“Home sweet home,” she sighs. She walks in, but I stay planted on the front stoop. “Logan?” She’s looking at me, the bruising that’s darkening her face making her look even more vulnerable and tired. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “Uh…I can,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s okay. You’ve given up your whole day for us. I don’t want to keep you.” She walks into the kitchen and grabs a pad of paper and pen from a basket and then comes back to the front door. “Can I get your contact information? I’d really like to be able to get in touch once I find my phone.”

  Shit, her phone.

  “Let me help you find it,” I say, stepping inside. “It’s not safe to leave you like this without any way to call if you need something.”

  I stand there just inside the doorway, and it’s as if by walking into her house, invited and wanted even for just a little bit, I’d be taking a major step forward into my future.

  “Would you mind?” She drops her arms to her sides, looking exhausted. “If I have to crawl around on my hands and knees to find it…”

  And just like that, I step inside.

  “Logan, can I offer you water or tea or something? I’ve got sweet tea made.”

  “Some sweet tea would be great.” I look up at the stairs and spot that loose bit of carpeting. I trace the path a phone could have gone if she dropped it from the top of the stairs.

  If the phone hit the tile and skidded, it’s got to be some place. I crawl around on my hands and knees, reaching under furniture and find it almost immediately.

  “Got it.” I pull the device out from under a small bookshelf. It was far enough back there that Mia’s little arms would never have reached it even if she did know it was under there. “Screen’s not even cracked.”

  “Well, at least the day isn’t complete shit.” Bridget takes the device from me and hands me a tall glass filled with ice and a light-colored tea drink. “Thank you so much,” she says. She stifles a yawn. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you. For all of this.”

  “Thanks for the tea,” I say. “Now, just a couple things before I get going.” I point at the stairs. “You mind if I take a look at that carpet?”

  She shakes her head, and I go up just as Mia runs up the stairs. She meets me at the top, Gavin still in her hands.

  “Whatcha doing?” she asks, dropping onto the top step and sitting down. She watches as I sit on the stair with the loose carpet.

  “See here?” I ask, pointing to the carpet. “I’m going to take a look at what’s underneath here. If you have nice floors, I might be able to get rid of this old carpeting for you completely.” I meet Mia’s eyes and give her a look. “No more tripping.” I tug at the loose piece, moving it carefully so I can see how it was applied and what condition the floor is underneath. “Oh yeah. We’re in luck. The carpet is covering up a really nice floor.” I’m saying it loudly and looking down at Bridget now. “When your mom’s feeling better, maybe I’ll pull up this carpeting and clean up these floors. In the meantime, I don’t have tools or anything with me to repair this.” I look at Bridget. “Can you sleep down here for a night or two? I can get back tomorrow with tools.”

  The look on her face is unreadable at first, but then she starts to sputter. “Logan, I can’t let you do that.”

  I nod and hand Mia the still-damp towel that’s been sitting on the carpet since Birdie’s fall this morning. “Honey, can you put this some place for your mom?”

  She grabs the towel from my hands and dashes off.

  “You’ve raised a smart kid.”

  Birdie’s response is proud but tinged with sadness. “She’s had to be.”

  Mia returns from wherever she took that towel and sits back on the top step. “So, now what?” she asks.

  “Honey, now nothing. We need to let Logan go home. He’s given up his whole day taking care of us.”

  I head back down the stairs, stopping beside Birdie in the foyer. “Just watch the loose spot,” I say. “Consider putting up a handrail on the wall.”

  Mia follows me down and cocks her head at her mom. “Why can’t he fix it, Mama? He said the floor is good.”

  “Honey, it’s…it’s complicated.”

  Bridget stands beside me at the bottom of the stairs, and for the first time, I stare directly into her eyes. They’re a cloudy gray, like the sky during the most perfect rain. She draws her lower lip between her teeth and exhales deeply through her nose.

  “Anything else I can do before I head out?”

  I check the time on my phone. It’s almost six. If I head out now, I’ll make it back to the compound before dark. I’m starving, so I won’t have the energy to run, which means I’ll be walking.

