Chapter 13
thirteen
LOGAN
I look around the great room with satisfaction.
My family, close and extended, all in one place.
Under my roof. Mac, Brenna, Max, Cynnie, Austin, Dana, Hunter, Myles, and a surprisingly fresh-faced and smiley Cappa are clustered around the baby in Mac’s arms. Maude and Javier are in the kitchen with Manny, Jen, and Emmy. Everyone’s safe and accounted for.
I put my feet up on the long sectional, sip my beer, and watch the game out of the corner of my eye while keeping Livvy in view.
Manny plonks down on the couch next to me. “You cooked up a good one, Daddy Logan.”
“She’s cute, isn’t she?”
“Sure. They’re all little red aliens until they’re about six months. Then they become interesting.”
I punch his shoulder without any force. “Wait until I tell Jen that.”
He grins and takes a pull on his beer. “She’s pregnant again. Just finishing her first trimester.”
“Congratulations!” I slap him on the back. “A boy this time?”
Manny shrugs. “I’ve stopped caring. ‘Long as they’re healthy, I’m happy.”
Good attitude. I nod.
“Maxie mentioned something about Miranda coming to New York,” Manny says, his tone cautious.
“I haven’t heard anything from her but I’ve blocked her on every electronic avenue, so she’d have to knock on the door to contact me.” I look around for wood and rap my knuckles on the coffee table. “Touch wood, she’ll give up and accept defeat before it comes to that.”
Manny grunts. “You ready to get a restraining order if she don’t?”
My jaw knots. “I’m ready to do whatever it takes. She’s not welcome in this house.”
Myles sits down on the L of the couch, his profile to us. He snaps his fingers and after a moment, Cappa folds himself down on the floor between Myles’ feet. Myles rests his hand in Cappa’s glossy, black hair.
Manny eyes this display but doesn’t comment. “You comin’ to Mass with us?” he asks.
Myles shakes his head. “I’m out of town. Logan, do you want me to review your physical security before I go?”
“You met Miranda in England?” At his nod, I ask, “Do you think it’s necessary?”
“I think she’s determined,” he responds. “Happy to do it before I go.”
“Yeah, if it’s no bother.”
“It’s no bother.” He clears his throat. “I was hoping to come to the group again but I’ll be traveling. You’ll give my regrets to Ginger and the others?”
“I will.” I put away whatever concerns I have about Myles being around littles. “We’ll miss you.”
He nods but doesn’t lift his eyes beyond Cappa’s head. “You’ll keep an eye on this boy while I’m gone? Make sure he stays out of trouble?”
Cappa huffs. “I’m never in trouble.”
I snort. “I will. Cappa, there’s an outing after playgroup—”
“Emily already invited me. Fleur’s coming, too.”
My baby doll. Her efficiency is terrifying. “Great. We’ll check your schedule and make any adjustments then. Myles, do you know when you’ll be back?”
He shakes his head. “It takes as long as it takes.”
I know those kinds of missions. “No worries.”
“Thank you.” He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I want you to try what we talked about for a week.”
Cappa turns crimson. He draws his knees to his chest. “Four days.”
“Five. If I’m not back by then, I’ll text to release you.”
Abstinence? Orgasm denial? Cock cage? I’m betting it’s one of those. Blood rushes to my groin at the thought. Emily hates orgasm denial but it’s a big turn-on for me. If Cappa’s going to be suffering this week, maybe my baby girl needs to suffer alongside him for a day or two.
“Five and I’m done at midnight no matter what.”
“Agreed,” Myles says. In the shadow of his hair, his smile flashes. “Logan, I’ll text you the extra rules Cappa’s agreed to.”
I give Cappa a slow, evil grin. “I’ll be rigorous in enforcing them while you’re gone.”
Cappa groans.
After dinner, and yet another Hearts Battle Royale, which Emily wins, people filter away, leaving Mac and me watching a match while Emily and Brenna lay on cushions at our feet.
Bren’s got her tablet and digital pen and is working on a sketch.
Emmy’s reading something on her phone while she rocks Livvy’s bassinet.
I don’t quite understand the schedule Emily’s following but her friend Gracie swears that it’ll have Livvy sleeping through the night from seven to seven.
Livvy’s down for the “little sleep” now.
We’ll wake her at ten for a feed, a play, and a bath before her “big sleep.” Emily’s told me to block off an hour around ten p.m. every night for the next few weeks until Livvy settles into the seven-to-seven routine.
Since I was utterly gobsmacked at how well Livvy slept last night after hearing horror stories about newborns waking every hour, I’m not arguing.
