“Dad!” Logan and Ray sprinted across the lawn. The man laughed, his hazel eyes gleaming, and I was sure there were tears there as he hugged his girls.
My father couldn’t stand me.
A low throbbing started in my skull again, reminding me just how screwed up my life was. My fingers tightening on the straps of the bags, I shut off those memories.
“Maximus, come on! Come meet my dad,” Ray piped up. She raced back, grabbed my arm, and yanked me along with her to her father, as if I’d get lost on my way to them. “This is my dad, Sean Logan.”
“Maximus, welcome.”
Dammit! Did Ray have to use the ridiculous nickname she’d saddled me with at this important intro? I was meeting my girl’s father.
At the stifled laughter behind me, I cut a sharp look back, and there I saw my dancing girl again; she seemed thoroughly amused by my misfortune. Logan quickly bit her lip, trying to hold in her mirth. I had to quell the urge to walk over and soothe that lip with my own. She probably read my intent in my expression because her tan skin flushed and she hastily stepped back.
With a look that promised retribution, I turned to her father while Ray belly-laughed. “It’s actually Maxwell, Mr. Logan.You can call me Max.Maximusis just Ray’s odd sense of humor.”
“It’s from one of Ray’s favorite Disney movies, Dad,” Logan explained. “Don’t ask.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” her father said, smiling as we shook hands. “Give me those.” He took the girls’ bags from me.
Logan, walking past me, said softly, “Don’t forget to call me Ila.”
“Don’t count on it,” I murmured equally soft, keeping pace with her as we made our way to the front door. Then I slowed my steps.
A curvy, attractive, Indian woman wearing slacks and a blue sweater appeared in the entrance, her hand braced on the doorjamb. She was a little taller than Logan, and her straight, dark hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. However, it was the smile on her striking brown face—filled with so much love and warmth—that held me transfixed. Just like my mother’s used to be when she was home from her tours. The ache in my chest deepened. I would never receive her happy welcome or ever see her smile again.
“La… Ray!”
Both girls darted to her. She wrapped her arms around them, kissing their cheeks. “My babies.”
“We missed you too, Mom,” Logan said, her voice unsteady.
“Yes, Ma, we totally did,” Ray added. “Just say the word, and we’ll come back home.”
“Absolutely not.” Her gentle features morphed into a stern one. “You need to finish school. And you,”—her concerned gaze shifted to Logan—“you need to do what you love. It’s been too long.” Then those eyes, so like Logan’s, settled on me. “And w…who is this young man?” she asked with a slight slur.
I strode forward, held out my hand, and introduced myself before Ray gave that idiotic name again. “I’m Max Meade-Sinclair, Mrs. Logan.”
She let go of her daughters, ignored my outstretched hand, and studied me. Her gaze drifted up my arms and lingered on my neck. I’d probably shocked her with the multitude of ink I sported. Damn, I should have worn a dress shirt or something instead of a tee. I waited for some disparaging remark or to be dismissed without acknowledgment.
Surprising all hell out of me, instead of shaking my hand, she hugged me.
Neither Logan nor Ray seemed surprised by their mother’s warm greeting. Something inside me tightened. My father was a cold-hearted bastard. My mother, when she was alive, despite being so wrapped up in her music, had made time for me. Instinctively, I knew this woman would do the same. And the hard knot in my gut trembled as if it would loosen…
“Welcome to our home, Max. I’m Maya Logan,” she said. “Dinner’s in fifteen minutes. Ray, dear, show Max downstairs.”
Did she see my intent regarding their oldest daughter and decide to toss me elsewhere, a place far away from Logan?
But with Logan standing a few feet away from me, and her parents doubtless believing I was with Ray, I could do nothing about it. So I let it be. For now.
“Come on, Maximus, let’s show you the guestroom tucked safely in the basement—my dad’s method of keeping guys away from us.” Ray laughed, bouncing on her feet, appearing as if she’d jump out of her skin if she didn’t keep moving.
Snorting, her father disappeared with the bags. Logan slid her arm around her mother’s waist and headed indoors in a slow amble.
I followed. The inside of the house held the same warmth Logan’s parents exuded. Pale walls, warm, wooden furniture, and well-used couches, and an open floorplan living room leading to a dining room through an arched doorway. A group of framed photos hung on one wall, along with a framed award for a 4thdan black belt tournament. Tae Kwon Do. Sean Logan. Right.
I trailed after Ray and found Logan standing in the hallway, biting her lip. As I passed her, I let my fingers lightly brush hers to let her know I was there. Her startled gaze flew to mine. My steps faltered at the sadness I saw there. She gave me a little smile and hurried after her mother.
Frowning, I continued down the sandy-hued carpets and took the stairs that led to the basement. Ray switched on the lights, revealing a wide, open area.