  “Would you at least stay for dinner?” Bridget’s face looks as tired as I feel. “Pizza? I’m not much of a cook.”

  I bite back a grin, thinking about the sweet tea, and I nod. “Pizza would be great.”

  Mia starts to clap as she plops down on the couch and turns on the TV. “Mama, am I going to school tomorrow?”

  “Honey, I don’t…I don’t know. Let’s just have some dinner, and we’ll figure everything out.”

  She punches a number on her phone and asks me what I like on my pizza.

  “Your call,” I say. “Unless you like weird shit.” I flick a look at Mia.

  “What qualifies as weird?” Bridget asks.

  “Pineapple,” I say. “Anything else…” I put my fingers to my lips and make a kissing sound. “Delish.”

  Her smile eases a little of the pain in her face, and she places the order. Mia is sitting on the couch, absorbed in some cartoon and cuddling Gavin. Kids are so resilient. So strong. After a long and exhausting day, Mia seems totally fine. She just let the day go. It’s Bridget and I who both look like we’re carrying suitcases full of bricks up a steep hill.

  “Can I see your phone?” I ask.

  She hands over the device, and I enter my contact info. “Now you know how to reach me,” I say.

  She looks at my name and smiles. “Logan Taylor. That’s such a pretty name for such a…” She stops herself.

  I chuckle. “It’s all right.” I scrub a hand over my face. “You can tell me I’m not pretty.”

  She laughs and motions for me to join her in the kitchen. “It’s not that,” she says.

  I follow her into the small, open kitchen. If we talk quietly, Mia might not be able to hear us, but I like that the floor plan allows an unobstructed view of the rest of the downstairs.

  “Logan,” she says, dropping into a chair. She motions for me to sit. “I have to be honest with you.” She rests her face in her hands. “I’m…I’m at a loss for how to repay you. Pizza doesn’t begin to cut it. You spent an entire workday taking care of my kid… I would love nothing more than to hire you to fix my stairs. If I had the extra funds, I would have fixed them already.” She laces her fingers together and stares down at her hands. “Mia’s dad isn’t in the picture, never has been, so there’s no support there, if you know what I mean. He sees her, and they have more of a fun-uncle-type relationship, which is better than nothing. I try not to say anything bad about him in front of his daughter, but we’re on our own. This was my mom’s house, so I’m fortunate to have a roof over my head. There’s just not a lot left over for extra. Like home maintenance. And doctor visits.”

  I watch her face as she talks, and it’s not just the long years of loneliness and defeat that draw me in. Bridget is stunning. Her face is so expressive, her eyes so honest when she looks at me. Right now, she’s staring into her hands as if admitting she’s committed a crime. She’s way too hard on herself. Handling what she has all these years is nothing to be ashamed of. She should be proud. Damn proud.

  “My mom passed a while back, and the stress of managing everything all alone…” She looks up at me then, those gray eyes pooling tears like raindrops. “And of course, these headaches… That’s just been the straw that’s breaking this camel’s back.” She bites her lower lip to stop it from trembling and meets my eyes, a gentle lift to her chin.

  “But I promise,” she continues, “I’ll repay you for this kindness, the gas money, and the food you bought Mia at the hospital. I don’t like to be in debt.”

  In spite of myself, I reach out to her and grab her hand. It’s a fast, reassuring gesture. Just my hand on hers for a second before I pull away. Her eyes flash with something—not anger, not fear, but I’m not sure exactly what it is.

  “I did what I did without expecting anything in return,” I say. “I know a thing or two about repaying debts. And I’m not here to make the hole you’ve been in feel any deeper.” I pace the kitchen, putting some distance between those rain-cloud eyes and myself. “I’d like to fix the carpet for you. It could help me out, actually. I’d like to do more home remodeling work, and if I do a good job, I can use you as a reference.”

  I don’t know where that’s coming from, but all of a sudden, it feels like a good idea. A way to ease my dependence on Leo and Tim and the shop that really doesn’t have enough work for me anyway. It’ll be impossible to get started as a contractor on my own without tools, materials, and insurance, but maybe somebody will hire me on if I can prove I’ve got the skills. And having work of my own will give me a real excuse to get Arrow off my back. The pressure to work with him on shit I don’t want will ease up if I’m getting other jobs.

