He leaned over her shoulder, taking her free hand in his, squeezing just enough to let her know he was not letting go. He smoothed his thumb across her damp skin, wanting nothing more than to take her pain and make it his instead.
“Tell me it's gonna be okay,” she whispered, her voice broken and pleading. “Please, Logan.”
His heart shattered. He couldn't lie to her. Not about this. “I wish I could, Soph. I wish I could.”
Her hair flowed over their joined hands as she turned her head to look at him. She seemed so lost that he wanted to gather her up, but she needed to be here. “She's dying, isn't she?”
Eyes burning, Logan nodded once. “I'm sorry.”
Tears overflowed and poured down her face unchecked as she nodded once. “I know.”
Alarms shrieked, their high-pitched whistle-like beeps grating. Sophie whirled, staring at her mom for a moment in confusion. As if in a dream, Logan dragged her to her feet, nurses appearing seemingly from nowhere. “Clear the room!” they shouted.
He had to pick her up and carry her from the cubicle, so rooted to the spot had she become. “Sophie. Sophie, look at me.”
Her tortured eyes met his, making him want to cry. “Don't watch,” he ordered. “Just look at me.”
From the corner of his eye, Logan could see the nurses working hard, trying to bring Marie back. A long beep followed by a series of shorter stuttering ones indicated they were attempting to defibrillate. “Clear!” one nurse announced. The sound, when it came, was shocking loud, like a metal punch, and Sophie jerked, launching herself into his arms with her eyes screwed shut. Enough was enough – he pulled her farther from the doorway, murmuring nonsense all the while, drowning out the commotion and the ordered panic from the room.
He had no idea how long they'd been standing there when a doctor approached, his face serious and his hands clasped in front of his stomach. Logan wanted to tell him to turn around and walk away, but he stood mutely as the man opened his mouth and destroyed the girl in his arms.
“I'm so very sorry,” he began, his face showing that indeed he was sorry. “There was nothing we could do.”
Sophie crumpled to the floor, all the strength seeping from her in great heaving gulps of breath, expelled on soft, keening moans. Logan knew he had to do something. He sat on the floor behind her, a leg either side of her curled up body and pulled her into the V of his legs. He rocked her, for what felt like hours, as staff gave them a wide berth and tried to pretend like they weren't both falling apart in front of them. Privacy, they called it. Guilt, he renamed it. They felt guilty for not being able to save their parents – not that he blamed them, no – and couldn't face their grief.
After a while they were ushered into a nearby room, where they were left to themselves and each other for the remainder of the night. A little sign was hung on the door. He imagined it said something along the lines of 'grieving family, enter at your own risk'. Sophie looked up at him a few hours later, cried-out and shivering. She was a mess. He was a mess too, but he had to hold it together for her. She spoke for the first time since hearing her mother's last breaths. “You're all I've got left, Logan. You're the only family I have. Uncle Troy is stationed on the other side of the world. Aunt Maureen has her hands full with Lucy, and I hate Great Aunt Tess. You're it. You're all I have.”
He felt his heart constrict and shrivel in his chest. He was the only family she had left. He could never ask for more – not now. Not when she was falling apart at the seams and he was the only one holding her together. “I'll always be here for you, Soph,” he told her, smoothing her hair off her damp face. He placed a tender kiss on the tip of her red nose, and vowed to keep his feelings for her hidden no matter what. “I'll always be your family.”
She nodded, curling herself around him once more. He noticed that she'd been rubbing the penny he'd given her – no doubt wishing for her mom back, but that was one wish he couldn't grant her. All he could do was silently swear to be there, day or night, whenever she needed him.
Part Two
Chapter One
January 2013
Sophie
“Hey sexy lady,” Taylor called as she closed the door behind her, hanging her coat on the rack. Sometimes she hated coming home to her parents' old house and Taylor was the only thing that made it worthwhile.
