Heart Strings

by Melanie Moreland

  He tossed the rest of the cookie into his mouth, chewing. “Not enough.”

  His concern touched me. He seemed to notice everything about me—and after the past many years of feeling invisible, it was an odd sensation. Yet, one I thought I quite liked.

  He took my hand, stroking the skin. “When you didn’t show up at my place after your parents left so quickly, I thought perhaps you had changed your mind about me,” he confessed.

  “How did you know they left quickly?”

  Two streaks of crimson slashed over his high cheekbones. “I, ah, waited on the corner. In case…” He trailed off.

  “In case?” I prompted.

  “In case you were upset and needed me. If you came out right away, I wanted to be there for you. But you didn’t, so I went home and waited.” He met my eyes. “I don’t have your number, so I couldn’t call you. I got tired of waiting and worrying, so I came to find you.”

  I moved closer and cupped his cheek. He covered my hand with his, pressing my palm into his skin. His beard was heavier than this morning, soft and bristly all at the same time under my touch. “I’m sorry I worried you. I had words with my parents, and when they left, I had to do something, so I started to bake. I only meant to make one batch of cookies, but I got caught up… I lost track of time.”

  “I need your phone number,” he rasped, his voice low and demanding.

  “You can have it,” I assured him.

  “Why did you and your parents argue?”

  “They didn’t like my attitude.”

  He sat back, folding one leg under the other and facing me. “What attitude?”

  “I was angry they came to check on me. Not as my father, but as my boss.”

  “Why do you work somewhere you hate, Lottie? Why do you do this?”

  I looked down at our entwined fingers, marveling at the difference. Logan’s hands were large. Dark from the sun, calloused from the guitar and hard work. He had a scar that went from side to side, the line slightly paler than the rest of his skin. His fingers were long and thick. Strong. But capable of such tenderness. My hand looked minuscule in his, pale and fragile. My fingers barely reached his knuckles, while his enclosed the back of my hand with ease. I took in a long breath and told him about Josh. How much I loved him and how he made me laugh. The way he took care of me.

  “He was a great big brother. Protective and overbearing at times, but always caring. Funny too—he teased me all the time and called me Squirt. We would watch movies, and he would make me popcorn if our parents went out. He’d let me stay up past my bedtime. We’d take long walks in the woods behind our parents’ house, and he’d teach me about birds and the different trees. He was four years older than me, but he never treated me like a kid.”

  Logan hummed but didn’t interrupt.

  “He knew how much I loved the winter. We’d make snowmen and forts and have snowball fights. Even though he was older than me, he was my best friend.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Then he became ill.”

  “Leukemia?” he asked.

  “Yes. A very aggressive type. They tried everything.” I was quiet for a moment, remembering the dark days that followed Josh’s diagnosis.

  “He died just before his seventeenth birthday. I was their last hope, Logan,” I whispered. “I was a match.”

  “But it didn’t work,” he stated.

  “No.”

  “But you tried. You went through the procedure, and you tried to save your brother.”

  “Yes.”

  “So how on earth can you feel anything close to guilt? You didn’t fail, Lottie. Your body didn’t fail. Your brother was too sick, and it didn’t work. It wasn’t your fault.” He stared at me, aghast. “Did your parents tell you it was your fault?”

  “Not in so many words. But all their hopes were pinned on me.”

  “They were pinned on the results, Lottie. Not you. You didn’t fail. You gave of yourself unselfishly, trying to help him.”

  “He died.”

  “Again, not your fault. Blame the disease, not yourself.”

  “Maybe if I’d been stronger, older…”

  He looked furious. “Again, none of your doing. You were a kid. Just a kid. There is no blame here on your part.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking vexed. “Is that why you work for your father? To make up for your brother’s death?”

  I blinked. He saw it right away. He knew exactly what I was trying to do. I cleared my throat. “I wanted to try to help my father. To be what he lost the day Josh died.”