The doorbell rings and I tap my phone to bring up the door camera. A heaviness settles in my gut when I see the face I least want to see.
I lift my eyes from the phone screen to meet Emily’s hazel eyes. “Miranda’s at the door. You do not need to talk with her, interact with her, or even look at her.”
She frowns briefly but her face smooths. Her lips move and I can see her subvocalizing her mantra before she says, “Yes, Daddy.”
Bren sets her tablet aside and rolls to her feet. She pulls on Mac’s shirt that’s been lying over the end of the couch. “I have something to say to the Mir-bitch.”
While I can only see the possibility of violence in Brenna confronting Miranda, I nod.
I climb off the couch, look down into my daughter’s peaceful face, and drop a kiss on the top of Emily’s head before I go to the door.
Brenna follows me. With her blue dreadlocks up in a wild topknot, she looks like Medusa but her attitude is one hundred percent Valkyrie. I’m a little surprised she hasn’t slung a flaming sword over her shoulder.
I close the door into the great room behind Brenna. If Emily wants to come out into the hallway, she can but Miranda’s not getting a view into my home, with my two girls nestled in its heart.
I open the front door but neither invite Miranda in nor make way for her to enter. I block the doorway with my body and put my foot behind the door so she can’t push it open.
“Miranda,” I say without any welcome.
Her eyes flick from me to Brenna, standing just off my shoulder, and back to my face.
She looks bad. Her face is puffy but there are hollows under her eyes and cheekbones deep and dark enough to be bruises.
She’s wearing a wool coat with the collar turned up around her throat, unbuttoned over a cranberry-colored knit sweater and dark trousers that hang on her; they might have been maternity wear.
Her breasts and belly are visibly swollen under her clothes but her fingers and wrist, as she brushes a hank of hair back from her face, look thin.
“Logan, may I see Olivia?” she asks.
“No.”
She waits, like I’m going to elaborate. I’m not. When she realizes I’m not going to say anything she can turn back against me, she presses her lips together. “I’m still nursing her.”
“No, you were nursing her. You’re not anymore.”
Tears well in her big, blue eyes. “Please, Lo. She needs her mother’s milk. And I’m in agony without her. I’ve been pumping while I’ve traveled but it’s not the same. Please, I need my daughter.”
Knowing I’m going to sound like a monster not just to the woman in front of me but also to the one standing behind me and the one in the other room who I’m sure is just on the other side of the door, listening to every word, I say, “No.”
Miranda crosses her shaking hands over her breasts and rubs gently. “Please. Please, Lo. If you ever cared about me, please let me see my baby.”
Jesus Christ. “No.”
“Um,” Brenna says behind me. “Not to get into the middle of this but if you’re pumping, we could put the milk into Livvy’s rotation. Did you keep it cold?”
Miranda nods. “I have a cooler in my hotel room. I’ll bring it.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll come get it.” Mac’s voice sounds from behind me. Fuck, he’s a ghost when he wants to be. I never heard either of the doors to the hallway open. “There’s no reason for you to step foot in this house again.”
Miranda shrinks back. “Mac.”
They’ve met a few times over the years. Mac was never Mir’s biggest fan but he wasn’t openly disdainful. He is now.
He moves up to stand behind Brenna, looping his arm around her chest. “Since what Logan’s saying doesn’t seem to be sinking in, I’ll repeat it,” he tells Miranda. “You’re not welcome here. This is our home. Logan’s. Mine. Emily’s. Brenna’s. Olivia’s. You don’t belong here. Am I understood?”
Miranda flinches. “Mac—”
“Am I clearly understood?” Mac repeats.
“Yes,” Miranda says. “Please, Mac, I just want to see Olivia.”
“Logan already told you no. I’ll come back to your hotel with you and pick up the milk.” Mac pulls his jacket off the rack next to the door and shrugs into it.
Tears roll down Miranda’s face. She blots them genteelly with the backs of her hands.
Mac steps past me and steers Miranda around with a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey,” Brenna says. “I don’t want to kick someone when they’re down but I want you to know something, Miranda.”
Miranda and Mac pause on the top step. Miranda looks back over her shoulder, her eyes and nose red.
“You ever come near Emily again, and I’ll kick your ass. I’m not threatening you. I’m just telling you how it’s going to be.”
Miranda’s face works but she doesn’t reply before Mac drops his hand to her elbow and ushers her down the steps.
I close the door and rest my forehead against it.
Brenna’s hand lands light and quick on my shoulder. “Good job, Daddy Lo.”
I roll my head until my neck pops, releasing some of my tension. “I hoped she’d stay away.”