“Hey honey.” She kissed him on the cheek and put her bag on the island before observing him put the salad together. “How was work, today?” Taylor had taken over his father's printing business, changing the name to Taylor Made Designs in the process. He earned a steady income and was always home before her, so dinner was his civic duty.
“Good,” he told her. “Are you still working late tomorrow? I have a meeting about that big contract I told you about. Things are coming together, baby. All we need to do is enjoy the ride.”
She hugged him lightly before snatching a piece of feta from the salad. “Yeah,” she sighed. “You know me, all work and no play.”
“I wouldn't say that.” He grabbed her around the waist, nibbling on the remaining piece of cheese between her finger and thumb. “I happen to know that you can let loose with the best of them. You just need to do it more often.”
She knew that. She knew he found it hard when they only spent a couple of hours together each day. She checked her watch – nine p.m. and she had only just arrived home after leaving at seven a.m. this morning. Maybe she'd try to get out of work early tomorrow, even though Taylor had said not to bother, that he knew she was busy and could totally handle the client by himself. She knew this dinner meeting was a big opportunity for Taylor, and her being home for it would be a nice show of solidarity and partnership. Since she was a partner in the business anyway – she'd had to sink some funds into Taylor Made Designs last year when it had run into financial difficulty – she was supposed to attend at least some of these meetings. And the thought of actually letting loose, like he suggested was very tempting. “Maybe I will.”
“How's Logan?” he asked, using the tongs to place salad on two plates beside a serving of lasagne.
Bless his heart, he knew she spoke to Logan every Tuesday to catch up on things, and to basically keep in touch. “He's good,” she replied. If it hadn't been for Logan when their parents were killed seven years ago – on her eighteenth birthday, of all dates – she would have collapsed into a useless pile of nothingness. He'd been the only one who'd been able to get through to her – even Taylor had had to make middle of the night calls for him to come over and see her through another panic attack.
He'd been busy working two part-time jobs to put himself through uni – refusing to touch his inheritance, saying he'd rather save it for a rainy day – but he'd never so much as batted and eye when Taylor called him, telling him he'd gotten another panicked call from her in tears. Taylor had spent weekends with her for months, freeing Logan to spend time on his studies, but during the week, he'd had to stay in his own home. It just made sense with Taylor's own mother feeling unwell – she'd had cancer, and though she fought it bravely, it had ultimately claimed her life a couple of years later.
Logan had spent many nights rocking her and mopping up her tears, curling up on their parents huge bed and just holding her. He would whisper to her of a better time, when things weren't so raw, and life would have meaning again. She had even believed it when it came from him. She owed him a debt of gratitude she couldn't ever repay. Even now, sometimes in the middle of the night, she would text him to say she was feeling low, and though he'd moved to his father's old beach house miles away, he would call her and whisper of how things are never as bad as they seemed.
Taylor didn't know about those phone calls – he slept like the dead, these days – and for some reason she'd just never told him about them, holding them to herself like a precious secret. It was silly, but she thought of those calls as sacred. A time when she could say anything down the line and know Logan wouldn't judge her for it.
In return, she listene
d to his tales of debauchery and his woman woes. The latest – the one he'd told her about today – was called Emily. Emily's elevator didn't go all the way to the top floor, but she was a hell of a lay, to hear Logan tell it. She'd ambushed him last night from the large hedge beside his house, and proceeded to tie him up before rooting through his pockets for his keys and dragging him inside for some kinky sex.
It all sounded very exciting, and she ignored the pang of envy when she thought of her own vanilla love-life with the ever dependable Taylor. Far from suffering boring bed-times, Logan had decided he'd had enough, apparently. He let her down gently – after the sex, of course – and she pitched a fit worth paying money to see before smashing the windscreen on his car in her fury. She'd left him with explicit instructions to never call her, never speak to her, never even look at her again. He was only too happy to oblige.
“So what's new in Loganville?” Taylor grabbed the plates and gestured for her to take a seat at the table.