  “You can’t do that, Lottie. Trade your life for his.” He wrapped his hands around my biceps, shaking me a little. “You are killing yourself for nothing. It won’t bring him back.” His voice softened. “It won’t make them better.”

  “I just want them to love me.”

  The words hung in the air.

  “Oh, baby,” he murmured. “You can never make someone love you. Giving them your life on a platter isn’t right.” He frowned. “I think the day your brother died, your parents lost themselves to grief—and somehow never found their way out of it. But I don’t think it means they don’t love you—they’ve just forgotten how to show it.”

  “For the first while after he died, they smothered me, yet still ignored me. They hired people to look after me. Report every cough or scrape of my knee. Fussed too much, but still kept away. But as I got older, the caregivers went away, and they became even colder and more removed. It was as if they resented me yet feared losing me. I was lost and confused so much of the time. The closest I got to a real, honest exchange was the day I showed my father I was taking the same courses Josh planned to take before he got sick,” I explained, feeling wistful. “He actually looked pleased and said he could hardly wait until I joined the firm. I was sure if I followed through and became everything he wanted for Josh, he would love me again.”

  “I’m sure he never stopped. Either of them. They just don’t know how to get you back.”

  I met his empathetic gaze.

  “They don’t understand me.”

  “They don’t know you,” he replied. “They only know the person you think they want to see. And by hiding, you’re killing yourself, Lottie. Slowly but surely. The same way my dad did.”

  I had no response to that.

  “You need to do something you love.” He indicated the plate of cookies. “Bake. Create.”

  “I can’t simply walk away.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  I rubbed a weary hand over my face. “I don’t want to argue with you, Logan. I’ve argued enough today.”

  His face softened. “I know. I’m sorry. And I’m repeating myself, but I will say this again. You don’t owe your father your life, Lottie. You owe it to yourself to be happy. You only get one chance at this.” He took my hand. “I only know what you told me about Josh, but I think he would want that for you too. I think he would hate that you’re trapped in a job you dislike.” He sucked in a long breath. “He would hate that you think you failed. Because you didn’t. You were brave and strong. The disease won.”

  My breath caught.

  He stroked my cheek. “It’s awful and tragic, but it happens sometimes. The disease can be too big to fight. And that time, it won.” He grimaced. “What I hate is that it robbed you of your parents too. Of a normal childhood.”

  “They refused to talk about him—they still do. I missed him so much, and I had no one to talk to about him.” My voice cracked.

  “You have me now, Lottie. I’ll listen. You can tell me all about him. As much as you want.”

  And suddenly, I was in his arms. He held me tight as I cried, somehow pushing together the little fragmented bits of my heart and fusing them together. I felt safe in his embrace. As if I had found my home.

  I knew that was ridiculous. I barely knew him.

  And yet—it was true.

  Chapter 10

  Lottie

  Logan lifted me into his arms an
d carried me down the hall to my bed. He tugged off my shirt and jeans, then tucked me under the blankets, his hands gentle, his touch soothing. He disrobed and slid in behind me, pulling me to his chest. His heat soaked into my skin, the warmth of him spreading deliciously along my body, easing the tension. He wrapped his arm around me, holding me tight.

  “I’m right here, Lottie,” he murmured.

  I sighed, my body relaxing into his embrace, feeling emotionally exhausted. “Thank you.”

  “Sleep, baby.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Tell me what you do want.”

  “I don’t want to think.” I ran my hand over his forearm, feeling shy. “Would you-would you sing to me?”

  He pressed his lips to my head. “Anytime.”

  He began to hum, the sound rumbling in his chest. I shut my eyes as he started to sing, his deep, sexy tenor a low rasp in my ear. He sang a soft lullaby, the words soothing. He kept time with his fingers, a slow, steady rhythm he tapped out on my skin. My weariness hit me and I drifted, yet even in my light slumber, I could hear his voice. As always, it filled me with peace, his rich tone easing my tension and filling me up.

