14. Logan
Chapter Fourteen
LOGAN
Meredith avoids me like the plague for the next few weeks, and sooner than I know it, it’s been almost two months since our weekend together.
I’m working so much with Grayson's ad campaign and the contractors finishing up the updates to the building that I barely notice time going by. But I notice how cold Meredith is to me.
She barely mumbles a hello or a goodbye, and the tension in the air is palpable.
She seems to be having a rough time, too, coming in late, leaving early.
There are bags under her eyes, and I think she’s lost weight.
That can’t be because of me. She’s the one who pushed me away. She can’t be heartbroken.
“I’ve asked you a question three times,” Bryce drawls, and I realize he’s been talking, and I’ve just been staring at Meredith’s empty desk.
“Sorry.”
Bryce sighs. “What’s on your mind, boss?”
“Nothing I can really talk about.”
Bryce shuts the office door, leaning against it and crossing his arms as he glares at me.
“I’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement, boss. Anything you say to me stays in this room.”
I look up at him, biting my lip. “Seriously?”
“Legally, I cannot reveal your secrets, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old.”
“You are old,” Bryce, who’s barely twenty-five, chirps, and I kind of want to hit him.
“Haha. You swear that?—”
“I’m not going to tell anyone.” His words are firm, his eyes earnest.
“Meredith and I–we're having issues.”
“Well, You told me you dumped her, right? Back then?”
“It wasn’t like that?—”
“You dumped her. And she let you back in, and now she’s feeling bad about herself. Makes sense.”
“Does it?”
Bryce scoffs. “You straight men really know very little about the women you chase.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I’m more frustrated than angry.
“Regardless of your past reasons, what she knows is that you rejected her. Of course, she’s feeling some type of way about letting you back in. Wouldn’t you feel bad if someone dumped you, spent years on radio silence, and when they popped back in your life you just took them back?”
“Yeah. I guess it would make me feel hesitant and afraid of hurting again.”
“So, she feels terrible. Give her some space.”
I frown. “Did she call in today?”
He nods. “And yesterday, too.”
“Maybe I should go and check on her.”
“What did I just say, Logan? Give her some space.”
I’m already putting on my jacket. “I've been giving her space. I’m just going to check on her. If she’s okay, then she’s okay.”
“I want it noted that this is the absolute opposite of my advice,” Bryce calls as I leave, but I ignore him.
If Meredith’s really sick, then she’ll need someone to take care of her. I know from keeping in touch with Grayson that her mother is out of the country, so she’ll be at the mansion alone.
I know that Bryce is right. I should probably give Meredith her space. But space is all we’ve had, for years, and maybe some part of me wants to change that.
I’ve spent the past few years trying to be the man she deserves.
I’m not sure if I am, but I know that I sure as hell can’t let her go, not after that weekend. It was heaven, having her in my bed, my arms, being inside of her.
I’m not ready for it to be over yet.
It’s strange, driving through the gate of her mother’s mansion.
She hasn’t changed the code since we were teenagers. I thought she might have changed it sometime over the years, but it works just fine.
I drive slowly up the driveway. The last time I was here, I crept into the back and scaled the trellis up to Meredith’s room. This time, I’m going to walk right through the front door.
It feels oddly surreal.
I ring the doorbell twice, but no one answers, and when I try the door, it’s open.
Having a gated estate means you don’t lock all the doors, I guess.
“Meredith?” I walk into the foyer.
My voice echoes in the big house. I know she’s here, saw her sedan parked behind the garage.
“Meredith, the door was open.”
But she doesn’t respond.
I walk into the living room to see her curled up on the wraparound couch, her eyes puffy, a wastebasket next to her head.
“Oh, princess.” I walk toward her and sit right next to her head.
She shifts in her sleep, groaning and holding her stomach.
“Probably one of those twenty-four-hour bugs.” I’m talking more to myself than to her, because she’s dead asleep despite her whining.
I brush her hair back from her face and lift her up, carrying her upstairs to her room, kicking the door open. I cradle her in one arm while pulling back the duvet with the other hand, sliding her into bed.
I place a new wastebasket next to her head and stroke her hair a little more.
Her skin’s clammy instead of fevered, so maybe it’s food poisoning.
“Poor baby.”
I slide into bed beside her, pulling her back toward me.
She wiggles against me, slowly waking, blinking slowly.
“Logan? What are you doing here? Am I dreaming?”
“Would it be a good dream?”
