Page 84 of Total Abandon

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I felt we had made progress here, Chloe.” She rolls her lips together, sliding her ballpoint pen neatly onto the front of her leather-bound notebook.

It’s my tenth and final therapy session and after this, I am free and clear to get on with my life. However that might look. It’s been a day since the showdown with Zeke and I’ve heard nothing from him. A small part of me feels disappointed, but mostly I am grateful he is respecting my wishes. I’m still furious and I need space to unpick the mess that is my life. To figure out where we go from here. The tattered edges of my heart give a small tug, like they always do when I think of him.

“It’s been a pleasure, doc,” I say flatly, rising to stand. To her credit, the woman lets out a small chuckle and offers her hand. I shake it quickly before I head to the door.

The slide of the thick wood over deep beige carpet falls over the hushed waiting room and severe-Barbie receptionist glances my way. I offer her a sarcastic salute as I pass her desk. She frowns at me like I’ve lost my mind, which is nothing new. Just before I pass, I flick my elbow out to the side, right into a large crystal vase of white peonies. “Gosh, I’m so sorry!” I gasp as the vase tumbles back onto the desk with a thunderous clatter.

It’s thick enough not to smash, but water rushes across the polished surface, right into the uptight woman’s lap. She shrieks, rolling her chair back and standing. A large, dark stain spreads across her tailored taupe skirt.

“My apologies, please do send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sure you have my details.” I offer her a small triumphant smile and head for the elevator.

When I reach the ground floor, I suck in a deep breath of air, casting my eyes up to the towering high-rises. My hand falls to my flat stomach. Through the pain and anger of the last twenty-four hours, I can feel something else brewing. A deep, visceral excitement at the new life growing in my belly. Half me, half him.

“Chloe!” a deep voice calls across the bustle of the street as my foot hits the sidewalk, and I jerk my head that way. Logan Guerra steps out of a dark SUV, jogging quickly over to me.

“Logan, what are you doing here?” I blink, my brows knitting together.

“I need you to come with me.” His deep voice is tight and he presses a palm gently between my shoulder blades to urge me to move.

“I asked Zeke for space,” I say bluntly, sidestepping his hand.

“And he’s giving it to you, he doesn’t even know I’m here,” he growls back, his jaw clamping shut in the exact same way Zeke’s does.

“Then why—”

“Do you love my brother?” he cuts across me, his brown eyes reflecting the lazy late afternoon sun.

“Yes,” I reply slowly, not understanding where this is going.

“Then trust me when I say, if you don’t come with me right now, you’ll forever regret it.” Panic flashes through my belly and the leather straps of my purse slung over my shoulder creak softly as my fingers tighten around them. This time, I don’t protest when he again guides me forward. He opens the passenger door and I climb in, swiveling to face him as he rounds the bumper in two long strides and slides into the driver's seat.

“What’s going on?”

“We need to talk and drive. We don’t have much time,” Logan explains as he clips his seat belt in and pulls out into traffic.

“Okay, start talking, baby Guerra. You’re worrying me.” I nibble on my lip as a cabbie honks at us for pushing in.

“Baby Guerra? Actually, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter,” he says tensely, his fingers tapping the wheel impatiently as we slow to a crawl. We’re hitting rush hour and it’s going to take an age to get anywhere. “What did Zeke tell you about our mother?” he asks, shifting in his seat.

I blink at the unexpected topic, folding my hands over my purse in my lap. “That she was murdered in Columbia when he was fourteen and it was a cartel killing. That’s it.”

He nods, his eyes scanning the sidewalks as people scurry toward whatever destination they are headed to. “Zeke was with her when she was killed. He saw the whole thing. He was hurt too, that’s how he got the scar.” Logan taps his upper lip and sighs, leaning his head back on the headrest.

I suck in a sharp breath, raising my hand to my mouth. A vision swims into my mind of a dark-haired teenage boy covered in blood, holding the body of his mother on the street. This must be why he’s in therapy.

“What no one knows is that my father was a part of the cartel until my family moved to the states. He got out before we were born, but apparently, he rubbed the wrong person the wrong way, and they decided killing our mother was the best revenge.”

A weighted silence falls over the car like a blanket. “I’m so sorry, Logan. That’s awful,” I breathe, dropping my hand back to my lap.

He grunts noncommittally, flicking his indicator on and taking a left turn at the lights. “He wasn’t a good husband, or a particularly good father. We grew up around a lot of violence. My mother got the brunt of it, but we got a few good licks in until we were large enough that he thought twice.”

Ice tears at my heart as I take this in. “He never let on.”

Logan lets out a dark chuckle. “There are signs if you know what to look for. I’m half convinced that’s why he doesn’t let anyonein. Did you know he can’t stand the color red? Reminds him too much of the blood.”

My eyes fall to my nails in my lap, a bright scarlet ruby. I feel my face crumple into a frown. “But a wall in his bedroom is painted red.”

Logan’s eyes widen and jerk to mine, and then he lets out a disbelieving snort. “Well, that’s certainly a new addition.”