by Nicola Marsh
‘Wish I could say the same,’ Logan growled, steeling his resolve as he pushed past his dad without a handshake.
He couldn’t do this.
What had he been thinking?
The rage had returned, swamping him in a suffocating wave that had him clawing to the surface, desperate to eradicate the past and forget he even had a father.
He dragged air into his lungs, willing the breathlessness compressing his chest to ease. For a horrifying second he felt faint and clamped down on his anger by focussing on something good... An image of Hope, sexy and sated at his place, sprang to mind. Fuck. The last thing he needed now was to think about her.
‘I’m glad you’ve dropped in unexpectedly,’ Stephen said, and gestured to a seat. ‘We’ve got a lot to talk about—’
‘Do we really? Because from where I’m standing there’s nothing you can say that will change a goddamn thing.’
Logan shook his head, desperate to clear it. A roaring filled his ears, as if he’d held shells up to them and could hear the ocean. ‘I came here for one reason only. To say what I should’ve said years ago but didn’t, out of some warped respect for the man who gave me DNA and little else.’
Stephen’s expression crumpled a little but his eyes were defiant. Logan knew that look. He’d seen it in the mirror too many times to count, when one of his dad’s promised visits had never eventuated.
‘Son, I know I screwed up with you—’
‘Screwed up? Is that what you call it?’ Logan barked out a laugh devoid of amusement. ‘You ripped our family apart. You abandoned us for your own selfish reasons and didn’t give a shit.’
His voice had risen but he didn’t care. He had to get this out. All of it. ‘You swanned in whenever you felt like it, lifting our hopes, before tearing us apart all over again. Mum...’ Logan’s throat clogged with emotion but he continued. ‘She lit up when you were around, then spiralled into moroseness when you weren’t. She shut down with me too so I actually lost a mother as well as a father.’ He thumped his chest. ‘I became the primary carer in our house. Me. I had to do everything and it pissed me off that you didn’t bloody care!’
Tears filled Stephen’s eyes but Logan wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.
‘You killed her, you know. That heart attack was precipitated by ongoing stress, considering she had no other risk factors. So how does it feel to know you’re responsible for that?’
Logan didn’t care that he was yelling now. He wanted—needed—to get a reaction out of this man, whose stoic acceptance of the accusations flung his way riled Logan even more.
‘I’m sorry for a lot of things I’ve done, Son, but I can’t change the past.’
Of all the things his father could’ve said, Stephen’s half-assed apology achieved nothing.
Logan slow-clapped. ‘Wow, great insight. Any other pearls of wisdom you care to share before I leave?’
‘I love you, Son.’ A lone tear trickled down Stephen’s cheek as he took a step forward. ‘I always have. That’s why I kept returning to Rally-Doo to visit even though it would’ve been better for your mother if I had made a clean break.’
The roaring in Logan’s ears intensified to the point he couldn’t hear a thing. Spots danced before his eyes and he found himself being guided into a chair by his father. When his vision cleared, he flung up his arms to dislodge his father’s grip. ‘Get your fucking hands off me.’
Sorrow darkened Stephen’s eyes as he released him and backed away, taking a seat opposite. The dressing room was so cramped their knees almost touched. To his father’s credit he remained silent, giving Logan time to process what he’d revealed.
Stephen’s infrequent visits home had been because of him?
He had to ask, even if he didn’t want to know the answer.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I didn’t want to have to tell you any of this.’ Stephen scrubbed a hand over his face. When it lowered, it appeared as though his dad had aged years.
‘Your mum knew I had dreams to become a comedian when we met. It’s all I ever talked about. But she was a born and bred country girl who hated leaving Rally-Doo even for a day trip. So, after a month, I tried to break it off. She didn’t take it well.’
Stephen bit down on his bottom lip. ‘She rang constantly, left messages, turned up at my parents’ house. I thought by confronting her one last time she’d get the message, and she seemed more reasonable and very sweet so we ended up...’ His father blushed. ‘Anyway, two months later she was on my doorstep, announcing she’s pregnant. In a town the size of Rally-Doo unwed mothers are destined for a hard life, so I married her.’
