Chapter 11 Elizabeth
ELIZABETH
I was so good at my job that Logan’s fake relationship was making headlines in all the right ways.
It had only been a week since their first “date” at City Bark, but the press was devouring the narrative we had built.
How he and Sophie had been secretly dating for months and were now getting serious.
It was almost too easy. And for once, that meant I got a little time off.
Which was why I was finally seeing Jake.
I should’ve made time for him sooner. I’ve been back in New Orleans for two weeks, technically staying at his house—our parents’ old house—every night, but I left so early and came back so late that I might as well not be there at all.
Jake, of course, didn’t complain. He never does.
But I knew I’d been neglecting him, and it’d been weighing on me.
Jake had been diagnosed with Charcot-Marie-Tooth when we were kids, a genetic nerve disorder that made his muscles weaker over time.
He never talked about what it was like to lose muscle, lose stability, lose the ease of movement that most people took for granted.
He never asked for help. But I wanted to do what I could to help anyway.
But there was no cure. Not yet.
There were experiments, though. Several using gene therapy have shown early promise.
They were hopeful enough that Jake wanted in.
But nothing about the process was simple.
There were waitlists, approvals, funding, and connections that made the difference between a name on a piece of paper and an actual spot in the program.
And that was why I took this job in the first place.
Not because I loved PR. Not because I wanted to spend my days managing other people’s reputations.
But because I needed the kind of connections that could make things like this happen.
But for now, we were waiting to see if he’d been accepted.
And there I was at Sarah’s café/bookstore, Inkwell, waiting for my brother to show up.
I flipped through an artist’s portfolio that Sarah keeps on a coffee table, sighing as I recognized the work. Max Landreau. I should have bought his paintings before he became popular, but now his prices have skyrocketed, and I can’t afford even a postcard.
Sarah slid into the chair across from me, setting down her tea. “Girl, you’re staring at that book like it’s the last piece of cake at a wedding, and someone else is about to take it.”
I sighed dramatically, shutting the portfolio. “Worse. I could’ve bought his work back when he was selling prints for fifty bucks, but now? A single piece costs more than my rent.”
Sarah snickered. “This is why I tell you to buy art when you first see it.”
“Yes, let me just hop in a time machine and tell past me to invest in art instead of iced coffee.”
Sarah tilted her head, considering. “I mean, you’d still be broke, but at least you’d have something nice to look at.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re supposed to be supportive.”
She sipped her tea, unbothered. “I am. But if you keep sulking like that, I might have to ask you to leave because you’re bringing down my café’s vibe.”
I scoffed. “You’d kick me out for bad vibes?”
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”
I arched a brow. “Uh, yes, you do.”
“Fine. I make the rules, so don’t worry. You’re always the exception.”
Before I could say anything, the café door swung open, and Jake walked in. He barely had time to scan the room before Sarah launched out of her chair and threw her arms around him.
“Finally! My favorite customer is here,” Sarah said.
Jake chuckled, hugging her back. “If this is the welcome I get, I should show up more often.”
Sarah pulled back, grinning. “You already do. At this point, I should give you a frequent flyer card.”
I watched them, a little amused and more than a little guilty. Their bond was effortless, built on the kind of daily familiarity I didn’t have with Jake anymore. Seeing them like this, so at ease with each other, made my chest ache.
But more than that, it made me grateful. If I couldn’t always be here, at least he had Sarah.
Jake turned to me with a teasing glint in his eyes. “So, do I get a hug from you, too, or just the usual thoughtful silence?”
I smiled and leaned over, wrapping my arms around him. He was warm and solid, and for a moment, I wished I could make up for all the time I’d been away.
“Look at this,” Sarah said, pressing a hand over her heart. “A historic moment of sibling affection.”
I laughed softly, and Jake gave my shoulder a final squeeze before letting go.
Sarah dropped the menus in front of us with an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I’ll leave you two to your long-overdue bonding.
After she left, Jake turned to me. “So, tell me, are you staying in the house, or do you need me to set up a forwarding address to your hotel?”
Guilt coiled tight in my chest. I hated that he had to ask. Hated that he wasn’t wrong. “I know,” I admitted, the words tasting like an apology.
Jake shrugged, easygoing as ever. “C’mon, you know I’m kidding. You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
I wanted to believe that. I did. I watched as he carefully lifted his coffee cup, his hands a little unsteady.
I’d seen him struggle before, his hands not quite responding the way he wanted.
The slightest tremor in his fingers. The hesitation before he lifted the cup.
The way his hand wobbled, just a little, as he brought it to his lips.
The same way Dad’s hands had shaken toward the end.
The memory came sharp and sudden, knocking the air from my lungs. Dad struggling to button his shirt, cursing under his breath but smiling anyway, as if he could joke about it, we wouldn’t notice how bad it was getting.
The irony, if you could call it that, was that Charcot-Marie-Tooth had nothing to do with his death. Both he and my mother were gone in an instant.
A wreck on I-10.
A storm that came out of nowhere. A driver who never saw my parents’ car until it was too late.
