And with that one word, my world was complete.
Chapter 24
Lottie
I wasn’t sure what was more amusing. The nervous look on Logan’s face before he opened the door and greeted my mother, accepting a casserole dish from her, or the uncomfortable look on my mother’s face as she handed it to him. Both were floundering, Logan torn between his anger with my parents in general and his innate kindness toward people. My mother was clearly uneasy at being here—and especially greeting Logan. Her hands fluttered, and she hesitated, unsure whether to shake his hand, cross her arms, or walk past him. Logan stared at the covered dish, then glanced up at my mother. He cleared his throat.
“Thank you. For, ah, whatever this is.”
“Mac and cheese. Lottie’s favorite.”
I stepped forward and took the casserole. “June made it?”
Her words stopped me. “I made it. You always said I made the best. You especially liked it when you weren’t feeling well. You always asked for it.”
I froze. She did—when I was a child. She hadn’t made me mac and cheese since Josh died. The one time I’d asked, she said no. I never asked again.
I met her eyes. Her dark gaze was hesitant—almost fearful. She lifted her elegant shoulders. “I had to start somewhere, Lottie.”
My voice caught, realizing how hard she was trying. “This is a good place.”
Logan took the casserole from my hands and pressed a kiss to my head. “Go sit with your mom. I’ll take care of this.” He sent a smile in Mom’s direction. “I’ll bring tea, Mrs. Prescott.”
She offered him a nod. “Thank you.”
My mom followed me to the sofa and sat across from me. She hunched forward, anxious. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” I assured her.
“You were in the hospital.” A strange tremor crept into her voice, and without thinking, I grasped her hand. Part of me was shocked that she gripped mine back.
“I had a panic attack. A bad one. But I’m fine.”
Her gaze fell to my hand and the ring that now rested on my finger. She lifted her eyes to mine.
“So, it is true.”
“Which part?” I asked, worried we were about to start fighting. I was too tired to deal with that right now, and I was feeling optimistic and happy about my future for the first time in a long while. But her voice was mild when she replied.
“You’re engaged.”
“And pregnant,” I responded.
There was a beat of silence. Her next words shocked me. “And happy?”
My gaze flew to hers. There was no judgment. No anger. No disconnect. My mom was there—the woman I remembered from all those years ago.
“So happy,” I whispered. “And scared.”
She laughed quietly. “We’re all scared when we find out we’re going to be a parent. I remember when I found out I was pregnant—” she swallowed and paused “—with Josh. I was more scared than excited for the first while. I had no idea how to look after a baby. But I figured it out.” She was quiet for a moment. “When I found out I was pregnant with you, happiness was the first emotion.” She patted my hand. “It’s quite normal.”
I gaped at her. She’d mentioned Josh.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Lottie,” she said, her lips pursed into a frown. “So many.” She sat up a little straighter. “I’ve been going to therapy for the past few weeks.”
I was speechless. I recalled the instances I thought she looked as if she were about to confide something to me. The way her gaze seemed different. The few times she’d brought up Josh’s name. I stuttered, finding my words. “Mom, that…that’s great.”
“I have a lot to atone for.”
Logan came in, carrying a tray. I bit back my laughter as he set it down in front of us. Two mugs of tea, neither in her preferred china, milk in both since he knew that was how I liked it, and a plate of store-bought cookies. Five of them arranged in a perfect circle on the small plate. “Ladies,” he intoned. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I glanced at him, and he brushed my cheek with his fingers. “I’ll be in the other room, writing. Right there, if you need me.”
My mother watched him walk away and turned to me. “Very protective of you, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at the tray, and I was surprised to see a smile tug on her lips. Then she shocked me yet again by picking up the mug and taking a sip. She grimaced a little. “Other than the sugar, not a bad cup of tea.” She tapped the tray. “Better effort than your father could manage.”
Once again, her words caught me off guard.
“Dad used to bring you tea in bed.”
“Dad used to do a lot of things. So did I.” She took a sip of her tea, not mentioning the awkward mug it was in. “Then I lost myself. Allowed your father to drift away on his own island of guilt. We became two polite strangers dwelling under the same roof.” She met my astonished gaze. “We became two grieving people locked in the past, unable to talk, move forward, or break the cycle. And the worst part of it is, we left you alone.”
My voice cracked. “Mom.”
She held up her hand. “I cannot go back. I cannot change things. But I can move forward. I can ask you to give me a chance. To let me be a small part of your life.” Her gaze drifted lower. “To be part of your child’s life in some way.” She paused. “To be a real part of your life in some way.”
My breath caught, and I stared at her. My heart sped up, my breathing becoming faster. They were words I had longed to hear and given up on doing so. I had to blink away the moisture building in my eyes. She kept talking.
“I know I can’t ask for your forgiveness until I deserve it. I also know you may never grant it. But I am asking for that chance to earn it.”
“I want that.” I managed to choke out. “But Dad—”
She held up her hand. “No, this is you and me. I’m not going to ask on his behalf. He has to do that.”
“I can’t work for him anymore.”