She slid into her chair and immediately tucked in to the meal, groaning as the first bite exploded in her mouth with rich flavors and textures. God, she was starved. “It's not called Loganville,” she laughed.
Taylor shrugged, shoveling food into his own mouth and swallowing before replying. “Somersville, whatever. What's new?”
Somehow, it seemed like a betrayal to tell Taylor about Logan's sex life. So instead she shrugged in return, and said, “oh you know, same ole, same ole.”
“I swear,” he laughed. “I can always tell when you've had a conversation with Logan. You pick up his speech patterns.”
“I do?” The revelation shocked her. She hadn't thought she'd picked up anyone's habits but her own. Even the memory of her dreaded first hangover wasn't enough to keep her from a nice alcoholic beverage these days. Lord knew, she needed one most days. Tonight, she sipped a glass of Merlot that Taylor had gotten as a gift from his father last Christmas. It was full-bodied and dry – just the way she enjoyed it.
“You do,” he confirmed. “And it lasts for days.”
~
Logan
His phone buzzed on the nightstand as he cracked an eye. Three a.m. He should have known she'd call tonight. The anniversary was next month and she always got a little crazy around now. With a soft groan, he sat up in the bed and reached for the offending article, which was lit up like a Christmas tree. “Hey,” he croaked.
“I'm sorry. I just...I had to call, you know?”
“I know.”
For a few heartbeats they were both silent, lost in their own thoughts, and then Sophie sniffled into the mouthpiece. “I miss her so much.”
“Shh, now. Soph, it's okay. I promise everything will be okay. You believe me, don't you?” He hoped like hell that she did believe him – there was no way he could keep it together if she lost her shit. Sometimes he felt like he was only strong because she needed him to be. Though he hadn't been close with his father, he'd still loved the man in his own way, and his pain – though silent – was always lurking around the edges of his mind.
“I believe you,” she whispered, sniffing again. “Thanks for picking up.”
“Where's the Champagne Chimp?”
Sophie laughed, her voice like gravel when she told him Taylor was asleep. Damn guy was always asleep when she needed someone to talk to. Or, he wondered, did she always need someone to talk to when Taylor was asleep? He shook his head – too late, or early maybe, for these kinds of deep thoughts. “Why do you never wake his ass up?” he joked. After all, he was pretty sure Taylor knew what she was going through. The dude had lost his own mom a couple years later.
“I don't know,” she replied, sounding genuinely confused. “I just... I feel like you get me, you know? You understand me on a level no one else ever has. And besides,” she laughed to shatter the tension of that last statement. “You're my brother, it's your job.”
“True story,” he sighed. “I'm the one you call when you can't think who else to call, right?” He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. Three oh five. He'd been in bed exactly an hour, had only just sunk into dreams when the buzzing of his phone had woken him.
“It's not like that, Logan. You're the only one I think of, you know that.” He closed his eyes, imagining she meant far more than she'd said.
“I know, Soph. I don't mind, really. I just wish you'd talk to him. Bottling all of this up is not healthy, you know that right?”
She sighed, the sound crackling in his ear. The room was dark and soft as he lay back down, the edges of everything disappearing in the gloom. “I know. But, I'm greedy with my grief. You know that.”
Their conversations always went thus. He would tell her what she knew, and she would tell him what he knew, and neither of them would address the obvious. Why, after so many years, she still called him in the middle of the night, when her boyfriend couldn't overhear. “I've decided to come visit for your birthday.”
“You have?” She didn't sound excited, and he tried to take it in the spirit it was given. She wasn't looking forward to her birthday, at all. She never did. Celebrating birthdays was not on her agenda, as it meant she'd always be celebrating the death of her mother.
“I have. I thought we could hit the track, you know? Gamble away some of that inheritance I refuse to spend. And then maybe stay in a five star hotel and order everything on the room service menu, followed by a trip to the zoo where we'll try to outbid each other on a tiger that's not even for sale.”
