Sweet Summer Love (The Sweetest Thing, #3) Read online

  The topic of conversation is naked enough. Honest, raw and painful to discuss.

  The question I have on the tip of my tongue is scary as fuck, but I need to know the answer.

  “Do you ever think about our son? Where he is? What he looks like?”

  Logan’s back is to me, but I see, more than hear, her entire body sob in response.

  “All the time,” she whispers with a sadness and despair that only a mother who’s lost her child would know.

  Her quiet sniffles ignite my movement, as I jump from the bed to wrap my arms around her. I hold her as she continues to cry, my own tears lodging in the back of my throat. They’re tears of regret. Remorse and guilt. Unforgiven sins.

  “Shh,” I coo, holding her tight.

  “Is there a way we could ever find out about him? Through the adoption agency or something?”

  A deep gasp shakes her entire body. Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have brought that up. But damn, I want to know. I need to know about the welfare of our baby boy.

  Logan turns slowly in my arms so she’s facing me, her eyes shiny and wet, rimmed with sadness and hope.

  “I don’t know. Your dad...he and his attorney handled everything. I don’t know if it was an open or closed adoption. I know that makes me sound heartless, but...”

  I squeeze her tightly, giving her a gentle shake. “Don’t you ever think that way, okay? I know with every fiber of my being that you cared about our baby. You just weren’t in a position, financially or emotionally, to handle it back then. But if you want to know now, then I say we do it. Together, this time.”

  Logan sighs and drops her head to the middle of my chest.

  “We’ll ask tonight at dinner.”

  Her head lifts suddenly, her face a question mark. “Tonight? What do you mean?”

  “We’re invited to my parents’ house tonight.”

  She shakes her head back and forth, but I lock my arms behind her back and hug the shit out of her. She needs to know that I won’t let her down this time. If I have a chance to make things right, I will do everything in my power to do it.

  Whether I leave and never look back after this weekend – which is highly improbable with how much I feel for Logan – we share something that no one can ever change. Our lives are tethered by the secret of our past, and the possibility of uncovering the knowledge of our child’s future.

  “Yes. Tonight. We’re going to dinner at my parents’ house. And we’ll learn the truth then.”

  Chapter 19

  Logan

  The last time I met with Carver Edwards Senior was when I was dazed and exhausted from enduring thirteen hours of labor.

  I remember I’d been lying in my private hospital bed (paid for by Mr. Edwards), looking into the angelic pink face of my son who was swaddled in my arms, cooing soft bubbles from his puckered mouth.

  It was both a moment of serene beauty and of ugly loss.

  His tall, imposing figure stood at the edge of my bed, in a fitted navy suit, holding out a manila envelope and pen while wearing a stern look etched across his face. It was like making a deal with the devil. Only that devil looked strikingly similar to the boy that I loved.

  That boy is now grown and matured and stands towering next to me on the stoop outside his parents’ waterfront home. The three-story structure overlooks Lake Washington, and features impeccably manicured grounds, a carriage-like garage, a cabana and guest house, and sweeping views of Lake Washington and Mount Rainier. I can’t even fathom what it was like to grow up in a house like this. Nothing like the small shack of a rental home I grew up in.

  Carver reaches for my hand as he rings the doorbell. I’m so nervous I’m shaking, my lips quivering with dread. I have no idea how Mr. Edwards will welcome me, but my guess is that he won’t be pleased to see me with his son. I’ve never actually laid eyes on Mrs. Edwards.

  Although Mr. Edwards helped me in the past, I know he regarded me as a money-hungry, gold-digging floozie. My guess is that his opinion won’t have changed much. He’ll still look down his nose at the poor, white-trash slut his son knocked up, who’s now back in his life right before he enters the NBA.

  The opulent double-doors open wide and we’re greeted with a practiced smile from his mother. She’s elegantly beautiful. Grace Kelly meets June Cleaver.

  “Carver! I’m so happy you’re home.”

  She leans in for what I think will be a hug, but instead she gives him air kisses on both cheeks. Who the hell gives their son air kisses?

  “Hello, Mother. This is Logan Shaw. Logan, meet my mother, Althea Edwards.”

  His mother steps back and her eyes land on me for the first time, as if she hadn’t even noticed me a second ago. I’m feeling a ton of awkward right now. It’s in this moment that I have no earthly idea if she knows anything about me. To my knowledge, she was never aware of my “situation” or my past association with her son.

  “Hello, my dear. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please, come in and make yourself at home.”

  I’ve been in their home once before. At the time, I was not made to feel comfortable or invited to stick around like I am now. I was a hen at a fox convention.

