Annmarie handed him back the phone, staring hard. "And you're just friends."
"Kind of. I mean . . . we're starting to be. Or, were." Recollection slammed him in the gut, the lick of shame washing through him. He shoveled more soup into his mouth.
"So what happened?" Annmarie folded her hands on the table and stared him down. "Come on, honey, talk to me. Maybe I can help."
"She . . ." He sighed and put his spoon down. He couldn't tell her everything. It occurred to him with a jolt that she'd probably be all for his being Tess's donor, and holy hell to that. "She's a good woman. A really good one. And she asked me to do something for her that I just can't do."
"Can't? Or won't?"
"Both."
"And would that be something like becoming her boyfriend?"
"No," he said with a wry grin. "I wish it were that simple."
"You like her," Annmarie almost purred, her eyes narrowing on her son.
"Yeah, I do. She's really . . ." He huffed out a breath and admitted out loud, "If I were going to date someone, she'd be the kind of woman I'd want. She's got it all."
"So what's the problem? She's rich and you're not?"
"Nah. I thought so at first, but no. She's not like the others. She's genuine. Down-to-earth. Kind and unpretentious."
"So what's holding you back?" she asked. "I don't see a problem, other than you're a grumpy stubborn jackass."
He laughed and conceded, "You're not totally wrong on that."
"You haven't had a woman in your life for such a long time. When are you going to take another chance?"
"I'm not looking to do that."
"Why on earth not?"
He sighed again, frustration building in his chest. Telling her only parts of it wasn't helping after all. "It's complicated, Mom."
"I bet you're making it complicated. Just stop overthinking for once. Get out of your head and back into life."
"I have done that," he asserted curtly.
"Not enough," she retorted. "You live a loner's life. When I'm gone, you're going to be completely alone, and that saddens me."
"Well, don't die, then." He picked up his glass of ginger ale and chugged.
"Logan . . ." Her gaze turned somber.
His stomach lurched. "No. No, Mom. The doctor said if you keep up with the protocol, you have a shot at beating this."
"A shot. Odds aren't in my favor. It's not going my way."
"So what." He pinned her with his gaze now, both glad to turn the topic away from him and needing to talk sense into his bullheaded mother. "You have to keep fighting. I'd do it for you if I could, but I can't."
"I know you would," she said with a soft smile. She reached across and patted his arm, gave his hand a squeeze that he returned. Then she pushed back from the table. "Couch time for me."
He moved to rise and she held up a hand. "I'm fine. I'm tired, but I'm fine. If I need your help, I'll ask."
"No, you won't, you stubborn mule," he grumbled.
She fixed him with a look and drawled sarcastically, "Gee, sounds like someone I know."
"Hey, tree, I'm just the apple."
She laughed and walked away from the table. "Okay if you clean up?"
"Like I'd let you help."
"You're the best, darlin'." She turned back to look at him, leaning against the door frame that separated the tiny dining area from the living room. "You really are the best, Logan. The best son a woman could ask for, and the best man I know. I hope you know how much I appreciate you, and everything you do for me. I love you."
He swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in his throat and managed roughly, "I do know. And I love you too."
"I don't mean to nag." Her smile twisted, turning a little wicked. "Well, that's not totally true. You need me to nag you sometimes."
He barked out a laugh. "I wouldn't know who you were if you didn't, lady."
"Damn right. But when I nag you about dating . . ." She sagged a little against the door frame. "I just want you to find someone, to know you won't be alone. It's a big world to be alone in. And . . . I saw what happened to you before when you isolated yourself. I desperately don't want that to happen again."
His stomach churned anew. A flash of a memory seared through his brain: When his mom came down to New Orleans, after he'd finally confessed to her he'd lost everything, she'd found him lying drunk as hell on his living room floor. And sprang into action, grabbing him from under his arms and tugging until she got him to his couch. She'd grunted and pushed; he was a big guy, and it took strength she barely had, but she'd picked him up off the ground, literally. God, how scared and sad she must've been, finding him in squalor like that . . .
"It won't happen again," he managed, his voice gruff. "I swear that to you. I was a different person then."
"I know you were. You've come so far, that guy's in the rearview." She reached up to rub her shoulder as she spoke. "But you've got a big warm heart in there that you've tamped down for a long time. You're a giver. I want you to find someone to give all that good in you to, you know? And someone who can give it back to you. You deserve that. We all do." Annmarie's moss-green eyes clouded over. "I had that with your father . . ." She smiled briefly, a mixture of sadness and pride in her features. "You would've been a great father. You're so much like him. It's such a shame you never had any kids. They'd have been lucky to have you for a dad."
Her words hit his chest like she'd kicked him with steel-tipped boots.
"Maybe I'll stick around long enough to at least make sure you find a solid woman to share your life with. That's all I want for you, honey. I don't want . . ." She paused, cleared her throat, and said so quietly he almost couldn't hear, "I don't want you to be lonely like I've been since I lost your father. After he was gone, at least I had you and your brother. Having you boys . . . that saved me. Gave me purpose, and light, a reason to live on and to live well." Her eyes locked on him. "When I'm gone? You'll have no one. You understand now? Why I worry about you? I don't care how old you are. You never stop worrying about or wanting for your children." She lifted her chin in a defiant gesture and added, "I'm not sorry for that."
He stood slowly, his throat too tight to speak, and went to her. Drawing her into his arms for a hug, he could feel the loss of weight on her, feel the bones in her back . . . She'd never felt so fragile in his arms before. "I love you, Mom." He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head. Her short blond hair, which had always been silky, felt coarse beneath his mouth. When it had grown back after the first round of chemo, it'd come back different. It still startled him on occasion. "I'll be okay, no matter what. I swear it. Don't you worry about that."
"I know. I know." She withdrew from his embrace, patted his cheek. "That beard is so thick. Again, so much like your father . . ." With a smile, she made her way to the couch.
Logan watched her as she went. Her pace was slow but steady. She didn't need his help. So why did he have to rein in, with everything he had, the urge to help her? She was proud and still okay; he had to stop hovering. When she needed him, he had to trust she'd ask.
"So you never did say what Tess asked you for," Annmarie said, once she was settled into her usual spot on the sofa. "But whatever it was, I say do it. Because life is short, and you like her, and why the hell not."
"I want her to have what she wants," he blurted. "She deserves it more than anyone. I just . . . don't think I should be the person to give this particular thing to her."
"Damn, you're cryptic tonight."
"I don't want to betray her trust."
Annmarie nodded. "I can understand that. You're always honorable. One of the things I'm proudest of. So I'll just ask you one thing." Her tired eyes held his intently. "If you give her this . . . thing. Do you have anything to lose?"
That made him pause. "Truthfully? No, if I give her what she asked for, even on her terms, I have nothing to lose."
"Well, then." Annmarie grasped the woven blanket and spread it over her legs. "I'd say it warrants further consideration, don't you?"
Something hummed in his core. "Maybe it does," he murmured.
Chapter Thirteen
Tess stroked Bubbles's soft fur as they curled together on the couch. With her other hand, she held her e-reader as she read. The fire crackled in the hearth . . . and her stomach growled. She glanced at the clock, then out the window. It was dark outside; she'd missed dinner altogether. Getting lost in a good book had helped make a few hours fly by. And even though she was hungry, she felt serene too. For the first time in three days.