She laughed, and his mood lightened. When there was laughter to chase away the sadness, he'd done his job. “Sounds fun.”
“Excellent. Now, tell me what you're wearing.”
She snorted – very ladylike, indeed – and then sniggered. “You always ask me, and I always tell you...”
“Chanel,” they both said at the same time.
When there was silence for a moment, he listened to her breathing – it was long and deep and he began to wonder if she'd drifted off. “You there?” he asked in a whisper.
“Yes,” she whispered back. Her voice was calm. The rising panic had obviously receded.
“You should go to sleep,” he told her, yawning so widely his jaw cracked.
“And I should let you go back to sleep. I'm sorry for waking you. Again.” The phone crackled again as she sighed.
“Soph, you know you can wake me any night you want. All you have to do is dial and I'm here for you.” It sucked living so far away, but the house had gone to rot the entire time he'd been in college. When he'd come down to sell the place, he found that it was like obliterating his father from his life, and in the end he'd decided to stay. His work was here. His home was here. He had good memories here. But Sophie was there, and she needed him. He decided he really would take the time to visit her this year – it had been two years since he'd laid eyes on her.
“Thanks, Logan. I needed to hear that tonight. G'night.”
“G'night, Sophie.” He waited until the line went dead and then turned over, his mind filled with thoughts of her. Sophie upset and the only one, even after all this time, who got through to her was him. Sophie smiling now as she replaced the headset on her land-line. Sophie climbing the stairs to get into bed and sleep lighter. Sophie climbing into bed... with the Champagne Chimp. He grunted, pulling the covers around him roughly.
~
Sophie
She replaced the handset, a smile playing about her lips. She could picture Logan rolling over, tucking his sheets back around himself and snoring deeply. He might not even remember their conversation in the morning clearly. Sometimes he denied all knowledge of their late-night-calls. She thought perhaps he was lying to her, but then she remembered the times she'd made actual plans with him while he was half asleep, only to be stood up. She would ring him, spitting fire and spewing acid, and he would innocently claim to have no idea what she was talking about. Surely he'd have remembered making plans with her, right? Wrong.
She wondered if he were serious about coming down for
her birthday or if it were more sleep induced oddness. Now she knew exactly where the phrase 'pillow talk' came from. Switching off the lamp, she made her way upstairs, brushing aside Taylor's wandering hands as he curled up behind her. On nights like tonight, when she had to call Logan like some damsel in distress, Taylor's touch seemed anathema to her.
He grunted and rolled over, facing away from her, still deeply sleeping, small snorts erupting at the end of each exhale. She grimaced. Sleep was still a long way off, and all she had were the musical notes of Taylor's snoring to keep her company? Hell to the no. She flung back the covers, startling Taylor as she did so. She clenched her jaw on a laugh when he jumped as though he'd been electrified, and immediately settled back into sleep.
On nights like tonight, there was only one cure for insomnia – hot cocoa. She made her way to the kitchen, surprised to hear her phone buzz in her bag. She reached into it and pulled out her cell, smiling as the screen lit up with Logan's name front and center. The text was short but sweet.
Can't sleep. U still up?
Yep. Can't sleep either. Were u hoping 2 wake me?
Turn about is fair play...
She laughed, spooning cocoa into a large mug and setting the kettle to boil. She would make it with half milk and half water, she decided, in order to drink it faster.
U want an apology?
God forbid.
Haha, smartass. What u want?
I want 2 hear about ur bday plans.
Birthday plans. She didn't have any, and he knew it. Her birthday was not her birthday anymore. It was the anniversary of the night her mom had been crushed to death in her own car, and Harry along with her. The other driver had gotten off light, claiming her mom had been speeding and he didn't have time to react. Sophie knew her mom, and she knew for a fact that she never drove too fast. Turns out the seat belt doesn't always save your life. Her phone buzzed again.
Stepbrother, Mine Page 7
