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After the door was closed, Logan turned to his father. “Dad, this is Juliette.”
It seemed as though a frown was permanently placed on the man’s face as he stuck his hand out. “Juliette, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Robert Ashford.”
“Hi,” I said quietly, thinking that he wasn’t exactly telling me the truth when he said it was a pleasure. This was painful- or, painfully awkward- for everyone.
Robert was about to open his mouth to say something again when Abby flew into the room, anger written all over her face. “What the hell? Why were you on the news, Logan? How do you even know that girl?”
He was about to respond when a voice spoke from behind us, coming from the direction of the kitchen. “Because he’s probably doing drugs with her. Don’t ask stupid questions, Abbigail.”
I turned, hating the cold tone of voice. I could only assume the woman was Logan’s mother because of her blonde hair and brown eyes. She was small with a glass of red wine perched in her hand. There wasn’t a hair out of place as Genevieve Ashford floated into the room wearing what had to be a three thousand dollar pair of jeans and cashmere sweater, looking every bit the charity running, foundation hosting, social butterfly that she was.
“Abbigail is actually quite smart, contrary to what you believe. She even has her own opinions. Shocking isn’t it, mother?”
Logan didn’t even care that his mother was blatantly accusing him of being a drug addict. He cared about defending his sister. There was clearly a mutual dislike between him and his mother based on the disdain on her face as she looked at him. I was immediately on edge, not liking the fact that we’d just, essentially, walked into a trap.
I watched as the woman rolled her eyes before focusing on me. “Are you a new friend?”
My shoulders straightened and I tried to meet her eye but couldn’t seem to hold her gaze and stared at the ground instead. “I’m Juliette Foster,” I said to my shoes.
I heard her hollow laugh and inwardly flinched, hating the tension that surrounded us. “She seems very different from your usual taste, Logan.”
“Stop it. It’s not like that.”
“No?” Genevieve asked and took a step forward. “What is it like then? Because as far as I know she’s some fun new toy for you until they find that junkie girl that we saw on the news. Honestly, Logan, what were you thinking? Getting tangled up in that sort of trouble makes this family look terrible.”
I glanced over at him and his jaw was clenched so hard I feared he’d break a tooth. There was color in his cheeks and I was sure there was color in mine as well. I didn’t like being referred to as a fun new toy. Logan was right, what we had wasn’t like that. I didn’t exactly know what it was like, didn’t have a label or a word for it. But whatever it was wasn’t just fun. It was real.
“Right,” he finally said after a moment. “Because of course you care more about our family image than our actual family.”
“Logan,” Robert’s voice was low, stern, and held a warning that his son better bite his tongue before it was too late.
I wanted to reach out and touch Logan, but something was holding me back. Was that too intimate a gesture in front of his family? We were surrounded by his parents and Abby, and I felt even more cornered when Robbie and Knox entered the room. We were cornered in the foyer, barely inside the house and they were on him like white on rice.
I’d never be in the Ashford shoes. I’d never truly know their dynamic or where they stood with one another. But more than anger, more than family image, shouldn’t his mother show some concern or some compassion that her son is out there trying to do something good? I was clearly biased due to the fact that I was sleeping with, and apparently falling madly in love with, Logan. But all I saw in Genevieve’s eyes was judgment. Cold, hard, judgment. Robert had a look of dismay and seemed to be at a loss while his siblings stood off to the side, frowning.
All at once, I felt some semblance of what it must feel like to be the black sheep of the family. Isolated and scrutinized. Completely misunderstood by the people who are supposed to know you better than anyone. Granted, Logan partially did it to himself by keeping secrets and disappearing for days on end. But it was clear this whole thing started long before he was an adult. Logan didn’t just keep secrets for the sake of keeping them, it was that he didn’t know how to tell them. He didn’t know how to be honest with his parents because he spent so long keeping them in the dark. They never taught him about communication and the realization broke my heart.
I’d never be certain, but I had a distinct feeling that if he’d known how to have healthy communication with his folks, Logan would have told them the truth about his profession, and his RA, a long time ago.
“You look sick.” Robbie jerked his chin toward Logan. “You good?”
I saw the hesitation on his face and ached to reach out and touch him, place my hand in his and give a reassuring squeeze. But, eventually, his mouth pulled into a thin line and he ran a hand through his hair. “No, I’m not.”
I held my breath as I waited for him to continue. He looked around at his family with a guarded expression on his face. Genevieve arched a brow and took a sip of wine while his father cleared his throat and looked at us expectantly.
“The reason I haven’t been around much is because…” he trailed off and huffed out a breath before rolling his shoulders and clearing his throat. He looked as though he was going to be sick. “I’m sick. I have rheumatoid arthritis.”
The room was so silent that I could have heard a pin drop. Everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to continue, but Logan simply shrugged and said nothing else. He was waiting patiently for everyone to throw questions at him, knowing that they would.
Abby stepped forward and twisted the bracelet that was looped around her wrist. “What? How? Lo, why wouldn’t you tell us?”
He held up a hand and then smiled at her. “So many questions, kid.”
She glared at him with tears stinging her eyes. “It’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “I found out last year and I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t need everyone worrying about me. I didn’t need certain people,” he eyeballed his mom. “Up my ass and babysitting me. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”
Robbie ran his fingers through his hair and then tugged the thick locks up into a messy knot. “It’s serious though, right?”
