34. Breaking Bread Again #2
A snort. “Even better. What are you going to do with a dad approaching his forties?” Logan asks. “He can’t party. He can’t follow you in your private jet around the world. He has responsibilities. A daughter. A sick mother.”
Charlotte hums like she’s considering his words. “And a brother,” she adds. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That I’ll take him away from you and Sadie?”
Logan doesn’t answer right away. “I don’t even know what I’m scared of anymore.”
“Well, I know what you shouldn’t be scared of,” Charlotte says.
I can picture Logan watching her, trying to decide if he trusts whatever is about to come out of her mouth.
“He will be okay,” she continues. “He’ll find another job, because he’s an exceptional chef. He’ll parent Sadie with Josie, and he’ll be here for you and your mom like he always has.”
Her words make my throat tighten, but I force myself to keep still.
“As for our relationship...” She hums, like she’s deciding something. “I wouldn’t bet against me if I were you.”
Logan lets out an amused noise. “Yeah?”
Fuck , how long did that take? And he sounds like he likes her.
My brother doesn’t like anyone .
I risk opening one eye just a sliver, enough to see Charlotte watching him—calm, confident, unshaken by his earlier hostility.
“I love that little girl,” she says simply. “And I love her father.”
Wow.
She says it like it isn’t something big, something life-altering. But it is .
“It’s messy, sure. But what isn’t?” She gestures at him with a pointed look. “You seem messy enough.”
Logan scoffs. “Oh, thanks.”
Charlotte lifts a shoulder. “With everything you said and implied about me, I don’t think you have the right to be offended.”
Logan scratches his jaw, shifting uncomfortably. “Again, I never meant to?—”
“And Aaron didn’t mean to hurt you,” she cuts in. “Or Amelie, or...her hot husband. Whatever his name is.”
Logan chuckles.
“He’s just trying to live his life the best he can. To take whatever joy he comes across. To understand himself, and find love, and be happy.” She leans forward slightly, tilting her head. “Can you let him do that? Even if that includes the occasional fuckup?”
I open my eyes fully—just in time to see him smiling at her. Logan. He’s smiling .
“I think you might turn out to be a good fuckup after all.”
Charlotte grins. “Yeah. I think so too.”
The doctor walks in and Logan shakes my shoulder, so I stand, pretending I’m just now waking up.
“Everything looks good,” the doctor says with a detached expression. “She’ll be sore for a while, but we’ve stitched her up well, so you can take her home now.”
He steps to the side and Mom comes in, her hands and arms almost completely covered in bandages. Her eyes crinkle with relief despite the exhaustion. “Oh, you’re both here.”
“Of course we are. Dad is with Primrose, helping her with the kids.”
She cups Logan’s cheek, then squeezes my shoulder. “I’m all right, okay? Wipe those annoying expressions off your faces.”
Her eyes shift to Charlotte, and for a moment, I swear time stops. Her eyes light up with that warmth that is uniquely my mom’s, and when she looks at me for confirmation, I nod.
“Mom, I’d like you to meet Charlotte Arnault. Charlotte, this is Lucy Coleman.”
Charlotte walks beside me, a little unsure, but Mom immediately pulls her into a hug.
“Oh, I could cry!” Mom’s voice is all joy and surprise. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you, despite all this.” She pulls back and looks Charlotte up and down only to drag her into another squeezing hug. “I’ve heard such wonderful things about you. You’re even more beautiful than I imagined!”
Charlotte stiffens at first, face scrunching like she’s not sure what’s happening. Maybe she didn’t expect Mom to know about her, maybe she’s not used to motherly hugs. She turns to me and once I nod, she tentatively returns the hug. “It’s so nice to meet you too.”
I feel something loosen inside of me. Relief, warmth, maybe even pride. For the first time, we’re not this messy thing everyone’s worried about, but something whole .
Once Mom releases her, Charlotte steps beside me, holding my hand.
Logan clears his throat. “I’ll drive you home, Mom. You need to rest.”
“Yes. Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Of course.” As she walks toward the corridor, Logan stops, his hand resting on the doorframe. He looks back at me and my heart thumps. “I’ll see you in a few hours at the wedding, right?”
I blink, momentarily stunned, but I should’ve known. Charlotte could charm a nun into a strip club and get her a front-row seat.
I nod quickly, my voice a little hoarse. “Yes, of course.”
Logan looks at Charlotte then. “Both of you?”
“I’d love to come,” she says, smiling brightly for a moment. “But I assume Amelie will be attending?”
“And?”
Oh, right. He doesn’t know. “It turns out Charlotte is Amelie’s half-sister.”
Logan blinks. “She’s—” He shakes his head. “Nope, forget it. I don’t even want to know.”