“I know. He told me you quit.” She picked up a cookie, studying it as if it were a science experiment, then took a bite, chewing it slowly. “That was a job Josh would have loved. From the time he was a toddler, he sat on your father’s lap, absorbing everything. He was destined to work with your father, not you, Lottie.” She put the cookie back on the plate and set down her mug. “Logan said some things to your father.” She clasped my hands between hers, her touch evoking memories from my childhood. Ones I had missed so much. “You were not responsible for his death. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. You didn’t fail, Lottie. The illness was too aggressive. On top of everything else I have to atone for, allowing you to think that I thought you were anything but brave and wonderful to try to help your brother is my biggest sin. That, I will never atone for.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Never.”
I watched the tear flow over her skin, quiver on her jaw, and drop to her knee. Her lips trembled, and I saw how she was struggling to hold in her emotions. I flipped over my hands and held hers tight.
“I want my child to know his or her grandmother,” I stated simply. “I would like to get to know my mother.”
“I want that as well.”
I held up one hand. “There are rules. I am going to live my life for me now. You have to accept my decisions.”
“Of course.”
“You need to let Dad and me work things out—or not.”
She pursed her lips but tilted her head in agreement.
“Logan asked me to marry him. I said yes. He is a huge part of my life now, and I demand he be given the respect he deserves as our child’s father and my husband. He might not be what you envisioned for me, but he is everything I wanted and then some. I consider myself the luckiest woman in the world.”
Mom was silent, then she bent closer, her voice low. “He is rather dreamy.”
I gaped at her, and a shout of laughter escaped my mouth. She lifted her shoulders. “I am your mother, Lott
ie, but I have eyes—and a pulse.” She began to laugh with me. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in years. It stirred memories, brought up the love I always carried for my mom, and lightened the intensity around us.
“I’m going to try very hard,” she assured me. “My therapist tells me she has every confidence I can do this.”
“Me too.”
Logan appeared, looking confused. “Everything all right?”
“Yes,” I assured him.
“More tea?”
My mom held up her mug. “I would love some. You make a lovely cup of tea, Logan.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Prescott.”
She waved her hand. “Please, call me Josephine.”
His grin was wide. “All right then, Josephine. I’ll get you that tea.”
I was still reeling hours after my mother left. We had talked more, her insisting Logan stay with us. She apologized to him, and he was gracious when he accepted her obviously sincere words. After she left, Logan had played some new music he was working on for me and sang. Nothing relaxed me as much as his voice. It was going to take a long time before my mom and I had what might be considered a normal relationship—if, in fact, we ever reached that place. But she was trying, and I wanted her in my life. Perhaps we could be friends since the whole mother/daughter thing seemed too unattainable. Too much time and pain had passed for me to imagine that ever happening. But I was determined something positive would come from all of this. Logan had listened to me talk after she left, agreeing with me that we had to go slow and find our way. He carefully reminded me that she was my mother, and given that he had lost his own father, giving her a chance seemed to be the right thing to do.
“She reached out to you,” he reminded me.
“Because of the baby.” I absently rubbed my stomach.
He lifted his shoulders. “All the better. If our child can heal that sort of rift, then I’d say we’re on the right track.” He winked and kissed me. “Our kid is magic.”
I smiled as I thought about his words. Logan saw things in a unique way, but he was right. I studied him, sitting across from me. He was busy jotting a few notes when I spoke up. “My mom thinks you’re ‘dreamy.’”
He chuckled, not looking up. “Does she now?”
“Uh-huh.”
He set aside his guitar and leaned forward, crossing his arms over his knees. “And what does her daughter think?”
“Oh—double dreamy.”
He ran a finger over his mouth, his gaze darkening. “I see. Nice to know. Anything else?”
I pretended to think. “Sweet and wonderful.”
He eased back, extending his arms across the back of the sofa. His chest was bare, the light playing off his muscles, highlighting his form. His nipple ring glinted in the light. He was relaxed and teasing, his gaze filled with adoration—and longing.
“Oh,” I added, suddenly breathless. “Sexy too.”
He met my eyes, the golden, rich whiskey of his boring into mine. I felt my body react to him. I felt so much better today. Lighter, easier. I knew he’d spoken to the doctor more in depth about sex. It had amused me watching the tips of his ears go red as he tried to be nonchalant in his queries. This bold, confident man embarrassed about wanting to have sex with me and worried about hurting me at the same time. It only made me love him more.
“Lottie,” he murmured. “You need to rest.”
“Logan,” I replied. “I need you more.” I batted my eyelashes. “I can rest after.”
His eyes began to darken even more. “No more sofa antics.”
I could work with that—at least the sofa antics that involved anal sex. For now. But I wanted him.
“Our bed is pretty comfy.” I pulled on the loose neck of the T-shirt I was wearing.
That did it. He stood and scooped me into his arms, carrying me down the hall. “Our bed. You had to say that, didn’t you?”
I gripped his shoulders and kissed his neck, breathing him in. “Worked, didn’t it?”
He settled me on the mattress, hovering over me.