She turns onto her back, narrowing her eyes at me. “Depends on if I throw up again.”
“Something you ate?”
“Something like that.” Her mutter is half-asleep, and she’s dozing again within minutes. Whatever she’s sick with, it’s really taking it out of her.
I start to get up, and Meredith whimpers. I chuckle, kissing her temple.
“Just going to get you a wet cloth.”
She doesn’t protest, but she clutches at me when I get up, and I hurry to wet a cloth, bringing it back and draping it over her forehead.
She sighs. “That feels good.”
“How long have you been this sick? Should we go to the urgent care?”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine. I’ve been drinking water and keeping some crackers down.”
I frown, looking her over.
She looks terrible, so pale she’s almost gray.
“I know how great I look,” she says in a cracked voice, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay, Logan, really. I just need a couple of days?—”
She makes a gurgling sound in the back of her throat and sits up, emptying whatever she’s managed to keep down into the wastebasket.
I rub her back, grunting.
“I think you might need some fluids, Meredith.”
“Maybe.” She spits once and then twice into the trash. “Do you think you could drive me?”
“Of course. You think I’d let you drive yourself? In this condition?”
I hurry to help her get dressed, putting her in a pair of jeans and a simple button-up blouse. She’s limp in my arms as I carry her out to the car, and I speed toward the urgent care, worried.
“How long has it been since you’ve kept something down?”
“Not sure.” There’s a slur to her words I don’t like.
“You’re dehydrated.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, just... pull over, okay?”
She doesn’t quite throw up this time, just dry heaves, and that worries me even more.
I sweep her hair back from her face and put her back in the car when she finally stops.
At the urgent care, they take their sweet time calling her back, and I pace around the waiting area.
“Mr. Whitlock, your wife will be called when she’s triaged,” the nurse finally says, and I don’t correct her.
Meredith doesn’t, either, which makes me happy. Maybe she’s just too sick to argue, though.
Finally, they call her back, and her blood pressure is low and her heart rate is up. So is mine. I’m stressed that they’re not taking care of her, and I wish I could just throw money at the situation.
But Meredith has some of the best insurance in the state because of her father.
“Logan, I need you to chill out.” She watches me pace around the small room after the nurse leaves.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m chill.”
She snorts. “There’s absolutely nothing chill about how you’re acting right now. They’re taking good care of me, you know?”
I let out a long breath through my nostrils and finally sit down in the chair across from the cot they have her sitting on.
“When was your last period?” is the first thing the doctor asks.
Meredith frowns. “A few weeks ago. Maybe a month?”
“So, you’re close to starting your cycle?”
She nods listlessly.
I stand up. “Why does any of that matter? She needs some fluids.”
The doctor looks at me coolly. “I agree with your husband, but I think we need to get to the bottom of this. Are you willing to submit a urine sample? It could be a urinary tract infection.”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“The nurse will be in for your sample and to do your bloodwork, and she’ll hook you up to some fluids. I’ll throw in some nausea medication if your husband will calm down a bit.”
Meredith chuckles. “I’ll calm him down.”
My chest swells when she doesn’t correct the doctor.
I know we’re nowhere near married, but it feels good that she didn’t scream, “He’s not my husband!”
The doctor leaves, and I huff out a breath.
“I’m being calm,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You’re always like this.” She sighs. “You’re too overprotective. You and Grayson both.”
It’s something she could have said years ago, and I can’t help that it warms my heart. In another life, we would have been married, and I would have rushed her here.
“How are you feeling?”
“Terrible.”
“You look terrible.”
She glares at me. “Gee, thanks.” Then she sighs. “But thank you for coming over. I really wasn’t able to drive myself here.”
“You’ll feel better after some fluids.” I rub her back as she starts to look nauseous again.
I sit next to her, pulling back her hair when she throws up into a basin, and she flushes.
“I’m sorry about all of this.”
“You’re sick. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
The nurse comes in and gives her fluids and medication, and soon enough Meredith’s eyelids are drooping.
I smile, sitting next to her bed, having scooted the chair over to the cot.
“Get some rest, princess.”
For once, she doesn’t complain about the pet name.
The doctor returns after a few hours, and I nudge Meredith to wake her.
“I think we’ve discovered the problem, Mrs. Whitlock.”
Meredith rouses and sits up. “What’s going on?”
I sit up stiffly. “Is it something serious?”
“You’re going to be a mother.”
All the sound seems to go out of the room.