Chapter 9
OLIVIA
Don’t you dare come at me for having another cup of coffee.
According to Breaking Bad, chemistry teachers are out there learning to make meth. Tell me which addiction is safer.
—Olivia’s Secret Thoughts
“The past few days have been a testament to my ability to compartmentalize—dealing with Ryker, and the league, and the police, and the partners, and Logan, and his family . . . It’s been one thing after another all week.
I’ve crashed at my house as much as I’ve crashed at Logan’s, but in all honestly, that’s all it felt like I was doing. Crashing.”
“And how does that make you feel, Olivia?”
I look over the top of my glasses at Delia, my incredible therapist, and don’t bother to hide the roll of my eyes. “You know how cliché that sounds, right?”
“And yet I still asked, didn’t I?” She purses her lips, hiding a smile as she tucks her silken, chin-length silver hair behind her ear.
This woman has seen me through everything in my life for over a decade. Going so far as agreeing to weekly virtual calls while I was away at school, so I wouldn’t have to find someone else to trust. Something I don’t do easily despite years of discussing the concept with her.
How does that make me feel?
That’s a great question. One I don’t have an answer for.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Exhausted, I guess. Stressed. Worried I’ll be so busy looking one way that I’ll miss something that’s coming for me or my family or my clients from the other direction and something bad will happen .
. . Something they’re all counting on me to prevent.
I guess I’m worried about losing control. ”
“Total control is an illusion, Olivia. We can only control ourselves, our boundaries, our emotions, and our efforts. I’d like to talk more about your marriage and how you feel about this arrangement,” she says, placing an emphasis on the last word.
“Can we not?” I ask, having already debated telling her about Logan, not completely sold on it being the right thing to do. But what’s the point of therapy if you’re going to lie to your therapist? “I’d rather talk about anything else.”
“It’s your time.” She smiles and crosses her legs. “But we’ll have to talk about it eventually.”
I nod and look at my watch, grateful to see we only have three minutes left. “I know. I’m just not ready to do it today.”
“Okay. But tell me this. Do you feel safe in his house?”
Strangely enough, that is a far easier answer. “Yes.”
I’m not sure why I feel that way though. Not that I tell her that. Pops and Rafe have been fine, and to an extent, so has Logan. But Jasper and Waverly haven’t exactly rolled out the red carpet. The ranch may not feel like home, but it does feel safe . . . I feel safe there.
“Good.” She makes a note in her tablet, then closes the cover. “That’s a great place to pick up next week then.”
“Great,” I tell her a little less than enthusiastically and grab my purse as I stand. “Thank you, Delia. I appreciate it.”
“And Olivia.” She waits until I look her way. “Be gentle with your family when you go for dinner. Remember, they care about you.”
“You know, you’ve gotten more annoying in your old age,” I tease, knowing dinner with my parents and my sister’s family is going to be about as fun as having my fingernails pulled out with a pair of tweezers.
“Sixty-five isn’t old, dear. Some would say I’ve gotten wiser.” She crosses the room and holds the door open for me. “Have a good week.”
“You too.”
I wait until I’m in the car before checking my phone. It’s basically the only hour of the week where I turn it off.
Logan
Oh, Olive . . . Are you planning on hiding again tonight?
I’ve only spent two of the past five nights at the ranch, so I know what my answer needs to be. Even if I wish it wasn’t.
Liv
Sorry to disappoint you, husband, but I haven’t been hiding. It’s called work. Some of us do it at a desk instead of on the ice.
Why? Is something going on?
Logan
Can’t a husband just miss his wife?
Liv
If you’re the husband—no.
Logan
Touché. The family law attorney you recommended called today. She asked me when a good time would be for her to come over to talk with us. I didn’t know lawyers made house calls.
Liv
They do when your wife helped this particular lawyer pass the bar.
Logan
Have I ever told you your brain is sexy as hell?
Liv
. . .
Logan
What’s wrong, Olive? Speechless?
Liv
Hardly. Tell Nina tonight works for me. I can be at the ranch by four.
Logan
Okay. See you then.
Liv
Hey, Logan . . . Maybe keep Jasper away from her.
Logan
Why?
Liv
We’ll talk about it when I get there.
Logan
Cryptic. I like it.
Liv
Dumbass.
Logan
There’s my girl.
It’s still a little off-putting to just let myself into the Triple Crown.
This isn’t my home. Just the place I happen to be sleeping, which feels as odd as it sounds.
Especially when Waverly looks up from the thick textbook she seems to be highlighting to glare—full-on glare—at me.