He halted, as if struggling to find the right words, before continuing. ‘I didn’t love her, and I doubt she loved me, but I had hopes we could make a go of it. Then you arrived...’
His dad’s voice broke and Logan waited, unsure whether to be appalled by this confession or thankful he was finally learning the truth behind his dad’s flakiness.
‘You were the best thing to ever happen to me,’ Stephen said, his tone fierce as he pinned him with a glare. ‘I would’ve done anything for you, so I did.’
Confused, Logan shook his head. ‘By leaving me?’
‘I wanted to take you with me so badly.’ Stephen’s fingers dug into his thighs where his hands rested in his lap. ‘But it would’ve killed your mother. She had obsessive tendencies that started with me and morphed into things like magazines and soaps and...well, anything.’
Stunned by the revelation, Logan racked his memory. He’d once tried to move his mum’s staggering stacks of magazines tucked into every corner of the lounge and she’d gone berserk. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time because those magazines brought her comfort when his dad wasn’t around. She’d sit for hours with them spread across her lap, flicking through pages at random. He’d found it quirky but not testament to a deeper-seated problem.
As for the countless cakes of soaps in the bathroom cabinet, the many tubes of untouched lipsticks and the teetering pile of cookbooks in the kitchen, he’d put it down to his mum being a hoarder clinging to memories of the past.
‘She wouldn’t acknowledge her problem let alone see a doc, so to stop from fighting a losing battle I distanced myself. Physically. I thought by removing myself from our sham marriage she’d be happier and in turn your life would be easier.’ Sombreness down-turned Stephen’s mouth. ‘No kid should grow up in a tension-filled household. I thought I’d done the right thing when I visited and saw how happy she was and how rapt you were to see me.’ He tapped his temple. ‘I had it all figured out up here. Visit when I could, keep everyone happy.’
Stunned, Logan stared at his father in disbelief. ‘Is that what you really believed?’
‘It’s what I saw. Even though I didn’t love your mum, I saw she loved you as much as I did, so when we played happy families for however long my visits lasted I thought it was the right thing to do.’ He clasped his hands together so tightly his knuckles stood out. ‘If I’d had my way, you would’ve lived with me. But a nomadic life is no good for a kid and I’d seen evidence of how obsessive your mum could be when I wanted to break up with her; I didn’t want to risk setting her off again. If I’d taken you, she would’ve become obsessed with getting you back, and who knows what that kind of instability would have resulted in or what she would’ve done to have you? I didn’t want you seeing that side of your mum so I stepped back.’
Logan needed time to process the revelations that kept on coming, overwhelming and stifling. ‘So why did you stop visiting as I grew older? Why did you stay away if you loved me so much?’
Stephen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His spine bowed, a man defeated, before he slowly straightened his shoulders. ‘Because you were a smart kid and you started eyeing me with suspicion and anger rather than excitement and anticipation.’
<
br /> ‘You mean you couldn’t buy me off any more with toys and books?’
‘What I mean is, you were starting to ask me the hard questions and I couldn’t disparage your mother, not when she was doing a good job of raising you.’ His jaw clenched and he looked away. ‘So I made you hate me by staying away deliberately.’
‘What the...?’
‘It almost killed me. In here.’ Stephen thumped his chest over his heart. ‘I loved you, but I made a choice. I wanted you to have a stable home life, not be dragged from one town to the next, living in seedy motels and eating greasy fast food. I wanted you to be happy, your mum too. But there wasn’t a single day I didn’t wish I had you with me.’
Sadness filled Logan, expanding until he felt as though he’d explode with it. His eyes burned and his throat tightened, but he managed to ask the one question that had plagued him his entire life.
‘Then why didn’t you stay?’