Jake and I had been waiting for them to come home, sitting on the couch and watching a ridiculous reality show while texting Mom updates about what we wanted for dinner. She’d sent me a thumbs-up emoji. That was the last thing I ever got from her.
By the time we got the call, it was already too late. There were no goodbyes, no bedside vigil, no time to prepare. Just everything we knew, everything we counted on, ripped out from under us.
And after the shock, after the funeral, after the weeks of people bringing us casseroles we never ate, I had to face the other reality.
Jake had the same disease that Dad had, Charcot-Marie-Tooth.
And now here we were. Years later.
Jake’s hands were shaking, just like Dad’s had.
There was no cure, but even though it wasn’t the same, even though I knew he wasn’t dying, it still felt like I was losing him. It felt like I was losing control all over again.
That was why I needed Jake to get into the trial, why I needed to be in control of his future, because if I wasn’t… then what?
I needed control.
When our parents died, it was like the floor dropped out from under me.
I had no warning, no preparation, no time to brace myself.
I spiraled. I stayed in bed for weeks, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
It was like I’d been unplugged from the world.
The fear and the helplessness almost crushed me.
And I swore I would never feel like that again.
A career in PR became the antidote. In PR, I was the one who knew what was coming.
I got to manage the message, map the strategy, and prepare for the fallout.
I was the person people called when everything was falling apart, and I made it better.
I couldn’t save my parents, I couldn’t stop Jake’s diagnosis, but I could control everything else.
The calendar. The spin. The interviews. The story.
In a world where nothing felt certain, PR gave me a sense of power.
Jake caught me watching him and deliberately set the cup down with exaggerated precision.
His sandy brown hair, a little longer than when I’d last seen him, brushed his shoulders in a way that made him look effortlessly cool rather than unkempt.
His brown eyes, sharp and always a little amused, missed nothing.
He was brilliant, annoyingly bright, but never in a way that made him seem nerdy.
Jake had a way of knowing everything without acting like he needed to prove it.
Jake had always been ridiculously handsome, like our dad. He had the kind of good looks that made people do double-takes.
Just like Logan.
I blinked at the thought, shoving it away before it could take root.
“Okay, stop with the sorrowful look,” Jake said. “I’m fine.”
I nodded, forcing a smile, but the guilt didn’t go away.
Jake filled me in on his physical therapy and how things were going at work.
Great, according to him. He was an engineer for the city, a job he loved, and he brushed past the challenges of managing his illness like they were minor inconveniences rather than daily hurdles.
That was Jake. If he struggled, he wasn’t about to dwell on it.
When he tried to turn the conversation to me, I steered it toward work, shifting the focus to Logan’s PR campaign. Work was safe. Work didn’t ask uncomfortable questions.
“So, you’re turning the bad boy into Prince Charming,” Jake teased. “Sounds risky.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but hesitated. Would he hear something in my voice? Would he see the way Logan was getting under my skin? I shrugged, aiming for casual. “It’s a job.”
Jake smirked. “Uh-huh. This PR job seems to involve a lot of in-person time.”
I took a slow sip of my coffee, choosing my words carefully. “It’s a more… hands-on campaign. His public image needs a major reset, and that means making sure the right stories get told, and that people believe them.”
He hummed. “Must be pretty bad if it requires this much work.”
Before I could deflect further, the door jingled.
I didn’t even have to turn around because I felt it. That shift in the air. The subtle hush, the ripple of attention, the way people instinctively turned toward the door. And when I finally glanced up, there he was.
Logan Fisher strode in like he owned the place, confidence radiating from every step. The black T-shirt, the artful mess of his hair—he had the kind of presence that made people take notice.
And I was noticing.
I clenched my jaw. This was ridiculous. He was my client. I never got distracted by my clients. I’d worked with some of the most powerful men in the world and never once let a pretty face throw me off my game.
And yet.
Jake, watching the scene unfold, turned to me with a look. “Wait. Did you know he was coming?”
I exhaled through my nose. How was I supposed to have a normal conversation with my brother when the most distracting man alive was standing right there?
“Yes. But not yet.”
Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “So, he came early just to see you?”
I didn’t answer my brother, but when Logan reached our table, I said, “You’re early.”
Logan shrugged, grinning. “I don’t think so.”
I pulled out my phone to show him the time. “You are.”
Logan leaned in slightly, squinting at the screen, and I cursed the way my pulse jumped at his proximity.
Logan turned to Jake, something shifting in his expression. “Wait—is that a Radiators shirt?”
Jake brightened. “Yeah. You know them?”
And they were off, diving into a conversation about music, concerts, and local bands.
Something about the way he and Jake were talking, so effortlessly, so naturally, made my stomach twist. Logan wasn’t just charming his way through the conversation. He fit in. He belonged here, in this café, at this table, talking music with my brother.
He was real.
Just like at the dog park. Just like when he brought me that king cake.
And that was a problem. Because I could feel it happening. I was starting to like him.
And I needed to stop. Immediately.