d parked haphazardly in a no-parking zone upon our arrival because he was so sick with worry, so it wasn’t like he had to go far.
The drive back to the house was saved from more icy awkwardness by Noah’s chatter about everything he’d endured in the hospital. He rested his head against my shoulder.
“The shot hurt a little,” he said. “But then nothing hurt anymore! Not my arm, or my shoulder, or even where I scraped my knee a little. And they let me pick what color cast I got. I almost picked red, but I like this one better. Can we draw when we get home, Nina?”
I refrained from reminding him that his drawing hand was currently encased in a neon-green cast. “I think it would be best if we all took a little break today. I don’t know about you, but I could sure use a nap. We’ve had a big morning.”
“The doctor said you need to take it easy,” Logan added, his eyes scanning us in the rearview mirror.
“I’m not tired,” Noah insisted as a yawn slipped out.
He was dozing against my arm by the time we pulled into the driveway. Logan eased him out of the back seat, scooping the boy up into his arms. Noah’s eyes barely fluttered. The stress and drugs were doing their thing, so he took Noah to his room for what was bound to be a long nap.
I paced around the family room where we’d normally hang out, trying to hold on to hope even as I was worried Logan and I were about to have a discussion that could change everything. There was no way we could sweep this scenario under the rug.
We were headed towardsomething. What, exactly, I couldn’t say.
My pulse cranked up when I heard him approaching. He walked into the room wearing an expression I couldn’t read. I thought I’d seen every version of Logan Ashford, but this one?
It made him unrecognizable to me. He came to a stop a few feet away from me, arms crossed and every bit of softness or tenderness hidden away.
“This isn’t working.”
Three words with infinite translation possibilities. I waited silently for him to continue, my heart hammering away in my chest.
“When I hired you—rashly, I might add—I was convinced that you would be good for my son. That you’d always put him first and would watch out for him. But everything that’s happened today has proven to me that that isn’t the case.”
It was one of the most painful things he could’ve said to me.
“Logan, that’s not true and you know it!” I blurted out. “Noah has become the center of my world. It feels like I’m nevernotthinking about him.”
Logan shifted, and I could swear he rolled his eyes as he shook his head.
“Then what just happened at the park?”
His cold, unemotional tone made me feel like I was on a witness stand.
“I was fighting for my life at the park, if you want the truth,” I blurted out. “You were upset with me about the camp stuff, which Istilldon’t understand, and I had to try to make sense of how you were reacting to get us back on the same page. So sure, my focus was drawn away from Noah for a minute?—”
