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“Make sure she's still in the bath after I call him, yeah,” he says.
“Yeah.” I listen to his footsteps move across the house and out the door. I blink and then turn back to our mate who is watching me carefully, covered in bubbles. “Baby, I wanted to spank your ass, but now you get a reward.”
“Oh, goody. I love rewards,” she grins, clapping her hands. Bubbles go flying.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Logan
Ipace nervously across the driveway, my phone in my hand. I entered his number but haven’t got the guts to follow through. I memorized his number years ago and have never forgotten it. I have changed mine so many times that I don’t remember the last one I had.
Fuck. Dinner with Breeane’s parents was a huge wake-up call. I have been avoiding taking the step to reunite with mine because I was ashamed. I lied to myself. I lied; I didn’t actually believe that they would blame me. I blamed myself. I was disappointed in myself. I just didn’t want to face that fact.
I was throwing away people who supported and loved me. I had everything that Breeane didn’t. How could I go on without trying to mend the hurt? I also would love to give her parents who would treat her how she should be treated. They would love her.
“Fuck,” I grit and push the button before I can change my mind.
“Yeah,” he answers gruffly.
I close my eyes when I hear the familiar rumble of his voice. It hasn’t changed.
“Hello,” he says impatiently.
“Dad,” I finally say. The silence makes my heart jump to my throat. “It’s Logan.” I cough as the line remains silent and I start to believe that I was right about my shame.
“Logan,” he says faintly.
“Yes.” I walk toward the deck, my hand going to my head, rubbing absently.
“It’s really you,” he says, a slight catch in his words.
“It’s me. This is my number now. You can save it if you need to call.”
“Holy fuck,” he whispers.
“I mean, if you want.”
“It’s your number. If I want?”
“Only if you want.” I lick my lips. “How’s Mom?”
“My eldest son calls after months and months of disappearing. He doesn’t reach out, and you want to know how your mom is?”
“Well, yeah. But I want to know how you are, too.”
“You little shit,” he growls. “My son. The son that I have loved desperately his whole life, even when I didn’t know what happened to you, and then when you were safe, calls me after your mother and I live in misery for months and asks how we are?”
I sit heavily, his words bringing such a relief I’ve lost the power to stand. “Okay, maybe I should have started with an apology.”
“Apology my ass,” he snaps. “Are you well?”
“I am. I should have called sooner. I was stuck in my head. I thought you would be ashamed of me, but really that’s just what I told myself. I was ashamed,” I confess.
“Did you ask to be kidnapped?”
“Well, no.”
“Did you want to be drugged by that piece-of-shit coyote?”