‘Because I didn’t want you growing up resenting me, hating me, and that’s what would’ve happened if I’d stuck around—trapped in a marriage I never wanted, dying on the inside while trying to fake happiness on the outside. You would’ve seen straight through me and I wanted you to be happy with your mum, even if it meant you and I could never have a real relationship...’ Stephen ended on a sob and to Logan’s horror he felt like bawling too.
He didn’t have it in his heart to tell his father that he had ended up hating him regardless. Because he didn’t. Not really. He understood his father’s warped motivations, even if he didn’t like it.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this years ago?’
Stephen dashed a hand across his damp eyes. ‘I tried to reach out many times, Son, but you didn’t want a bar of me. I hoped that would change in time. Then the cancer hit and I knew I had to do something to repair the breach between us.’
A jumble of emotions whirled through Logan and he couldn’t process it all. He needed time. So he settled for ‘I’m not sure if I can forgive you. But I’m glad you told me everything.’
Stephen nodded, stood and held out his hand. ‘All I’m asking for is a chance.’
Logan stared at his father’s outstretched hand for a long time, before finally standing and taking it.
His father’s grip was strong, firm, his hand as icy-cold as his. Logan was glad Stephen didn’t try to embrace him.
For now, the handshake was a start.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
IT HAD BEEN a whirlwind week for Hope. She’d recorded her first five songs, ones she’d written months ago in preparation for this opportunity when she had her studio up and running. And another song she’d intended to keep private but couldn’t resist recording: ‘Yearning’. When three of her students had given feedback, insisting it was her best work, she’d released it online last night to a surprisingly high number of downloads. She knew, because she’d been checking compulsively ever since.
A crazy, bad-for-her compulsion, similar to cherry-choc-fudge sundaes, but she couldn’t resist. Because every time she heard herself singing the lyrics she pictured Logan: strutting into the inner-city café the first time they met; wiping tomato ketchup off her chin at the football; screwing her up against the alley wall behind the pub; donning a tool belt for an all too short time when one of his workers had called in sick with gastro.
So many moments with a man she needed to forget but couldn’t.
It was slowly but surely driving her crazy.
She wanted to call him. Swallow her pride and make the first move. Apologise, tell him the truth and set the record straight.
And, okay, maybe slake her insatiable lust for him.
That was the worst of all, the constant dreams and fantasies. Despite her mind trying to forget him, her body wouldn’t get with the program. She craved his touch, his tongue, his dick, like she’d never craved anything in her life. It was nonsensical, irrational and totally mind-messing.
She should know. She’d spent the entire morning trying to draft new songs and only had twelve sheets of screwed up paper to show for it.
Her muse had left the building along with the sexy tradesman-CEO.
Then a few hours ago she’d had a phone call from a radio station asking to interview her. Not one of the majors, but a small station focussing on indie artists. She’d been rapt. So she’d waxed lyrical about her new recording studio in Melbourne, putting a call out for indie artists.
And had been inundated. She’d booked her first two to start recording next week with another three for the weeks after. It had taken time, listening to the artists’ songs, wading through all those who had contacted her, but she had high hopes that the ones she’d chosen would help launch her humble studio on the indie scene.
But first she needed more songs of her own.
However, after another hour of random doodling and staring at blank sheet music with a pencil poised in her hand, she admitted defeat.
Something wasn’t right. She’d never had trouble composing before. Even when Willem had broken her heart she’d sought solace in her music. The familiarity of her favourite songs had soothed her back then and, when the initial shock of Willem’s deception had worn off, her creativity had taken flight. The music and words had flowed out of her and she’d barely been able to keep up with getting them down on paper.
So what was wrong now? Her love for Willem had been intense, passionate and heady, and she hadn’t allowed herself to feel anything remotely like it for Logan. He’d been her fling: her short-term sexy time. It didn’t make sense that walking away from him would affect her creativity if Willem breaking her heart hadn’t stopped her producing songs.
