Chapter 19
Logan
Morning sunlight streams through the kitchen windows, catching dust beams as I flip pancakes.
From the living room comes the rhythmic clacking of train tracks being assembled, Reese's patient voice guiding Tyler through some complex engineering problem.
"If we connect these pieces here, your train can go all the way around the coffee table," she's saying.
I slide another pancake onto a plate, feeling stupidly, ridiculously happy despite feeling fuzzy-headed after last night.
"Daddy! Come see!" Tyler calls. "We made a ginormous track!"
"One sec, buddy. Let me finish these last two pancakes."
I glance over at them—Tyler on his belly on the rug, pushing a wooden train, Reese cross-legged beside him, hair pulled back in a pony tail, wearing one of my old Blades sweatshirts and some leggings.
Last night replays in my head: I love you.
I love you too. The memory sends warmth spreading through my chest, and I nearly burn the last pancake staring at her.
My phone vibrates on the counter. Jessica's name flashes on the screen, and my stomach tightens. It's earlier than she usually calls, especially on New Year's Day.
"Hey, Jess," I answer, keeping my voice neutral, aware of Reese glancing up at the name.
"I've been trying to reach you." Jessica's voice is tight, controlled in that way I've come to recognize as barely contained anger. "I see you were busy."
I turn down the stove burner. "Sorry, I had my phone on silent after we got home. Is everything okay?"
"No, Logan, everything is not okay." Her words are clipped. "The team posted photos from the party. They're all over Instagram."
My hand freezes on the spatula. "Okay...?"
"Tyler, in Reese's arms. Looking like you're one big happy family. He's kissing her cheek like she's his mother." Each word is a sharp staccato. "You didn't think to run that by me first? To ask if I'm comfortable with my son being used for your girlfriend's social media debut?"
I move farther into the kitchen, lowering my voice. "No one's using Tyler for anything. They were just taking family photos of everyone at the party."
"Family photos," she repeats, the words dripping with disdain. "That's exactly my point. She's not his family. I'm his mother."
"No one's disputing that, Jess."
"Really? Because Tyler keeps asking me when he gets to see his 'bonus mommy' again. He's confused, Logan."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting for patience. "We've talked about this. The 'bonus mommy' thing is just his way of understanding Reese's role. It's not replacing you."
"It feels like replacement to me," Jessica snaps. "She's trying to step into my place. First the Christmas photos you sent me, now this. She's everywhere in my son's life, making memories I should be making with him."
"That's not fair. She's been nothing but respectful of your place in his life."
"Respectful?" Jessica's laugh is bitter. "Is that what you call it when my son is talking about her nonstop? When he's showing me the train tracks 'Reese taught me to build' and the books 'Reese reads in different voices'?"
I glance at Reese, who's pretending not to listen while helping Tyler, but her shoulders are tense. Tyler remains oblivious, making train noises as he follows the track.
"He's a three-year-old who loves both of you," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "That's a good thing, Jess."
"No, it's not." Her voice rises. "She's trying to replace me."
"That's absolutely not what's happening."
"I've already called my lawyer," Jessica continues as if I haven't spoken. "I want to modify the custody agreement. She shouldn't be around my son."
My blood runs cold. "What?"
"You heard me. I'm filing papers to restrict who can have contact with Tyler during your parenting time."
"You can't be serious."
"I've never been more serious. This has gone too far." Her voice hardens. "I wanted to let you know as a courtesy before you hear from my attorney. Maybe you should reconsider how many 'family photos' you post in the meantime."
"Jessica, wait—"
The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, heart hammering against my ribs, a surge of hot anger rising in my throat.
"Daddy?" Tyler's voice breaks through. "Are the pancakes ready?"
I take a deep breath, forcing my face to reset before turning. "Almost, buddy. Go wash your sticky hands first."
Tyler scrambles up, racing to the bathroom. As soon as he's out of earshot, Reese stands and moves toward me, her expression a mixture of concern and resignation.
"She saw the Instagram photos," she says. It's not a question.
I nod, still gripping my phone too tightly. "She's talking about modifying the custody agreement. To keep you away from Tyler."
Reese inhales sharply, arms crossing over her chest like she's suddenly cold. "Can she do that?"
"I don't know. I don't think so." I run a hand through my hair. "But she's going to try."
