The One That Got Away (13 page)

Evie hated hearing the tight anger in Logan’s voice. She hated
even more that he was right.

‘I can be in London next weekend,’ she offered in a smaller
voice than she would have liked. ‘Get in on the Friday, leave on the Tuesday,
maybe. Would that suit?’

‘Yes.’ He waited a beat. ‘I promised you Dubai.’

‘I don’t want Dubai.’ Evie was pretty sure this wasn’t what Kit
meant when he suggested she take a little more control of her relationship with
Logan. ‘I want you.’

‘Evie.’ She could hear the breath he took. The way it shook. ‘I
know I’m no good at relationships. Building them. Maintaining them. I don’t even
know the way. I try not to take too much. It’s important to me that I don’t try
to manipulate you. Go all needy on you. It’s essential to me that you have
enough room to breathe.’

‘Logan, you’re not your father.’ A bold statement on Evie’s
part, because they
never
talked about his father.
Not since that first time.

But her comment only got her a whole lot of silence in reply.
‘Logan?’

‘I can be like him though,’ he said finally.

‘When? When have you
ever
been like
him?’

‘In my head. Sometimes the things I want from you...’

‘What things?’ she asked quietly, and when he didn’t answer
immediately, ‘Logan, what things?’

‘Your attention.’ His voice had gone rough. ‘I crave it. More
of it. Your eyes on me. Your hands on me. When you smile for me. All of it.’

‘That’s not so bad,’ she whispered as desire pooled deep in her
belly. ‘Can’t you see I’ve just asked the same of you? We’ve both been holding
back. It’s okay to want more. We can do more without tipping over into obsession
and we’ll both feel more content. You’ll see.’

‘Want you to myself sometimes,’ he said next. ‘Want everything
and everyone else to get the hell out of my way.’

‘That can be arranged, sometimes,’ she murmured. ‘It’s not
unusual for lovers to want privacy. Balance, Logan. We just have to find the
right balance.’

‘Sometimes I can’t find it,’ he murmured.

‘We can deal with it.’

‘Your body, for example. It’s mine.’

‘Yes.’ No argument with him there. ‘It is.’

TEN

Evie made what they were doing sound so easy. She made
it sound like the normal give and take that occurred within a relationship. Her
needs and his; explored and explained away. Some needs indulged; no
recriminations and no dismay. He’d put her front and centre of a corporate
negotiation team any day, fully confident that she would return with the deal
she wanted and a couple of souls besides.

Lord knew she had her fingers well and truly wrapped around
his.

Seven-thirty on a chilly winter’s night and Logan stood waiting
by the arrival doors for the passengers from Sydney-Singapore to trickle
through.

‘I could get used to first-class travel,’ Evie had texted him
from Singapore, and if Logan had his way she would. Evie had paid for her own
airfare; she’d insisted. And then Logan had had her bumped up to first. She
needed to indulge him in this, he’d told her simply. This was normal give and
take.

No denying that Logan was nervous when Evie finally reached
him, trailing luggage-on-wheels behind her. Easy enough to take her in his arms
and hold her close and smile as his lips brushed her hair. Smile some more when
her lips met his, warm and full of promise.

‘Good trip?’ he asked her as they headed for his car.

‘I slept,’ she said with an air of deep satisfaction. ‘On the
plane—on this lay-back seat-bed chair thingy. First time for everything.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ She had a smile that could light up his
world. A skip in her stride that spoke of enjoyment and anticipation. ‘And glad
you could make it.’

Evie sobered a little at this. ‘Me too,’ she said quietly.

The drive back to Logan’s penthouse apartment at Imperial Wharf
took time. Friday night, couldn’t be helped, but they got there eventually and
the porter let them in and bade them good evening and Evie nodded in some
bemusement.

‘You have a porter?’ she whispered as the door closed behind
him.

‘The complex does.’ Logan guided her to the lift. The eighth,
ninth and tenth floors were his. The apartment was far too big for one person,
but he could afford it and he liked living close to the Thames. He watched for
Evie’s reaction from the corner of his eye as he led her through the entrance
hall and into the reception room with its three-storey-high floor-to-ceiling
windows and one-hundred-and-eighty-degree views. Nothing wrong with his
apartment, he’d paid good money for it, but he wanted her to like it and, by the
look of her, she did.

‘Wow,’ she murmured. ‘This is
gorgeous
. Max would be proud.’

‘The architect of the family has already given it his seal of
approval,’ murmured Logan. ‘Though he doesn’t think much of the interior
decoration.’

‘It’s very...white,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’ll bring you some
paint.’

‘Keep your paint,’ said Logan. ‘I like white. Off white. Nearly
white. Possibly white. Besides, not all of the rooms are white. Some of them are
taupe. And the wallpaper in the master bedroom is stripy grey. You’ll like
it.’

‘Oh, you poor love.’ She stood in place and turned a slow
circle. ‘It really is gorgeous. I’m looking for a personal touch.’