  When he paused, I lifted my head, turning to meet his beautiful, unusual, whiskey-colored eyes. “Thank you,” I said again.

  “I will always sing for you, my Snow Queen.” He slid his fingers under my chin and kissed me. His lips were gentle on mine, his tongue sliding sensuously along my bottom lip. I opened for him, and he deepened the kiss, still gentle and sweet, yet filled with passion.

  I shifted, turning into him, and he gathered me close, his lips never ceasing their possession. He cupped my ass, bringing me tight to him, and I felt his erection growing between us. I slipped my hand down, cupping him, and he groaned low and rough. My nipples hardened against his chest, the coarse hair causing a delicious friction on my skin. His nipple ring was warm and stroked against me smoothly. He dragged his mouth across my cheek to my ear. “I want you.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I need you, Logan. Take it away. Take it all away.”

  His answer was to roll me onto my back and hover over me. He loomed above me, his expression intense yet tender. “Slowly this time, Lottie. I want you to feel how much you mean to me.”

  Then his lips were back on mine, tasting and caressing. He touched me everywhere, his hands stroking and light. He kissed his way up and down my body, not leaving any spot undiscovered by his mouth. My underwear disappeared in one fast flick of his wrist, the lace and silk torn from me easily. I had no idea how he took his off, but they were gone, and as he pinned me down with his body, the evidence of his desire was hot and heavy on my skin. I pleaded and begged as he dragged his lips across my collarbone, his tongue swirling around the mark he had left yesterday.

  “I branded you as mine, Lottie,” he whispered. “Are you?”

  “Yes,” I gasped. “Yours.”

  I felt his smile on my skin. “That’s right. Mine.”

  He grabbed a condom and settled between my thighs. Our eyes locked as he sank into me, slowly easing inside, inch by inch, until we were flush. “You feel so good,” he groaned. “I love how wet you are for me.”

  “Only you,” I whimpered, feeling the fullness from his cock inside me.

  He braced himself on one elbow and began to move. Slow, languid strokes that made me sigh in pleasure. He hooked one leg over his shoulder, changing the position, and withdrew to the tip, then sank back in, deeper than ever. My breath caught at the new angle. He was hitting me in a place I had never felt until now, and I began to quiver with the rush of sensation it caused. Tremors raced through me, and I grasped at his shoulders, my nails sinking into his skin. He gripped my leg, grunting as he moved.

  “Yes, Lottie. Like that. Move with me. Fuck…yes.”

  My body took on a mind of its own, matching his rhythm. The room was filled with the sounds we created. Our skin sliding together, the low moans and grunts that fell from Logan’s lips. The pleas and whispers from mine. The bed creaked as we moved, the headboard a low, steady beat of our movements. My hand slipped off his neck, curling around his bulging bicep, as my other found purchase in my sheets, twisting and gripping the soft material. Logan kept one hand on my leg and anchored himself to the headboard. Our gazes remained locked, his hooded and dark, mine wide and wanting. My orgasm hit me suddenly, sharp and wild, and I cried out, arching and shuddering around him. He cursed and kept moving, shaking his head.

  “You’re going to give me another one,” he growled, grabbing my other leg and flinging it over his shoulder as he thrust harder.

  I thrashed my head side to side, the angle so intense, I clutched at him. “No, Logan, I can’t… You need—”

  He cut me off. “You can, Lottie. For me.”

  He rose up on his knees and began to plunge harder. His hair fell in his face, the sweat trickling down his cheek. The coil inside me tightened again, and I cried out, my body beginning to spasm and grip him. He closed his eyes, flung back his head, and came in a long, low growl of curses and muttered words. I lost myself to him and his demands, crashing into the pleasure as it gripped me, taking everything I had and giving it to him.

  To Logan.

  We stilled, the only sounds in the room our heavy breathing. Logan’s head hung down, his chest pumping fast. His hair covered his face, the long strands hiding him from me. Playfully, I teased his ear with my toe, and he peeked up, a knowing smirk on his face.

