Chapter Four
Jess
Leaving Logan to take his call, I decide to head out.
I can’t stay in that office anymore, staring at his face filled with understanding and regret. It makes my chest ache in a way I don’t know if I can take anymore.
I lift a hand in a small wave toward Mackie as I pass her desk.
“Ma’am?”
I press the elevator button and wait as footsteps hurry up behind me.
“I-I’m sorry about the desk,” Mackie blurts out, breathless. “Mr. West didn’t say it was for you. I thought it was just… for a plant or something. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s alright,” I tell her, and realize I mean it. Her eyes look suspiciously shiny, like she’s two seconds from crying.
“I just-” she tries again. “I’m really glad you’re coming back. I mean, Mr. West is a good boss, but, um… I applied here because of you.”
“Huh?” I say, genuinely thrown.
She shifts her weight, cheeks flushing. “Mr. Duncan is my uncle. He used to talk about you all the time. About how good you were at your job. How you started as an assistant and worked your way up.”
She shrugs, embarrassed. “I guess I wanted to be like that.”
I blink.
“That’s very… sweet,” I say honestly. “I had no idea about Mr. Duncan. Logan never mentioned-”
“Oh, he doesn’t know,” she says quickly. “I didn’t want him to think I was looking for special treatment.”
“That’s admirable,” I say, meaning it.
The elevator dings behind me.
I step inside and turn back. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mackie.”
Her smile is instant and relieved. “You too, ma’am.”
The doors slide shut.
I lean back against the elevator wall and let out a slow breath.
Huh.
What a nice girl.
With more than enough time before pickup, I decide to stop by my best friend Simone’s house. Growing up, I spent more time there than I ever did at my own, not that my parents noticed.
We were never very close.
Simone’s parents, though? Her dad walked me down the aisle.
They’re supposed to be on a cruise, but judging by the sharp go away snapped from behind the door when I knock, I’m guessing they’ll be back sooner rather than later.
Using my key, I let myself in.
And immediately come face to face with something no one ever wants to see.
My best friend, flat on her back on the sofa, surrounded by fast-food wrappers and an empty ice-cream carton.
Knowing better than to comment on nutrition, weather, or life choices to a heavily pregnant woman, I quietly take a seat beside her.
“How you doin’, buddy?”
She glares at me over the curve of her stomach. “How did you do this. Twice.”
“I’m sensing hostility,” I say gently.
“I am so uncomfortable,” she snaps.
I try to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. “If women told the truth about pregnancy, humankind would cease to exist.”
She snorts, rubbing her stomach.
I consider pointing out that I did tell her everything.
But she’s suffering enough.
“Where’s the father-to-be?” I ask, standing to gather the wrappers.
“Sleeping,” she grunts. “I couldn’t stand his breathing, so I came out here.”
“Ah,” I say. “A classic.”
She eyes me. “Did you hate Logan too?”
“Oh yeah,” I say immediately. “Whatever you’re feeling now is nothing compared to how much you’ll hate him during labor.”
She smirks. “Is that why you threw a juice box at his head?”
“I asked for water,” I say defensively. “He brought me apple juice.”
She laughs, then groans, clutching her side.
“God,” she mutters. “Please tell me this ends.”
“It does,” I say softly. “And then you get to raise a baby with a West.”
She narrows her eyes instantly. “Okay. What happened.”
I ball the wrappers in my hands and walk to the kitchen to toss them.
When I come back, she’s leaning against the couch, patting the space beside her. “Tell me.”
I rub my forehead, unsure of what to say since not even Simone knows what really happened last year, just that Logan messed around with a client not what I did in retaliation. “Nothing happened. I just said something about Mackie.”
“The assistant?” she asks.
I nod. “Turns out she’s not flirting.”
Simone lifts a brow.
I laugh weakly. “She’s really not. She’s actually a nice girl. But Logan got weird about why I didn’t say anything when I thought she was.”
“Eesh,” she mutters.
I sink back into the couch. “He was just… so hurt.”
Even saying the words makes my heart ache.
“That’s not your fault,” she says immediately.
I sigh. “Don’t start.”
Simone never really understood why I forgave Logan so quickly. With her being married to his brother, I couldn’t put her in the middle by telling her why.
She lifts her hands. “Sorry. Forgot it was a no-go topic.”
“Simone,” I warn.
She exhales. “I just don’t get it. You were furious. You told me therapy wasn’t working. And then suddenly you forgave him. You even stopped marriage counseling.”
Her voice wavers. “And ever since then… I’ve watched the light dim out of your eyes.”
My throat tightens painfully.
“Where is this coming from?” I ask.
She turns fully toward me; concern etched into her face. “I’ve known you since we were ten,” she says softly. “You’re my best friend.” She gives a small, sad smile. “And you’re hiding something.”
I look away. Honestly… I expected this conversation a long time ago.
“Come on,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Just imagine how good it’ll feel to get it off your chest.”
Staring at Simone’s understanding eyes, I’m tempted to just tell her. Rip off the bandage.
