34. Breaking Bread Again
Breaking Bread Again
I push through the hospital doors, Charlotte right behind me. My heart is hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying to jump out of my chest. The fluorescent lights, the smell of antiseptic—all of this is too familiar from the last visit, but what if we’re not as lucky this time?
Where is she? Where’s Mom?
My eyes dart around the waiting area until I spot Logan standing near the reception desk. His arms are crossed, shoulders tense, his face drawn tight.
I don’t stop moving. “Where is she?”
His head snaps up, relief flashing across his face before something heavier settles in. He jerks his thumb toward the hallway. “They’re stitching her up now.”
I breathe sharply, trying to push air into my lungs. “What the hell happened?”
Charlotte steps closer, her hand brushing my back in quiet reassurance.
“She and Dad came over to help with a few final things for the wedding. She went to grab a bowl from the cabinet, but she—she must have knocked into a stack of glasses. Everything came down. It shattered all over her—there was so much blood, Aaron.” He swallows hard, eyes flicking away like he’s still seeing it.
“She cut up her hands, her arms. It wasn’t stopping.
We had to wrap her up in dish towels until the ambulance came. ”
Fuck.
My mind races, but my body feels like it’s made of stone. I knew something like this would happen eventually, but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear.
“I think something’s wrong with her,” he continues, voice lower now, like he’s almost afraid to say it out loud.
“You know this isn’t the first time, right?
She dropped her phone so many times it finally broke last week.
” He looks at Charlotte, like he’s registering her for the first time.
He’s momentarily stunned before he focuses on me again.
“She’s been—off. Is she getting confused?
She’s still young . What’s happening to her? ”
I swallow hard, throat tight.
This is exactly why Mom didn’t want me to say anything. She didn’t want Logan to worry, not until after the wedding. But he’s already worried. He’s already looking at me like he knows something isn’t right, and I can’t lie to him. Not now.
“I . . . I know what’s happening,” I say.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlotte straighten, like she’s bracing for impact.
Logan stiffens. “You do?”
“Yes.” I force myself to meet his eyes. “Mom has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s.”
His expression freezes, his whole body going rigid. Then, quietly, “What?”
“She has Parkinson’s.” The words taste final, like they’re changing everything.
“No.” Logan steps back like I just threw a punch. “No, that—that doesn’t make sense. She’s too young. She’s—” His voice cracks, and his jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscle twitch.
Beside me, Charlotte squeezes my arm.
I say nothing. What the hell is there to say?
He grips the back of his neck, his chest rising and falling too fast. “I don’t...understand. How long have you known?”
I hesitate, and that’s all he needs. His eyes darken.
“How long, Aaron?”
“A few weeks.”
He stares at me like I’ve just shattered something between us. “Since the last time she ended up here.” He scoffs, eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“She asked me not to. She didn’t want to tell you until after the wedding—didn’t want you to worry.”
“Well, I am worried!” His voice breaks, raw and exposed, and I see it: the fear in his eyes, buried under all that anger. “I’m—I’m fucking terrified.”
I breathe through the ache in my chest. “Me too.”
“She should’ve told me. You should have.”
“Yes,” I agree. “But you’re her baby , Logan—the youngest. You know how she is. She was trying to protect you.”
He lets out a shaky breath, pressing his fingers to his temples. “I don’t need protecting.”
I glance at Charlotte and she meets my gaze, like we both know we all need protecting from this.
“Hey,” a tentative voice interrupts. We turn to the entrance, where Ian stands awkwardly with a set of car keys in his hand.
’Cause that’s what we needed right now. More fucking tension.
He looks...uncomfortable. Like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. His gaze flickers between me and Charlotte before settling on Logan, and I see the exact moment he starts reconsidering his life choices.
He holds up the keys. “I brought your pickup.”
Logan catches them in the air. “Oh, right. Thank you.”
“You got it. How’s your mom?”
“They’re just stitching her up.” Logan’s gaze flicks to me, then to Ian, probably noticing we’re fully avoiding looking at each other. “What’s going on here?”
Ian shifts his weight, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I’m sorry. I really didn’t have a choice. Amelie made me fire him.” He points a finger at me. “And I did warn you that we’d have a problem if you hurt her.”
Logan’s face twists in confusion. “Wait, what? You fired my brother?”
Ian visibly winces at Logan’s anger, shoulders tensing. Probably thanking his lucky stars we’re already in a hospital. “I...I had no choice, Logan. He slept with a client’s daughter.”