‘Yeah. Keep looking.’ Evie would find no family treasures here.
No photos. No favourite childhood things.

He’d left them all behind.

He collected old maps but they weren’t displayed on walls. He
had his favourite bath scrub and aftershave but the rest he left up to the
housekeeper who came in three times a week and cooked for him and filled his
fridge because she complained she had nothing to do for all the mark he left on
the place.

And then Evie turned around and caught him watching her and he
acknowledged the fact with a half-smile and a shrug.

‘Not a lot of you in here, is there?’ she murmured.

‘No.’ He pushed away from the doorway he’d been leaning
against. ‘But it’s private, the fridge is full and it’s quiet. I can relax
here.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ she murmured dulcetly. ‘I can
probably relax here too. May I have the tour?’

Eight bedrooms, two kitchens, two cloakrooms, a cinema room, an
office, various bathrooms and a rooftop summerhouse later, Evie draped her
crimson velvet coat over a nearby chair, slumped down on a pale-grey suede
lounge and said, ‘Enough. You can draw me a map later.’

‘Have you eaten?’ The fridge was full, no need to go out.

‘Yes.’

‘Get you a drink?’ he asked next.

‘No, thank you,’ she said, eyes closed as she leaned her head
back against the low, puffy pillows. ‘I don’t need anything at the moment.’ One
eye popped open as if reconsidering. She patted the cushion beside her and Logan
watched as the pat turned into a caress as Evie’s fingers moved over the pale
suede. ‘There’s room for you.’

And then her phone rang and she got up and fished it out of her
coat pocket and frowned. ‘It’s your brother,’ she said, before putting the phone
to her ear. ‘Hey, Max. This better not be about the work I left on your desk.
Because I left it on your desk for a reason.’

But Evie’s smile faded fast as she listened to Max’s reply, and
her eyes cut to Logan. ‘Yes, he’s here. No, he’s not driving. We just got in.’
Moments later Evie held the phone out towards Logan. ‘He wants to talk to
you.’

Puzzled, Logan took it and put it to his ear. No need for
introductions, he already knew who it was. ‘What?’

‘Hey.’ One word and Logan knew something was wrong. The tone
wasn’t right. Tension ran through the phone line like a living thing. ‘It’s Mum.
She’s been taken to hospital. They’re operating on her now.’

‘What happened?’ Logan had a love-hate relationship with his
mother. It had been that way for a long time. But an icy prickle started at his
scalp and swept down over his body leaving dread in its wake.

‘I don’t know,’ offered Max tightly. ‘Some kind of incident at
the shelter she volunteers at. The one for battered women and kids. A
fight.’

‘A
what
?’

Evie had come to stand beside him, her hand resting on the
curve of his stomach, nothing sexual about it, just touch, soft and gentle.
Keeping him upright. Stopping his guts from spilling out.

‘They’re saying she took a blow to the head. Logan—’ Max’s
voice cracked. ‘It’s bad. I need you here. She needs you here. Can you
come?’

‘I’ll come.’ Halfway across the world and unable to even
get
there for at least twenty-four hours. More like
thirty-six. And Evie was here. Evie, who’d just flown twenty-four hours to get
here. ‘I’ll be there. Soon as I can.’

‘I’ll keep in touch,’ said Max and hung up.

And Logan just stood there, his mind blank.

‘Logan.’

A soft voice penetrated the fog that was his brain. Evie’s
voice, and she took the phone from him and pocketed it and then her hands were
on him again, firmer this time, one to his chest, the other rubbing gently back
and forth along his upper arm. ‘What’s going on?’

‘My mother’s in surgery.’

‘And Max wants you there?’

Logan nodded. ‘I’m sorry. The weekend. I can’t—’

‘All right,’ said Evie soothingly. ‘Hey, Logan. Easy.’ Evie
wasn’t the one who was swaying, he realised belatedly. He was.

‘A few clothes in a travel bag. That’s all you need,’ Evie was
saying next. ‘I’m already packed.’

‘You can’t want to—

‘Get on the next plane home?’ she finished for him. ‘Yeah, I
can. C’mon, Logan, I can’t remember where your bedroom is. You’re going to have
to help me out here.’

The man was in shock. No way could Logan drive back to the
airport in his condition. Evie got him to his bedroom. She found a travel bag in
his dressing room and shoved it on the rack in there and left him to it while
she went in search of the porter. Evie had only the vaguest idea of what a
porter manning the door of a swanky apartment complex actually did.

What she
needed
him to do was magic
a taxi to the door within the next five minutes.

He didn’t disappoint.

* * *

Thirty
hours later Evie and Logan strode into
the waiting room outside Intensive Care. They’d showered the travel grime off at
Sydney airport and Evie was feeling more awake than she had been. Her body
hadn’t liked the extended flying hours, no matter how comfortable the seats had
been. Her body didn’t quite know which way was up, but her brain recognised
Melbourne airport, the name of the hospital and Max, and that would have to do
for now.

