Laura gave a shrill, dry laugh at her own joke. It grated on Tess's last nerve. "Goodbye, Mother."
"Bye, darling! Be good, but not too good."
Tess ended the call and tossed her phone onto the far end of the couch with a grunt of disgust. Her mother's words didn't bother her; she'd learned to ignore them long ago. It was the general worry that crept in once in a while, like now. What if Tess didn't know how to be a good mother? She'd had the worst role model possible. Her plan was basically to do the opposite of anything Laura had done . . . She hoped she'd be good enough.
All she knew was her own child would never know the heartbreak, anxiety, or disappointment of being abandoned by its mother. Growing up that way herself, she wouldn't wish those feelings on anyone, and she'd certainly never perpetuate them.
* * *
"Thank you, sweetheart." Annmarie smiled up at her son as he helped lower her onto the couch. "Dinner was delicious. The chicken was perfect, nice and juicy. You really can cook."
"Well, I learned from the best," Logan said, shooting her a little smile. "Glad you liked it." For someone who claimed to like her meal, she hadn't eaten much. He studied her as she made herself more comfortable, shifting to stretch out and lie down. Her skin looked drawn. She didn't look like she was in the final stages or anything, but she didn't look good either. He frowned, then felt his brows furrowing and schooled his features into neutrality. She wouldn't want to see him frowning over her.
"I need to talk to you about something," she said. Her gaze was direct.
"Uh-oh," he joked, but uneasiness gripped his insides as he sat beside her.
"I've been thinking all week about this," she began. "Given this a lot of thought. And . . . I've made a decision. I don't want to do the radiation anymore."
Logan's heart dropped to his stomach. "What?"
"It's not working, honey," she said quietly. "All it's doing is prolonging the inevitable. I'm tired. I'm tired of being so tired."
He shook his head vehemently, a hint of bile rising in his throat. "I'm not hearing this. No. No way."
"Logan-"
"Hell no. You can't stop, Mom. Just no."
"Why not?" She sat up and stared at him, a hard look on her face. "Logan. Honey. Look at me."
He did, even as his heart thudded in his chest and blood pulsed in his head.
"We've fought hard," she said quietly. "But I'm tired." She reached out and put her hand on his knee. "Sweetheart . . ."
"I can't have this conversation," he said, dropping his head into his hands.
"We have to."
"No, we don't." He looked at her again. "You keep fighting. You can't give up. That's it." He shot to his feet.
"You're not hearing me." She sighed.
"I'm picking you up at noon on Friday to take you to radiation, and that's all there is to it." He scrubbed his hands over his beard and added, "We'll talk to Dr. Cranston, discuss where we go from here, okay? See what he thinks. But giving up just isn't an option."
She looked up at him sadly. "I've never been a quitter and you know it. But sometimes . . . you need to know when to call it."
"Really?" Suddenly angry, he started to pace the small living room. His lungs felt tight, and his blood raced through his body. "When I tanked my life-drank myself into a fucking stupor, lost my job, and my wife left me-what did you do? You flew down to New Orleans. Told me to get my ass in rehab. Paid for it, if I remember correctly."
"Logan-"
"You told me to keep fighting. I'd made a wreck of everything, and you told me Carters are fighters."
"This is different," she said.
"Not much," he said. "I was fighting for my life, and I didn't even know it. You're fighting for your life now." He stood before her, stared down, and tried not to let his panic show through, only his determination. "You didn't let me give up. I'm not letting you give up. End of story."
She met his gaze, unblinking. "You didn't realize you were killing yourself," she said with quiet steel. "I know I'm dying, Logan. You know it too. Maybe I want to do it on my own terms, whatever of those I have left."
That made him stop cold. Waves of emotions crashed through him, a mixture of fear, rage, hopelessness . . . "Fuck that," he spat. "We're not calling anything yet. You hear me?"
She sighed heavily. "We'll let this go for tonight. I'm sorry you're this upset."
"What'd you think I'd be?" he cried. "How could I be anything else?"
"I haven't seen you this emotional in a long time," she admitted. "You do such a good job of swallowing things most of the time, being all stoic and sure. I forgot how fired up you can get."
He raked his hands through his hair and looked around, a bit wild. His ears were ringing, like they used to when anxiety would sweep in and take over. He steeled himself against it. "I'm picking you up for your appointment on Friday, and you better be dressed and ready to go. Got that?"
"Yes sir, bossy." She sighed and lay back down. "You want to watch some TV?"
"I want to shake you is what I wanna do," he growled.
"Go for it."
He huffed out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. His stomach churned and his blood still pulsed in his head, the start of a stress headache. But at least he didn't want a drink. That was a relief. He rubbed his face and rolled his head around on his neck.
"Sit down, Thor," she said. "You never did tell me about New Year's Eve with that Tess. How'd it go?"
"I didn't tell you because I don't report my activities to you." His grumble was good-natured as he sat down again in the armchair. He willfully ignored the traces of adrenaline still shooting through him, reached for the remote, and turned on the television.
"Throw me a bone here," Annmarie needled with a grin. "Did you kiss her at midnight, at least?"
The memory of their steamy kisses flashed through Logan's mind, sending a new rush through his veins. "Maybe."
"Damn, I hope so. You're cranky as hell lately. Need a good woman in your life."
"Says you."
"That's right. Now gimme." She held out her hand and he forked over the remote. "Are you going to go out with her again?"
He sighed. She was relentless. "Actually, we're going skiing tomorrow. Up on Ajax."
"Wellllll!" His mother's smile was both pleased and a bit smug. "Must've been some kiss at midnight, then!"
"She's just a friend, Mom," he cautioned. "Don't get all nutty."
"I've always been nutty," she said. "That ship sailed long ago, my sweet boy."
He laughed and sat back as she searched through the channels for the show she liked. Glancing at her, he took deep breaths . . . flexing his fingers, open and shut . . . The crisis had been avoided, but only temporarily, and he knew it. His stomach churned for the rest of the night.
Chapter Nine
Tess had forgotten how exhilarating it was to fly down the side of a mountain at top speed. She hadn't been skiing in too long, and as she pushed off yet again, the feel of the cold air rushing past her as she sailed along the slope was invigorating. As kids, her brothers were competitive with one another but doted on her, making sure she was a solid skier and could keep up with them. Some of her best childhood memories were skiing with them in Aspen, Vermont, Canada, and Switzerland. She still loved the rush of soaring across the snow, the closest thing to flying a human could experience. Few things compared.
And Logan was right beside her the whole time. He was a great skier, a natural athlete-definitely better than her. Of course, he did it more often. He told her flat out he'd all but grown up on the slopes and still went skiing two or three times a month in the winter. Knowing that, she was just glad she'd stayed upright most of the time after a two-year lapse. The one time she'd ended up on her ass, Logan had chuckled kindly and immediately shot out a hand to help her up.
The cloudy sky cut down on sun glare, but she'd still made sure to apply sunblock and lip balm before putting on her gator. Her goggles made it easy to steal glances at her gorgeous companion. Logan was sexy even hidden under the layers of his royal-blue shell jacket and the gray ski pants that hugged his powerful legs, a delicious bonus of inviting him along. Even the way his thick hair poked out of the bottom of his wool hat, fringing haphazardly past his strong jaw, appealed to her. In between runs they chatted about the ski trips of their childhoods; she told him about the annual trips with her father and brothers, and he told her about how his family went skiing all the time, right there in Colorado.