"Because of the 'bonus mommy' thing? Because he hugs me?"
"Because she feels threatened." I move closer, lowering my voice further. "She thinks you're replacing her in his life."
Reese's eyes fill with hurt. "I've never tried to do that. I've been so careful—"
"I know. This isn't about what you've actually done. It's about her fears." I rest my hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension there. "She's scared of losing her place in his life."
"What do we do?"
Before I can answer, Tyler races back into the room, hands still dripping. "All clean! Can I have pancakes?"
Reese and I exchange a look over his head. Later, it says.
We make it through breakfast, Tyler chattering about the train tracks, oblivious to the concern humming between Reese and me.
When he disappears into his room to get dressed, we start on the dishes, and Reese says, "Tell me exactly what she said."
I relay Jessica's words, watching her expression tighten with each sentence. When I finish, she's silent for a long moment.
"Maybe I should step back," she finally says, voice small. "Until things calm down. I don't want to be the reason you lose time with Tyler."
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended. I soften my tone. "That's exactly what she wants. For you to disappear."
"But if it's better for Tyler—"
"It's not better for Tyler to lose someone he cares about. Someone who cares about him." I take her hands in mine. "And it's not better for us."
"I don't want to fight with her, Logan. I don't want to put Tyler in the middle of this."
"Neither do I." I squeeze her fingers. "But I'm not about to deny this, us, because she's uncomfortable with how happy he is with you."
The water runs in the bathroom—Tyler brushing his teeth, another morning ritual. I lower my voice further.
"Look, I'll call my lawyer. We'll figure this out. But I meant what I said last night." I hold her gaze, making sure she understands. "I love you."
She nods, blinking back tears. "I love you too. And I love him."
"I know you do." I pull her against me, her head tucking under my chin. "That's why we're going to fight this."
Tyler's feet thunder down the hallway, and we separate just as he bursts into the kitchen wearing mismatched socks and his dinosaur shirt backward.
"Can we go to the park? Pleeeease?" He's already jumping in place, energy restored.
"Maybe later, bud," I say, ruffling his hair. "First, let's fix your shirt. It's on backwards."
As I help him turn his shirt around, I catch Reese's eye over his head. Her smile is strained but determined. Mine probably looks the same.
The battle lines have been drawn, whether we wanted them or not.
Early in the evening Tyler falls asleep, worn out from the day.
I feel the same bone-deep exhaustion, but sleep isn't an option.
The kitchen island's cold marble presses against my forearms as I stare at my phone propped against the fruit bowl.
Reese sits beside me, her knee touching mine, notepad ready, pen tapping a nervous rhythm against the paper.
We're waiting for my lawyer to FaceTime us about Jessica's threat to modify the custody agreement. Eight-thirty—right on time—the phone lights up with a call from Patricia Winters, the Blades’ family law specialist.
I swipe to answer. The screen fills with a woman in her fifties, silver-streaked hair pulled back, reading glasses perched on her nose. Her home office appears behind her—bookshelves, diplomas, a painting of Lake Michigan.
"Logan, Reese, good evening," Patricia says, her voice measured and precise. "I've spoken with Jessica's attorney. They're not wasting any time."
"How bad is it?" I ask, hearing the tension in my own voice.
"Let me start by saying this isn't my first rodeo with ex-partners who get uncomfortable with new relationships.
" She shuffles some papers off-screen. "Jessica's filing a petition to modify the current custody arrangement.
Specifically, she's requesting what's called a 'right of first refusal' provision. "
"What does that mean?" Reese asks, pen already moving.
"It means that whenever Logan can't personally be with Tyler during his parenting time—for games, travel, team obligations—Jessica would have the right to take Tyler rather than allowing anyone other than her to care for him.
" Patricia's eyes are sympathetic but direct.
"Additionally, she's asking for restrictions on visits when you're present, Reese.
And she's citing concerns about parental alienation. "
I flinch at the word. "Parental alienation?" I repeat. "That's ridiculous. I've never said a negative word about Jessica to Tyler."
"The claim isn't about you speaking negatively," Patricia explains. "It's about her perception that Reese is assuming a maternal role that confuses Tyler about Jessica's place in his life. The 'bonus mommy' term has been specifically mentioned in their filing."
Reese makes a small sound beside me, and I reach for her hand under the counter. Her fingers are ice cold.