Deserving of Luke (16 page)

She should probably tell him to leave before Luke woke up, but she didn't really want to do that. She wanted to sleep in his arms, wanted to wake up next to him—even if it was only for this one night. Luke was a late sleeper. Logan would probably be at work before her son even opened his eyes for the day.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered, “Stay,” before taking his lips with her own. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it the consequences of this impetuous, impractical and absolutely amazing night. For now, she would concentrate on making this night last a long, long time.

“Y
OU DIDN'T ANSWER YOUR
father's text last night.” Logan's mother's voice, frostier than usual, came out of his cell phone as Logan was pulling away from the drive-through at the local bakery. He'd woken up starving, and after deciding he wasn't about to rummage around in Paige's kitchen—at least not until she invited him—he'd hit on Delilah's as a great place to pick up a casual, morning-after breakfast.

He'd had a few moments of concern when faced with what kind of pastry to buy—it had been nine years, after all, and he didn't have a clue if Paige's tastes were the same. In the end, he'd ordered a whole bakery box worth of stuff, figuring Luke could start in on anything his mother didn't like.

“I was going to stop by later today and talk to you,” he answered. Which was true, though he
had
been putting it off. He knew his mother was going to have a million questions about Luke—and twice that many opinions—and he hadn't been ready to deal with it. Not yet, when he didn't have the answers to many of those questions himself.

“Were you?” He winced at the fury in her tone. “What about?”

“Come on, Mom. Let's not play this game. You know you want to have your say about Luke.”

“Is that my grandson's name? Luke?”

“It's short for Lucas, but yes. That's his name.”

“I see. And how long have you known about Luke?”

“Not very long. I—”

“He's eight years old, from what I understand. How long is
not very long?
”

“Come on, Mom. I know you're upset, but I'm not really up for the inquisition this morning.”

“Well, then, I suppose you should have thought of that and stopped by before the entire town has phoned me about a grandchild I didn't even know existed before last week.”

Luke sighed in frustration. “It's not like I knew he existed either, Mom. I haven't been keeping him a secret for eight years, you know.”

She sniffed. “How long have you been keeping him a secret?”

“I'm not. I haven't been.”

“Then why haven't you been by to see me? Why have I had to be the one to call you—twice—about him?”

“Because my whole life doesn't revolve around you! I just found out about him a little over a week
ago and I've been trying to wrap my head around the fact that I'm a father ever since. Should I have stopped by to talk to you and Dad earlier? Maybe. But we spoke last week, right after Paige got to town, and I wanted to have some answers before I talked to you again. It's taken me a little while to figure some stuff out. I mean, I just found out I have a son, Mom.”

She was silent and for a second he thought he'd reached her. His mom could be tough, cold and unemotional, but surely even she could understand how shocked he had been to find out about Luke. How his entire life had been thrown into a tailspin.

But then she spoke again, and he realized that no matter how many impassioned pleas he delivered, she wasn't going to see past the shock and embarrassment she had felt when the first phone call came in and she'd had no idea what her friend was talking about.

“And have you figured things out?” she demanded. “You and that…girl you used to date.”

“Her name is Paige, Mother.”

“I am aware of what her name is, Logan. I don't happen to care. Now answer the question.”

His patience slipped another notch. He couldn't stand when his mother got like this—all high and mighty, where her emotions were the only ones that mattered. “What question is that?” he demanded, though he remembered very well what she'd asked.

“Have you figured out what you're going to do about this…situation?”

“He's not a situation. He's my son!” he told her as he pulled onto the highway that would take him to Paige's. “And what I'm doing is taking it slow. Getting to know him.”

“Getting to know him. Really? After eight years?” Her voice dripped disgust.

“It's better than if it was after twenty years.”

“I'm not so sure about that. And this woman, this Paige Matthews, asked anything from you yet?”

“I assume you mean money?”

“Well, I wasn't referring to Tiddly Winks.”

“She hasn't asked for anything, Mom. And she won't. That's not what this is about.”

“That's what you think. It's always about money in situations like this, Logan. Always. That girl left here with nothing and now that she's back, she'll be determined to get what she feels she deserves.”

“That isn't true. But even if it was, so what?” He pushed harder on the accelerator, wanting to get to Paige's quickly so he had an excuse to end this ridiculous farce of a conversation with his mother. And she wanted to know why he hadn't called her right away? Because all she did was accuse and insinuate until he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

“He's my son and I am responsible for him. I
want to contribute to raising him—monetarily and otherwise. There's nothing wrong with that.”

“Oh, Lord, she's got her hooks into you already.”

That was it. He couldn't take any more. “Look, Mom, I need to go now. I'm due into work in a little while and I have to shower and change—”

“You're not running away that easily. At least tell me you haven't slept with her again.”

He smiled as he flashed to what he and Paige had spent most of the past night doing. He wouldn't exactly call it
sleeping,
but he doubted his mother would be amused if he pointed that out to her. Besides, he didn't want to talk about that aspect of his relationship with Paige—not to anyone and certainly not to his mother.

But she must have read something into his prolonged silence, because he could all but hear her eye roll. “Oh, Logan, you know better than that. I told you nine years ago that girl was no good for you and here you are again, falling right into her trap.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Of course you don't. You're a man. You don't understand how women like that think.”

“And you do?”

“Of course, sweetheart. How do you think I've dealt with your father's affairs through the years? His women practically came out of the woodwork for a
while there, all of them after the same thing. I took care of them discreetly and I can take care of Paige as well, if you'll let me.”

Shock ricocheted through him—not at the knowledge that his father had had a series of affairs, because as he'd gotten older he'd figured that out on his own. It was one of the reasons he'd been so insane when he found out Paige had been cheating on him. He'd loved her but not enough to be with her when he obviously wasn't enough for her. He'd spent his life watching his father chase after other women, seen how his lack of interest had hurt his mother, and had been determined—even at eighteen—not to let that happen to him.