“And Amelie’s not exactly eager to...” Charlotte shrugs. “I don’t know, reconnect? So I think I should probably sit this one out. The attention should be on the bride, not on my family drama.”
Logan scoffs. “Wow. Twenty-three, huh?”
Charlotte raises one shoulder and bats her lashes. “You grow up quickly when you’re forced to.”
I squeeze her hand. Though I’m proud Logan’s impressed by her—let’s be real, who wouldn’t be?— this fucking hurts me.
“Well, if you change your mind . . .”
“Thank you.”
Logan turns to walk away, but I can’t let him leave without making sure this means what I think it does. “Logan?” I call out.
He stops in his tracks and looks back at me.
“Are we good?”
His gaze shifts to our mom, then back to me. “Mom needs us,” he says, his expression pained. “And I sure as fuck need my big brother.” He shrugs. “So...yeah. We’re good.”
I swallow hard, heart pounding in my chest.
“You fucked up,” he continues, his voice rough but not unkind. “Fix it.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I know you can.”
I nod, unable to speak for a moment, the weight of everything finally lifting.
It’s not perfect. But it’s us . I’ll fucking take it.
Even more importantly, I realize as I squeeze Charlotte’s hand in mine, I’ll return the favor.
Amelie opens the door, squinting against the dim hallway light. Her pink pajamas are rumpled, her hair sticking up on one side. “Aaron? What—what time is it?”
Five a.m. But after dropping Charlotte off at home, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. We need to talk about this before the wedding. Before she leaves for Mayfield for her last week.
“Her mom starves her.”
Amelie freezes.
“Excuse me?” Her voice is sharper now, a thread of warning woven into her confusion. Behind her, Ian appears, his expression mirroring hers—sleepy, but now tinged with concern.
“She counts her calories—twelve hundred a day—and weighs her. She keeps her fridge empty so as not to tempt her.” The words spill out in a rush, tumbling over one another. “She calls her names, and insults her, and tries to shatter her confidence every way she can. She abuses her.”
Amelie stiffens, her posture snapping straight like a wire pulled too tight. She turns to Ian, who looks back at her as if telling her they should listen.
Good, because I won’t let her shut me out. Not this time.
“I get why you’re mad at me, okay?” My voice cracks, but I push forward. “I disappointed you. I betrayed your trust. What I don’t get is why your sister has to pay for it.”
Amelie’s throat works, but she doesn’t speak.
“It wasn’t her choice to be the one Beatrice kept,” I continue, desperation laced through every syllable. “She didn’t choose not to have a relationship with you. Hell, she doesn’t even get to choose what she eats, or when she can leave the house.”
Amelie tucks her hair behind her ears. “Look, Aaron?—”
“You said you chose your family,” I cut in, voice rising.
“That she’s not part of it. And that’s all great, except not everyone gets that luxury.
Most people don’t get to start over. They don’t get to build a new family from scratch.
They’re stuck with the one they were given. Even when it’s rotten.”
A lump swells in my throat, but I push through.
“Those people,” I rasp, “they suffer abuse that runs so deep, it’s embedded in them, wrapped around their bones like a second skeleton.
They get sick parents who won’t ask for help.
Brothers who can’t see past their mistakes.
Wives who never loved them. And—”A jagged, splintering sound escapes my lips.
I suck in a breath, but it isn’t enough.
“And daughters who end up paying the consequences of everyone’s mistakes.” I take a step back, like distance might soften the ache. “And—and?—”
I choke on a sob and wince, as if someone just took a knife and drove it straight through me. It’s like the weight of the last month, of the last year and beyond, is finally too heavy to bear.
Everything is dead silent as we all stand there.
“Aaron.” Amelie’s voice is quiet now. Her eyes glisten as she steps toward me, hand lifting, but I jerk back.
“N-no. This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
She dips her chin, willing herself to listen.
“Charlotte shouldn’t be punished for being lonelier than you, Amelie.” My voice steadies, even as I swipe roughly at my damp cheeks. “You walked away from the toxic people in your life, but you didn’t do it alone. You had help. You had choices because someone presented them to you.”
Amelie’s lips part, but she lets me continue.
“You don’t get to be selfish with her just because your life is finally on track.”
Ian shifts then, stepping forward, his voice a low warning. “Watch yourself, Aaron. You’ve said enough.”
But I can’t stop now. I won’t.
Ignoring him, I keep my eyes locked on Amelie. “You don’t get to be selfish when everyone else in her life is.”
Ian moves between us, his presence solid and unmoving. “Did you hear me?” His voice is sharper now. “That’s enough.”
“I’m done,” I say, lifting both hands in surrender. My feet shuffle me backward, distancing myself as my pulse pounds in my ears.
I don’t look at them as I turn.
I just walk away.