Holy fucking shit.
“And may I remind you that I’m more useful to you alive, because I’m a wonderful babysitter.”
His humor is lost on Logan as he turns to me, nostrils flaring. “You what ?” His voice is eerily calm, which is never a good sign. Then, louder, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I could die . Of all the ways I imagined Logan finding out, this wasn’t even in my top ten. Or in my top fifty .
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Don’t be mad at Ian. Or Amelie. I deserve it.”
“Oh, you deserve it?” Logan laughs, and it’s the laugh of a man who is two seconds away from throwing hands. “Jesus Christ, Aaron. It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“Maybe you don’t,” I fire back, heat rising in my chest. “You haven’t been part of my life in almost a decade. You have no fucking clue what the last two years have been like. Parenting alone, no friends, almost no communication with you. No one in my life.”
“So you fuck Cherry ?” he barks.
Ian blinks. “Who’s Cherry?”
Logan’s eyes widen like he just unlocked a new level of disappointment.
I open my mouth, then close it. Then open it again. “That’s...Cherry isn’t her name. It’s just her...” I look at Charlotte, waiting for instructions on what to say.
She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, amused despite the tension. “My alias on TOP . ”
Ian’s face scrunches. “TOP? You mean like the erotic subscription service? That’s what you do?”
“That’s what I did,” Charlotte replies casually. Then, catching my confused look, she adds, “Well, you’re my...” Her eyes flick toward Logan and Ian.
“Boyfriend,” I say, steady and sure. I’m not ashamed of it, and I want her to know that.
“Right. My boyfriend.” She grins. “Guess I’m hanging up the thong—for now.”
Oh. Relief. I didn’t even know how much I needed to hear that, but it’s clear I did. I don’t want to share her, not even if it’s just a gig.
Logan turns to me again , looking more and more like he wants to kill me. “ That’s where you met her?”
“Okay, okay. Put your pitchforks down, all right?” I raise both hands. “Let’s not do this in a hospital.”
Logan storms toward me, his face dark with anger. “You absolute fucking idiot,” he spits, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Do you ever stop to think? Or do you just act on impulse and deal with the fallout later?”
I stand my ground, but my heart is hammering in my chest. He’s pissed , and last time I saw him this pissed, I ended up on the floor.
My muscles lock up, instincts screaming at me, and before I can think, my arm moves—shielding Charlotte.
Logan falters.
It’s subtle, but I see it. The flicker of understanding in his eyes, the moment something clicks. His chest rises and falls, his fists still clenched at his sides, but his jaw tightens like he’s swallowing down whatever insult was about to leave his mouth.
“Mr. Coleman?”
A doctor steps into the waiting area, flipping through a chart. The air between us shifts in an instant. Logan tears his glare away from me, but I see the words he doesn’t say.
This is hardly over.
I drift awake to the sound of Charlotte’s voice.
For a moment, I think she’s talking to me. But then Logan responds, and it takes me a second to catch up—to remember where I am, why my back aches like I’ve been run over, why the scent of bleach is thick in the air.
We’re still at the hospital. Still waiting.
Mom is okay. The doctor said that the new medicine will help manage her symptoms, but that we need to be prepared for more of this—more accidents, more moments where her body betrays her.
Stage three Parkinson’s.
There’s a plastic chair squeaking, a shift of movement beside me. I don’t open my eyes.
“For what it’s worth,” Charlotte says, “it’s not his fault.”
I tense, my pulse kicking up.
“What?” Logan’s voice is wary.
“It takes two to tango, but...I can be very persuasive, and he did try to resist.”
“Yeah? How long did he last?”
“Two weeks,” she says, and I can hear the amusement in her voice. “Hey—the average man lasts two minutes before their hands are on me.”
Logan exhales a slow breath. “Sorry, I just don’t find it that impressive.”
I keep my eyes shut, but every muscle in my body is coiled tight. Fuck, I hate that Logan and I are here again after we just turned the corner on Josie. After we agreed to find a balance.
“You don’t like me, do you?” she asks out of the blue.
Logan clears his throat, and I can hear his discomfort. There’s a beat of silence before he finally answers. “You’ll break his heart.”
She doesn’t sound surprised. “You think so?”
“I know so.” Another pause, like he doesn’t want to say the next part. “You’re young and beautiful. You’re a...a...”
“A cam girl?”
I crack one eye open just in time to see Logan give a sharp nod.
“And a model,” Charlotte adds, her voice light, almost teasing.