He moves closer, sensing my mood, no doubt, the way he always had.
“I won’t lie either. As mad as hell as I am about how we parted, I never stopped feeling… this way about you.” He reaches a hand out and caresses my cheek, pushes shaky fingers through my hair. “It’s messed up. And I’m not sure what to do, where we go from here, June.”
I smile, allowing myself to feel him, to let the warmth of him surge through me, shake me the way I hadn’t been shaken in years. Not since the last time we were together. Poor Dave, even though I’d married him in a massive rebound move and did my best to love him, he’d never elicited even a tiny tremor, let alone this violent all-consuming fire in me that I have for Logan; That I would always have for Logan.
“So, you did send the letter?”
“Yes. I…” have no idea what to say, embarrassed at my cryptic way of contacting him.
“You’re living in the house with your parents?”
“Yes.” I take a deep breath now, resignation removing the barrier of humiliation, though not the fear of revealing my story because I have no choice. Though I feel like everything that means anything to me in my life is at stake—namely Nicky—I know, I can feel deep down in my soul as I look at Logan that he won’t hurt her, won’t let her suffer for my mistake. He’s too decent.
“My husband passed away last year, and Nicky and I moved back—we’d been living in New York City, and that’s no place to raise a child.”
He nods, stays quiet like he’s waiting for the punch line, waiting for the explanation of why I sent him the letter. He’s so still, I’m startled to think maybe he knows. But that can’t be. That’s wishful thinking, my mind trying to absolve me of being the bearer of the shocking news.
“Nicky is your son,” he says finally, not waiting for me to go on because I can’t get past the knot of emotions in my throat and the crazy thundering of my heart in my chest. But his words slice through the muck, which I acknowledge is mainly made up of guilt.
“No,” I say. “Nicky is my daughter.” Smiling at the rise of his brows, I’m pleased with the impressed grin on his face. Then my words tumble out like milk duds from a box, ordinary and shameless.
“She’s your daughter too.”