“Yeah, baby, it worked. Now, lose the shirt.”
I lasted three days before I was bored out of my mind. Logan was busy, yet stayed close, checking in on me often if he was out. I slept the entire first day, and by the afternoon of the second day, I felt perfectly fine—my energy level high, my mind clear, and the constant disconnect I had been experiencing gone. I felt like Lottie—but better. The last time I had felt this good was when I was off for a week of holidays with Brianna three years ago. It boggled my mind that was the last time I had taken time off. Before that, it was the few days I needed to make the wedding cake. Otherwise, I was at the office every day.
Logan left that morning after a long, lingering kiss. His fear had dissipated quickly, and the last couple of days he had been the usual dirty-talking, sexy man I had fallen for. He was intense, yet gentle—walking the fine line between the two perfectly. I was looking forward to the next nine months if that was the way he approached my pregnancy.
I stared out the window, looking at the sun glistening off the snow. I had been restless all morning, unable to settle. I was so used to being busy, productive. The truth was, there was nothing stopping me from doing so. I was healthy and the baby fine. What had occurred had been due to the enormous stress and pressure I was feeling. I blew out a long breath, knowing why I was restless. I had unfinished business to handle. I needed to talk to my father. And I needed to do it in order to move forward.
I dressed simply in warm slacks and a pretty sweater. I called Logan to tell him I was going out. He was silent for a moment.
“I don’t suppose you’d wait and let me go with you to see him?”
“How did you know I was going to see my father?”
“Because I know you.”
“I have to do this, Logan. And I need to do it on my own.”
“Promise me if he upsets you, you’ll leave.”
“I promise.”
“Don’t let him guilt you into going back.”
I laughed. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed. I am going to talk to him, get a few things I want from my office, and I’m done. I’ll be home when you get here.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Those simple words made my heart soar. “I love you.”
“Ah, Lottie. You have no idea how much I love you back.”
I hung up, his words bolstering me. I called Lorie, who assured me my father was there and she would make sure I got in.
I pulled on my coat and mitts and headed out. It felt familiar, the walk and the subway ride, but this time, it was different. There was no pit of fear in my stomach, no worry or tension running down my spine. I was nervous about seeing my dad, but it was a personal kind of anxious. I didn’t have to deal with clients or numbers. Present facts and figures to people and convince them to invest. Worry and fret about the details. Today would be the last day I walked through the doors of Prescott Inc. as an employee. I wondered as I headed toward the building if I would ever come back. Would I ever walk in as Charles Prescott’s daughter for a visit? Bring my child to see his or her grandfather? Watch him bounce them on his knee the way he did me as a child?
I had to stop and wipe away a tear. There was only one way to find out. I squared my shoulders and walked into the building.
It felt odd to be back—as if it had been years, not a matter of days, since I had walked the halls. I went straight to my father’s office. Lorie took me into his private area, assuring me he was almost done with his meeting in the boardroom and would be right in.
“I miss you around here,” she whispered. “You’re not coming back?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “Don’t be. I’m happy. Relieved, if I’m being honest. Maybe we can do lunch sometime.”
“Oh, I’d love that.”
We exchanged numbers, and I sat and waited for a few moments, my nerves suddenly tight. I felt my anxiety c
reeping in, and I wondered if perhaps I should have waited for Logan. He would have held my hand and whispered silly things to distract me. Made rude comments about my father’s swanky office. Lewd promises about what he’d do to me once we got home.
I concentrated on my breathing the way they taught me at the hospital, and I felt myself calm. My phone buzzed, and I peeked at the screen, smiling at the simple words that made me feel better instantly.
You got this, Snow Queen.
My father walked in, his footsteps measured and unhurried. I stood and turned, surprised to see him looking very un-Charles-Prescott-like. To the rest of the world, he probably looked normal, but I saw the pallor under his skin. The weary pull around his eyes. His tie was slightly askew.
He cleared his throat. “Charlotte.”
“Charles.”
He rounded his desk, sitting down heavily. “I was surprised when Lorie said you were coming in.”
“I wanted to close this chapter before I moved on.”
His gaze drifted over my shoulder. “So, you really aren’t returning?”
I shook my head. “I think it’s for the best, for both of us.”
He ran a hand through his hair, leaving a small tuft sticking up. It seemed so out of place with the rest of his neat, orderly persona, and I had to ask.
“Dad, are you all right?”
He looked startled when I used the word dad. He stood and rounded the desk, sitting across from me in the other visitor’s chair. He clasped his hands in front of him, hunching forward.
“My daughter had to be rushed to the hospital because of me. I hit a young man I barely know. I find out my daughter is pregnant and leaving the company.” He drew in a shaky breath. “The worst part is the young man I hit told me some very hard truths about my life. About what I’ve done. Or, to be more accurate, what I haven’t done.”
Tentatively, he reached over and took my hand. I stared down, recalling how it had felt when he’d held my hand as a child. I’d always felt safe. Loved. Strangely, there were still echoes of that feeling in my heart now.
Heart Strings Page 23