Max stood waiting for them, tension radiating from him in
waves. Tension no longer radiated from Logan. Logan had left edgy behind a good
sixteen hours ago in favour of an almost inhuman stillness and composure.
Walling up his emotions, brick by brick, and the cabin crew had left him alone
and so had Evie. The seats had been so far apart. There’d been no touching
him.

He’d told her to get some sleep.

She’d tried.

‘What’s the latest?’ asked Logan, for Max had been texting them
through updates every few hours, regardless of whether Logan could access them
from the air.

‘The swelling has stabilised,’ Max offered gruffly. ‘She’s
unconscious, but she has some partial awareness. She reacts to pain. She’s come
around a couple of times and called out a name but that’s about it. The doctors
say that’s encouraging.’

‘Whose name?’ asked Logan.

‘Yours.’

Logan turned away and Evie thought he might bolt back the way
they’d come; through all the double doors and out of the hospital completely.
But he stopped after a couple of steps as if held by some invisible force. His
chest heaved and his hand came up to scrub at his face, forefinger and thumb, to
press at his eyes and drag any moisture that might have gathered there away.

‘You can go in,’ said Max. ‘There’s chairs. You can sit.’

‘Will you come in with me?’ Logan’s voice was so low she could
barely hear him. He hadn’t turned around. Evie didn’t even know who he was
talking to. She shared a glance with Max. He didn’t know either.

Max gave the tiniest of shrugs, before replying. ‘We can all go
in. Whatever you want.’

Evie hugged her arms to her waist and stayed silent as Logan
reluctantly turned back around, his bleak gaze seeking her out.

‘Whatever you want,’ she echoed quietly.

He nodded, just the slightest shift of his head. ‘All of
us.’

‘Okay.’

There were six beds in the intensive care unit; six patients
and ten times as many machines. Caroline Carmichael lay in the third bed on the
left. There were tubes in her nose, tubes in her hand and wires running beneath
the cover sheet. Max hadn’t told them how swollen her face was or the way the
colour was all kinds of wrong, black, crimson and blue—he could have warned
them.

Evie hung back as Logan moved to the side of the bed and looked
down at his mother.

‘Speak to her,’ suggested Max gruffly.

‘Hey, Mum.’ Logan didn’t seem to have any idea what to say
next. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, took them out a moment later
and ran one hand around the back of his neck. ‘Max said you wanted to see
me.’

Caroline Carmichael’s eyes twitched as if she was trying to
open them, but Evie didn’t think there was much chance of that. Not with the
amount of swelling and bruising. God, the bruising. But then the older woman’s
mouth moved, as if she was trying to find her words.

‘Logan?’

Caroline’s hand twitched—the one with the tubes in it, and
Logan reached for it, sliding his fingers underneath hers and curling them
gently around hers.

‘I’m here. I hear you got hit.’ Logan’s voice was nothing more
than a tortured rumble. ‘You should have got out of the way.’

‘Couldn’t,’ said Caroline threadily. ‘He went for her, see?
Then her boy stepped up in front of her. Couldn’t be that...coward.’

‘You should have got out of the way,’ repeated Logan
doggedly.

‘I stood up to him.’

‘I know.’ Logan’s voice was barely audible this time as he sank
down into the chair beside the bed. ‘You shouldn’t have had to.’

‘Thirty years too late,’ whispered Caroline. ‘About time...’
Her mouth moved but her words didn’t come to her immediately. ‘Don’t you
think?’

Logan bowed his head and set his mother’s hand to his cheek.
His shoulders heaved and fat tears began to flow.

‘Logan?’ she whispered.

‘I’m here.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Caroline Carmichael had finally got her wish.

Evie watched in helpless silence, and so did Max, as Logan
Black finally broke.

* * *

Three
hours later and Evie sat in the
intensive care waiting room, staring at the clock on the wall and the scratches
in the floor and occasionally glancing over at Max who sat, eyes closed, with
his legs stretched out before him and his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He
had his head tilted back against the wall and every now and again he’d jerk as
if he’d finally drifted into sleep only to remember where he was. Logan was
still in the ward, sitting beside his mother; nothing else he could do as
Caroline had slipped back into unconsciousness.

He’d leaned into the hand Evie had pressed between his shoulder
blades when she told him she was going back out to the waiting room but he’d had
no words for her. Just a nod.

Max didn’t seem to have any words for her either.

‘Did you know that he hit Logan too?’ she asked finally, for it
was playing on her mind.

Max opened his eyes to look at her. ‘No.’

Lots of baggage, Logan.
She’d said
that to him once, long before she’d even known the half of it. She tried to
think of the healing that might come of all of this. Caroline in there,
desperate for absolution, and Logan giving it. Caroline finding her strength
thirty years too late and paying for it in blood and bruises and believing it
was worth it.