  “Really?” she asks. “You’d do that? I mean, of course I’d be happy to give you a reference. I just feel weird letting you work for free.”

  “I only want a reference after I’ve done the work,” I say sternly. “And only if you’re happy with the outcome. I’m not asking for any favors.”

  “You’re doing me the favor.” She smiles. “We’re two sides of the same broken record, Logan.”

  There’s a knock at the door, and she starts to stand, but I motion for her to stay. “Let me.”

  I check the peephole and see it’s the pizza guy, so I yank open the door. I’ve got twenty dollars in my armband, what’s left after buying Mia breakfast and putting a few bucks of gas in the tank, so I take the pizza and hand the kid the cash. “Sorry. It’s all I’ve got on me today, man,” I say. I don’t really know what a good tip is anymore. This is the first time I’ve paid for a food delivery since I came back.

  The kid waves away my cash. “It’s okay, mister. You guys tipped on the app when you ordered. Thanks, though.”

  “You tipped on the app?” I close and lock the door and bring the pizza to Bridget in the kitchen.

  She nods. “I always do. It’s safer than keeping cash around the house.”

  When she says that, it hits me again that Bridget is a woman living all alone with a small kid. She’s got a mild concussion, and I’m supposed to go home and just leave her to fend for herself all night. I don’t like the feeling, yet I don’t belong here. It’s not my place to stay, and I think if Bridget knew about my past, she’d be hustling my ass out of here so fast, I’d be the one whose head was spinning.

  I eat a couple slices of pizza and choke it back with Bridget’s tea. Mia’s eating on the couch with Gavin while Bridget and I talk quietly about her job. She’s vague on the topic, not really wanting to talk about it, so I don’t press the issue. God only knows I don’t want to be pressed, and she hasn’t asked anything so far that I haven’t easily answered.

  She finishes off a slice of pepperoni and meets my eyes. “You should take my car,” she says quietly.

  “Sorry?”

  She wipes her mouth with a napkin, dark circles forming under her eyes. “I’m not going to work tomorrow, and I’m probably going to have to keep Mia home from school. I think we will spend a good part of the night on the couch watching TV. You shouldn’t have to walk or pay for a ride after everything you’ve been through today. Might as well take my car. You can bring it back when you come to fix the stairs.”

  “Tomorrow?” I ask. “You want me to come back tomorrow?”

  She meets my eyes. “If you can. I mean, if you can’t…”

  “Tomorrow,” I insist, saying it before she can backpedal. “I can do tomorrow.”

  After we eat, I help Bridget load the dishes in the dishwasher and head to the door. As I drive off in her car, I wave at Mia, who is using Gavin’s paw to wave goodbye to me. Bridget’s at the door, leaning against the jamb, just watching as I pull away.

  This is literally the best day I’ve had in years.

  When I get back to the compound, it’s after eight. Tiny’s in the kitchen, talking on the phone to his daughter Lia and drinking a beer. He raises a brow at me in greeting and continues his conversation. No questions about where I was all day. Just a brother greeting a brother. Trust. This is what family is to me now, and I give Tiny a good-natured punch on the shoulder as I grab a beer from the fridge and head back to my room.

  After I shower, I lie between my sheets and close my eyes, and for once, something other than emptiness lulls me to sleep. It’s a feeling that’s dangerously close to peace.

  7

  BRIDGET

  The next morning, I drag myself up the stairs, carefully lifting my feet over each step. I leave Mia sound asleep, tucked under an afghan hand-crocheted by my mom, on the couch. I’d set the alarm to go off early but ended up waking up before it even went off…again.

  I check my phone while the coffee brews, giddy when I see a text from my knight in the gray sweatpants.

  Logan: You awake? In pain?

  Me: Yes and yeah. I’m making myself some coffee and will take something to help. My eyebrow feels like I went a couple rounds in a boxing ring. The black eye I have really fits the look.