  “How was that for taking it away?”

  “If I were a teacher, I’d give you a gold star.”

  He slipped my legs off his shoulder, rubbing them briskly. He slid from me, disposing of the condom and returning to gather me in his arms. He nuzzled my forehead.

  “As a teacher, I’m giving you an A++, and trust me, that never happens.”

  I smiled and ran my hands through his hair. Quiet settled around us.

  “Tell me about your life, Logan.”

  Logan

  I knew what she wanted. She’d had enough heavy from her parents, and she didn’t want to think about it anymore today. I had been pleased to sing to her, feeling her relax in my arms as my voice drifted over her. I had also been more than happy to make love to her, always ready for her in that sense. She had shared a lot of her life with me, and now she wanted to know about mine. But not the past. What my life contained now.

  I tucked an arm behind my head, holding her close with the other one as she snuggled into my side.

  “Do you like being a teacher?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “But it’s not full time.” I heard the worry in her voice.

  “No, but I get by fine for now. I’m in good with a couple of the secretaries, and they steer as much time my way as possible. In fact, starting next term, I have a mat leave I’ll be covering. I’m hoping it leads to full time since it’s the teacher’s fourth kid and she’s been talking about not coming back.”

  “Oh,” she responded. “That would be good.”

  “It would be,” I agreed. “It’s a great school—it’s one of the ones I showed you yesterday. I can walk to and from it easily, and the kids are pretty good. It’s a decent area, and I like the other teachers.”

  “What grade do you teach?”

  “Six and seven, mostly. I like that age. I still have a chance to make a difference before they’re too old not to care anymore—especially the boys. Once they hit high school, it’s often too late. But I love teaching. Even if I reach one kid, it makes a difference.”

  “Like Kai?”

  “Exactly. He struggled so hard, and he is such a bright kid. Once I figured out where his block was and helped him get past it, he soared.”

  “So, ah, how do you make do when you don’t get much teaching?” she asked, her fingers playing on my chest in nervous little circles.

  Chuckling, I lifted her hand to my mouth and kissed it. “Relax, Lottie. We’re just talking.”

  “I know. I don�
��t want to upset you.”

  “Like the other night?” I asked with a frown. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. I don’t want you to see me as some sort of bum needing a handout.”

  “I don’t.”

  I arched my eyebrow and gazed down at her. She lowered her eyes. “Not anymore.”

  I had to chuckle.

  “I didn’t think you were a bum, but I worried about you. If you had enough to eat, a place to stay, if you were safe at night… and you would never let me leave you money!” she grumped and smacked my chest for good measure.

  I tried not to chuckle at her anger. It was endearing that she would worry about me so much.

  “When I’m not teaching, I tutor, I give music lessons, I tend bar, and yes, I sing. But in a club, Lottie. Not on the street for money—at least, not anymore. I kept playing in the subway for you. All the money people threw in went to the food bank or the homeless shelter.” I huffed out a long breath.

  “You need to understand something.” I waited until she looked up and met my eyes. “I am never going to climb the corporate ladder. I will never wear a suit and tie and carry a briefcase. There won’t be a huge paycheck and fancy dinners. I live modestly. I like simple things. If that frightens you—” I swallowed “—I guess we need to stop now. I have no plans on changing my life. But I want you in it, if you want to be. If you can accept me for who I am.”

  “I don’t want you to change, Logan. I want to know about your life.” She frowned. “Can you accept my life? The fact that I am, as you say, part of a world you detest?”

  “I don’t like what your world is doing to you, Lottie.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I know.”

  “I would like to help you discover another one, but I know you have to want that too.” I tucked her closer. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do to help you. Even if it’s just to sing to you and calm you. But I won’t ever stop hoping you find a different path—one that makes you happy.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “You have roommates?”

  I let her drop the subject—for now.