But he hadn't known his mother
took care
of the women. What kind of ice circulated in her veins that she not only remained married to her hound dog of a husband, but also dealt with the woman he'd preferred over her?

“Why did you put up with it?” he asked because he couldn't stop himself. “Why did you stay with him if you knew he could never be faithful?”

“My dear boy, there is a lot more to a marriage than sexual fidelity. Your father might have tomcatted around with all those women, but who has he always come home to? Who has he been married to for thirty-five years?”

“And is that enough?” he asked. He knew he was
overstepping his bounds, but he couldn't help it. After everything that had happened between him and Paige he wanted another person's opinion. Someone who had experienced the same kind of betrayal he had at the hands of someone she loved. “Is it enough that he comes home after he's been with another woman? Doesn't it hurt, Mom, knowing where he's been and what he's been doing?”

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, so long that he pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure she hadn't hung up on him. But she hadn't, so he waited her out. He knew he was pushing her, hurting her, but he needed to hear her answer.

“Of course it hurts,” she whispered. “At first, you're in shock because you can't believe he would do something like that to you. You weep and you rage and he promises that it won't happen again. But it does, again and again, and every time he comes home and you know—you know—it's a new knife in your stomach. You make excuses for them and blame yourself—if I'd been a better wife, if he wasn't so stressed at work, if he felt like he could talk to me, then he wouldn't do this anymore. And you stick around through all of it because you have kids with him, because you love him, because you think you can change him.

“But here's a word of advice for you, Logan.” Her
voice grew harsh, ugly. “You can never change the people you love. You can never make them into who you want them to be versus who they really are. And if there's one thing I've learned from my marriage and from the marriages of my friends, it is that once a cheater, always a cheater. And so you end up living with it, throwing your life away on someone who doesn't deserve you and who can never love you the way that you want to be loved.”

His hands grew sweaty at her words, his stomach plummeting to his toes. Because he knew what she was talking about, knew what she was feeling. Hadn't he spent the past few days making excuses to himself for Paige's previous infidelities? Hadn't he told himself that she'd been young, confused, looking for attention from parents who didn't give a damn?

His stomach rolled and for one alarming second he thought that he was going to be sick right there in the middle of the highway. But he battled the nausea as he turned onto the driveway that would lead him to Paige. To Luke.

“I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't know.” It was a lame thing to say, but he couldn't think of anything else. And he was sorry, sorrier than he could ever tell her for the pain she'd endured for thirty-five years.

“I don't want my life for you, Logan. I don't want you to spend years waiting by a window, wondering
where your wife is and who she's with. You're better than that.”

“I—” He wasn't sure what he wanted to say to her, wasn't sure what there was too say.

“It's all right. I understand.” She cleared her throat and suddenly her voice, and their conversation, returned to normal. “Think about what I said, Logan. She won't change and you don't want to throw your life away on a woman who makes you feel like second best.”

She clicked off, leaving him sitting in his truck outside his lover's house and wondering which end was up. Was his mother right? he wondered as he got out of the truck. Was Paige always going to be that girl who had cheated on him? When they'd been together, he'd been willing to give up his friends for her. To defy his parents for her. To do anything to make her understand that, despite her family, she belonged somewhere. That she belonged with him.

He'd thought he'd convinced her, but then she'd cheated on him anyway. Not because she'd fallen in love with someone else, but because she could. Because there were guys available who found her attractive and were more than willing to take her up on what she was offering.

There would always be men who found her attractive—Paige was a beautiful, vibrant woman. There would always be men who would sleep with her,
married or not. Mother or not. Could he live with that? With the uncertainty of not knowing where she was or what she was doing? Or could he, God forbid, live with knowing exactly what she was doing and who she was doing it with?

He got out of the truck slowly, picking up the coffees and bakery box as he went. It was strange to think of how amazing he'd felt when he'd been with Paige last night, how right it had felt to be inside her again. That mood seemed a million miles away now. As he let himself into the silent house he wondered what he was doing here.

Was he stupid to open himself up to Paige again? He'd loved her years ago and she had shattered his entire world. Now she was back, with his son in tow, and he had let her in. Had given her the means to destroy him all over again.

Maybe it would be different if he really thought she'd changed. But last night, when he'd asked her if he should leave, she'd been fine with him staying. Fine with him spending the night. Fine with Luke finding him in her bed in the morning. It had shaken him then, the realization that she might have done this many times before. That she had let men spend the night and have breakfast with his son in the morning.

He'd told himself it didn't matter—it wasn't as though he'd been celibate since she'd left. He'd had
numerous girlfriends, had even married someone else, for God's sake. But he wasn't holding the number of lovers she had against her—he really wasn't. Only the ease with which she brought them into his son's life.

He took a sip of his much-anticipated coffee, but it tasted too bitter and he spat it into the sink. Bitter like he felt. Bitter like he was very afraid he would become if he stayed with Paige.

Maybe he was moving too quickly, assuming too much. He should talk to her—he was smart enough to know that he needed to explain his concerns, find out if he was off base with his assumptions. Yet, even as he knew that, he'd learned at an early age not to ask a question if he didn't want to hear the answer. Right now, with Paige, he was very afraid.

Everything he'd done with Paige last night, all the ways he'd tried to satisfy her in the past, which hadn't been enough…and his mother's words came back to him.

She won't change and you can't change her.

Left alone, sitting by the window.

Wondering why you weren't enough.

The walls started to close in on him and Logan knew he had to get out. He couldn't stay here any longer, not with the past a living, breathing animal clawing away at his insides. Not with all of his hopes
and dreams—hopes and dreams he'd barely been aware of having—lying shattered at his feet.