Maybe the excitement of the last twenty-four hours had sapped her energy.
Or maybe your creativity is tied in to your happiness and you haven’t been happy since you ended things with Logan.
Damn her voice of reason. She was a real bitch.
Hope didn’t need a man to feel happy. Not any more. Willem had put paid to that particular fantasy.
But that was the kicker in all this, that by falling in love with Willem she’d learned how incredible it could be: the giddiness, the excitement, the sheer optimism that everything in the world seemed brighter because of that person.
And, despite all her proclamations that she’d never let any man get that close again, she knew deep down she might have opened her heart to the possibility of something more with Logan and that was why she felt so damned off-kilter now it had ended.
This was why she didn’t depend on anyone to be happy. It was much easier being bold, confident and independent.
So why the glumness that wouldn’t quit despite her apparent overnight success?
She needed to shake things up. Get out of here. Try writing somewhere else.
However, as she gathered her writing tools and slid them into a leather satchel, her mobile rang and one glance at the screen had her heart stalling.
Logan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE MOMENT LOGAN heard Hope’s voice singing those haunting lyrics, every hair on his body snapped to attention.
His hand clenched his almost empty beer schooner as he glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see her on the makeshift stage in this working man’s pub in the back streets of Sydney’s Darlinghurst. Wishful thinking; his gaze landed on the empty stage and his disappointment was almost palpable.
Her voice, husky and sexy as all fuck, drifted from speakers set up strategically around the room. Most of the patrons, the yuppie office crowd who’d just finished work, were oblivious to her soulful voice. Only he seemed to be listening and he wanted to clamber on the nearest stool so he could plaster his ear against a speaker.
‘She’s great, huh?’ The barman, polishing a clean glass, gestured at the speaker he’d been staring at. ‘Some new indie artist. I’m a big fan of the scene and this son
g got posted online last night and has gone viral.’
‘Really?’
Wow, good for her.
Pride made him sit straighter, until he realised he had no claim on her. He’d made damn sure of that after the way he’d spoken to her at his place, effectively ending any chance of civility.
‘Yeah. Everyone’s been asking me to replay it.’ The barman wrinkled his nose. ‘Though the lyrics are a bit too sappy for my liking.’
Logan remembered the lyrics. He’d read them, first-hand, that night he’d stayed at Hope’s apartment. They’d made him feel an uncharacteristic surge of emotion then and had the same effect now.
When he’d first read them, for a stupid, delusional moment he’d thought she’d been referring to him. Back then, it had scared the shit out of him and he’d continued putting up barriers because of it.
But now, as she sang of fresh starts, aching hearts and yearning, he wished he hadn’t been such a dickhead.
When the barman glanced at him quizzically, expecting him to say something, Logan responded with ‘She’s very talented.’
And not just in the singing department. His cock thickened to half-mast thinking about the many ways she’d got him off and her sheer enjoyment of sex. Not many women were that uninhibited. Hope had matched him in every way, always turned on, always up for it. Man, just thinking about that alley sex...
Relieved the barman had moved on to serve other customers, Logan fished his phone out of his pocket. He’d ended things badly with Hope, deliberately pushing her away so they wouldn’t have the awkward break-up when he moved on. But he’d been in Sydney an entire day and he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d done the wrong thing. He’d confronted the past and his dad last night, and the immense relief afterwards ensured he’d had the best night’s sleep of his life once his plane had landed here.
He had no idea if the relationship with his father was salvageable but Logan found he was willing to give him a chance. It also made him ponder: his parents had never been in love. His mum had virtually trapped Stephen into marrying her and he’d stood by her when he hadn’t had to. His mum being dependent on Stephen for her happiness had been all on her. She’d created the family she craved, but at what cost? She’d had a kid who had become a burden once his dad had left. She’d spiralled into further obsessiveness when Stephen hadn’t given her the love she’d wanted. It wasn’t his dad’s fault that his mum hadn’t been able to live a joyful, independent life without him.