But I can’t.
That bandage is the only thing keeping me from bleeding out.
Logan
“Mackie, hold my calls,” I say into the intercom after finishing the last call.
Grabbing my phone, I step away from the desk, already dialing.
The line barely rings before Darren’s groggy voice comes through.
“What?” he says.
I wince. “Still sleeping?”
He groans. “Not anymore. Your wife is here. Talking very loudly with my wife.”
“Oh,” I say. That tracks. Simone’s basically a sister to Jess. I hesitate before asking, “What’s she saying?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m too scared to go out there.”
I laugh.
He groans again. “No one told me another symptom of pregnancy is hating your spouse.”
I chuckle. “You don’t remember the juice box story?”
He snorts. “I was really hoping that was more of a you thing and not the norm.”
“It’s not technically the norm,” I admit. “It’s more like a West thing.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Ma does hate Dad.”
I hum back. “Yeah.”
He lets out a breath. “You’re not calling to chat.”
“What,” I reply, “I can’t call my brother?”
Darren sighs. “The last time you called me, I was in the hospital and you wanted to borrow my controller.”
I make a face. He makes me sound like an ass.
“Well,” I say, “I’ll hang up then.”
“Wait,” Darren says quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”
There’s a pause. Then he asks, more seriously, “Did you feel your stomach sink every time you thought about being a dad?”
It’s against my nature to admit I’m scared. But this is Darren.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I was terrified.” I give a short laugh. “Afghanistan was nothing compared to becoming a dad.”
“Does it get easier?” he asks.
“No,” I answer honestly. “But the benefits outweigh the fear.” I hesitate. “Unless you’re an idiot like me and mess it up.”
Darren goes quiet.
This is the first time I’ve ever brought it up willingly with him.
“I thought you guys were good,” he says carefully.
“We are,” I say too fast. “It’s just… stuff.”
“Right,” my brother says. “That stuff.”
I groan. “Do you ever miss the days when the biggest thing we had to worry about was what to eat?”
“No,” he says immediately. “And neither do you. Stop being a pussy and talk to your wife.”
“I am talking to her,” I defend myself. “It’s her that won’t talk to me.”
“Oh?” Darren says dryly. “That so? You two spent half your anniversary dinner sucking face.”
“Sex isn’t the problem.”
“You sure?” Darren asks. Then, in a mocking whisper, “Are you satisfying her in bed?”
“Darren,” I say in a stone voice. “I’m worried here, man.”
“Okay,” he says, immediately switching tones. “What are you worried about?”
I stare at the far wall of my office. “I’m worried she’s going to get tired of pretending to be okay and…”
“Leave you?” he asks quietly.
I don’t answer.
He exhales. “Dude. Jess loves you. She’s not going to leave you over a kiss.”
“It was more than that.” I run a hand through my hair. “I hid stuff from her. About work. About how close we were to going under. I let her think everything was fine when it wasn’t.”
There’s a beat.
“That’s a you thing,” Darren says.
“What?”
“Logan, you’ve been white-knuckling your own problems since we were kids.”
I huff. “I didn’t like dumping my crap on people.”
“Jess isn’t people,” he shoots back. “She’s your wife. So answer this question. If everything went to hell again, would you hide it from her?”
“…I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s messed up.”
I rub my jaw. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I’d say go back to therapy, but you already bailed on that.”
“I didn’t bail,” I snap. “Jess and I were-” I cut myself off.
“Fine?” he says dryly. “You were fine?”
“She didn’t want to go to therapy,” I say.
“A year ago,” he replies. “Try again. Or enjoy living in constant worry.”
There’s a click before I can respond.
I stare at my phone.
…Asshole.
Our parents really messed him up.
Angela and Sean West. Married eighteen years before divorcing in the winter of 2010. You’d think becoming grandparents and going through Darren’s accident would’ve taught them how to tolerate each other again.
Nope.
They still hate each other just as much as the day they signed the papers.
And if I don’t want to end up like that, I need to convince Jess to go back to therapy.
When Jess said she was done with marriage counseling, I used that as an excuse to stop seeing my own therapist too, especially after he wanted to talk about stuff that had nothing to do with my marriage.
His office is a few blocks over. I used to see him before meeting Jess for our sessions in the same building.
Maybe if I start my own sessions again, he can help me convince Jess too. Hopefully he’ll stick to what’s important this time.
Before I can talk myself out, I grab my phone and call.
It rings.
And rings.
The line finally picks up.
“Orange Cove Therapy Center,” a woman says.
“Hi,” I say quickly. “This is Logan West. I was wondering if Dr. Brett has any openings today.”
There’s a pause. Keys clicking. “I’m sorry, Mr. West. He doesn’t have any open slots today. The earliest availability is next Wednesday.”
“Yeah,” I answer. “That might help.”
After making the appointment with the receptionist, I hang up and stare at the phone in my hand.
How the hell am I supposed to convince Jess to go back to counseling?