  Logan: Eat a few bites of food too. You don’t want the pain pills sitting in an empty stomach.

  Me: I’ll choke something down.

  Logan: Good. Be there in a bit.

  I kind of want to say that I’m looking forward to it, but that feels…inappropriate, maybe? Yeah, Logan is hot, kind, and funny, but he’s basically a stranger. For all I know, he could be a serial killer, a tax evader—or, like my dad, an asshole with a whole family on the side.

  I resist overthinking the whole thing. I turn on the shower, assessing every ache and pain one by one. Sore face, yes. My eyebrow throbs a bit. I’m dizzy, but nothing bad, and the stinging behind my eyes is fatigue, but nothing like yesterday. The aura and shimmering behind my eyes are gone. I may have a mild concussion, but none of the signs of an impending migraine are there.

  I check the water temperature and move slowly, putting a clean towel and my robe close to the bathtub so that once I climb in, all I have to do is stand under the water. I’ll be careful. I’m steady enough to shower and not fall.

  Once I’m in the shower, the impulse to scrub my hair and shave my legs overtakes me, but when I bend to grab the shaving gel, a nice throb in my eyebrow reminds me I’m only here to do essential cleaning. Nothing extra. Under the hot spray, I can’t help but close my eyes and replay the events of yesterday. No, that’s not entirely honest.

  I can’t help but think about Logan.

  I wonder who this mystery man really is. Why wasn’t he at work yesterday? Why he doesn’t have a wife or family—although, I suppose he could. It’s not as if we talked about anything real yesterday. There’s no reason I should be thinking this way about a total stranger, and yet, there’s no reason not to.

  He’s coming back this morning to look at the stairs, and no matter why I’m looking forward to it, I’m going to count my blessings and leave any expectations, worries, even hopes at the door. I’m keeping this simple. That’s all my life will allow.

  I step slowly and carefully out of the shower and see my phone light up with another text. I am feeling well enough to wrap the towel around my hair today, so I slide into my robe and check the message.

  Logan: I’m leaving my place now. ETA 15 mins. Need me to pick anything up on the way? I’m bringing all the tools I’ll need for the job.

  I wipe a trickle of water from my face and message him back.

  Me: No, thanks. I’ll make breakfast. But be warned, I’m a terrible cook.

  There’s no response as I’m getting dressed and brushing out my wet hair, until finally, as I’m brushing my teeth, I see his response.

  Logan: Breakfast would be great. Believe it or not, no matter how bad, I’m sure I’ve eaten worse.

  I have a hard time believing he’s eaten worse. My inability to assemble edible food was always a joke between my mother and me. She was a fantastic cook. She could look in the fridge, grab a carrot, leftover chicken, and some spices, and before I knew it, she’d whipped up something that had no name, no “recipe,” but somehow tasted delicious.

  If I threw the same things in a pan and just let my cooking muse guide me, someone would likely end up with food poisoning, or just plain go hungry. I’m thinking through what I have in the fridge and decide some frozen breakfast sandwiches are the way to go. I don’t want to get Logan sick while he’s here doing a good deed.

  With my hair still wet, I head downstairs, fully dressed and craving some coffee. I look over the checklist they gave me at the hospital and groan.

  As I pour my first cup of coffee, Mia wakes up and wanders into the kitchen. She looks super sleepy, but once she sees me moving around, she perks up.

  “Am I staying home from school again?” she asks.

  Ah shit. I need to call her out again. I didn’t manage to do that yesterday, and while I have a couple of missed calls on my phone, I haven’t taken the time to check my messages. First call goes to the school. Then I’ll deal with work.

  I’m just hanging up with the secretary at Mia’s school when there’s a knock at the door. Mia barrels down the stairs, Gavin in her hand.

  “Mia,” I call out. “Let Mama see first.”

  A smile spreads across my face as I peer through the peephole. When I confirm it’s Logan, I nod. “Go ahead,” I tell her.

  She opens the door, holding Gavin in front of her face. She talks in a funny voice that I assume she means to be Gavin.