“Thought maybe you’d ditched Logan and Maggie already. ”
“I—”
“Stop it, Waves,” Logan growls before I can even defend myself as he chases a giggling Maggie into the room. She toddles slowly on chubby legs, moving as quickly as she can. “We’re still working out the kinks, and Olive’s office is an hour away. Her job isn’t exactly a nine to five.”
A little shocked, I turn to face him, ready to tell him I can defend myself, thank you very much, but end up bracing as Maggie slams into my legs before she uses them as a shield to hide from her daddy. She slides behind my knees, then peeks around my skirt.
“Oh no,” Logan calls out dramatically. “Where did Maggie go? I lost her.”
I really hate how much I like this side of him.
“Ladybug . . .” He winks at me and smiles such a beautifully real smile that his dimple pops ridiculously deep in his cheek, and damn it, I may melt a little bit.
“I don’t know where she went,” I play along, then turn my back to him and drop to a squat in front of Maggie, holding my finger in front of my lips. “Shh . . . sweet girl. Do you want to hide?”
Her blue eyes light up as she throws her arms in the air. “Up. Up.”
Oh. Umm . . . Okay.
I drop my bag to the floor and pick Maggie up awkwardly at first. Guess it’s been a hot minute since I’ve held a one-year-old.
No worries though. Any nervousness vanishes when this little girl throws her arms around my neck, giggling, and I kick off my heels, holding her close. “Let’s go before he gets us.”
We take off, not quickly, but if you judged me based on Maggie’s peals of laughter, you’d think I just ran faster than Usain Bolt.
I purposefully dart into the kitchen and skirt around Pops, who holds the door open when he sees me running from Logan.
Not Jasper though. He stops in front of me, halting me in my tracks. Douche.
“You trying to steal something that’s not yours, St. James?” He crosses his thick arms over his chest and glares.
Yup. Giant douche.
The door opening and closing behind us catches my attention as words I may never recover from carry on the wind. “There’s my girls.”
No. I will not allow myself to melt over those words.
“Dadda. Dadda. Dadda,” Maggie chants as Jasper’s glare grows before I can even process why my damn heart just skipped a beat.
“Don’t get used to it, St. James. You don’t belong here,” the growly ass makes sure I hear without saying the words loud enough for Logan to catch.
“Do I scare you, Langley?” I manage to ask before Logan moves next to us, and my newest little fair-weather fan throws herself at her daddy.
Jasper’s eyes dart between Logan and me for one beat. “Yes.”
“What?” Logan asks, not having heard either side of our conversation.
“Nothing, brother,” Jasper grumbles as he strides away, leaving Logan and me to ourselves with Maggie already kicking her feet to be put down.
“What’s up his ass?” Logan asks, like I have a clue.
“Don’t ask me. I just got home,” I tell him, hating that I just called it home. This is not my home, I remind myself as I watch Rafe head toward the beautiful stable. “How many acres do you have here?”
“Three thousand,” Logan tells me as he places Maggie on her feet and takes her hand in his, allowing her to lead him in the opposite direction of Rafe.
“Mooo . . .” Maggie draws out, then repeats herself again, this time with some serious enthusiasm. “Mooo!”
He squats down in front of the little girl, his face so content to be right there in the moment with his daughter, I think I just happy-sighed like a heroine in a freaking romance book.
Something I don’t do. This could be a problem.
Logan Adler is not dreamy. He’s not ridiculously handsome.
And he’s certainly not someone I’d like to climb like a giant redwood tree.
“You want to go see Posey?” Logan asks Maggie, and there’s something so incredibly endearing about the way he talks to her. Something so genuine. Maggie moos again, and he stands, her hand in his. “Well, come on, Olive. I think it’s time you met Posey.”
Maggie takes my hand with her free one and wraps her fingers around mine.
Guess I’m going to meet Posey, again.
“I did meet her the other night at dinner,” I remind Logan as we make our way along a stone path set in the grass.
“Doesn’t count. She was sleeping.” His lips curve, and I find mine doing the same.
“Well then, I guess we haven’t been formally introduced.”
“Logan—” Waverly yells from the house. “There’s an attorney here for you.”
I drop Maggie’s hand as reality crashes back down on me.
This isn’t my family.
She’s not my daughter, and this man is my husband in name only.
That doesn’t need to include intimate walks around the ranch, and I’d do well to remember that. There’s an expiration date for all of this.
Logan scoops Maggie up and turns toward me, his brow raised and his hand out. “Are you running this show?”
I guess it’s showtime.
With my hand in his, I look back up at the house. “Do you trust me?”