  Carver’s hand rests on my lower back, gently directing me inside the large open foyer. Not much has changed in four years. Maybe some décor or wall coverings, but it’s the same magnificent entryway with the grand staircase and gigantic chandelier hanging from the ceiling two floors up.

  As the door closes behind us, we hear footsteps down the hallway as Mr. Edwards rounds the corner, a broad smile that quickly loses its emphasis. The moment he realizes it’s me, his smile fades completely.

  Except for the infinitesimal hitch in his step, he recovers so quickly you wouldn’t know he was shocked to see me in his home. The smile is replaced with one that could put a campaigning politician to shame.

  He strides toward us, heading right to Carver.

  “Son, it’s good to have you home.” He gives a quick one-armed hug around Carver’s shoulder before squaring his shoulders to me. “And you brought a friend.”

  I’m stunned by the venom in Carver’s voice. “Cut the shit, Dad. There’s no need to cover things up anymore. I know that you know, that she knows, we all know that you know Logan.”

  I give a tight-lipped smile and a small wave, glancing over to Althea’s face, who is looking all too confused, her polished features turning a bit ghostly in appearance.

  Althea turns on her brightest hostess smile. “Why don’t we all come inside and take a seat in the sitting room. I’ll get some drinks started for us. Logan, what can I get you, dear?”

  If I’m going to get through this evening with my sanity intact, I need some liquid courage.

  “Do you have some white wine, perhaps?”

  She smiles graciously. “Of course, dear. Would you like a Pinot Gris or Chardonnay? I have both, whichever you prefer.”

  Carver and I sit down next to each other on a small plush couch. I smooth my sweaty palms over my knees, pressing down the hem of my dress.

  “I’d love the Pinot Gris. Thank you, Mrs. Edwards.”

  A soft laugh, and a wave of her hand, admonishes me. “Logan, please call me Althea. And Carver, what would you like?”

  “Just bring the whole bottle, Mother. I think we’ll need it.”

  I snap my head and give him an icy glare. One that says, don’t you dare fuck this up. Be nice or I’ll punch you in the nuts.

  Carver lifts his eyebrows, knowing exactly what I meant, before shrugging his shoulders.

  Althea leaves the room to go after our drinks and we’re left alone with Carver’s dad. All the air gets sucked out of the room and the walls feel like they are closing in around us. Just like that scene in Star Wars, where the trash compactor begins to trap them in. Before that eel monster grabs hold of Luke and drags him underwater.

  Mr. Edwards is the monster in this picture and Carver is my hero – ready to rescue his princess.

&nbs
p; “This comes as a surprise, I must say,” Mr. Edward admits quietly. At least he’s being honest.

  “Why’s that, Dad? Because you practically ensured Logan and I would never see each other ever again? Because you made sure she would remain out of my life?”

  The tension radiates from Carver’s body, so I place my hand gently on his bicep, hoping to calm down his vitriol response. He physically relaxes as he takes a deep intake of breath and lets it go.

  “Son, you know that’s not what I meant to do.” He looks to me, his eyes almost pleading for help. “We’ve gone over this before. I only did what I thought was right at the time. I’m sorry that you see it as some sinister plot to ruin your life.”

  Carver sighs with heavy exasperation, reaching for my hand and feathering his fingers through mine. My hand is swallowed by his, but it feels secure. Protective. Loving.

  “Even so, aren’t you the least bit concerned about the welfare of your only grandchild? The grandson that could’ve had our name, to carry on the Edwards lineage?”

  A loud crash startles us all, as we follow the sound of breaking glass to find Althea standing in the doorway, wearing a look of heartbroken shock.

  “Carver,” she murmurs, her graceful hand covering her mouth as she glances between her son and her husband. Carver Sr. stands and begins to move into action toward his wife, but she thrusts out her hand in a universal sign for stop. “Did you just say our grandson? What in the world are you talking about?”

  Everything happens in slow motion. Carver leans forward, dropping his head in his hands, and his father carefully shuttles his wife out of the broken glass mess with a gentle guiding of her shoulders. Althea sits in the loveseat directly across from us, still waiting for an answer to her question.

  Her face registers grief and sorrow as if she already knows the truth inside her heart. It makes my heart break all over again.

  “Yes, Mother. You have a grandson somewhere out there in this big wide world. One that was ripped out Logan’s hands without thought or concern to what she wanted.” Carver squeezes my hand. “And my loving father failed to let me know about any of it.”

  “Carver.” His father’s booming voice echoes against the wood-paneled, wainscoted walls. “Enough of your childish bullshit. You and I both know that it was never either one of our decisions. It was hers.”

  An accusatory finger is pointed at me and a pain so deep rips through me, slicing at my chest. It’s obvious he blames me for everything.

  “She made the final call. She was eighteen, no longer a minor. She got what she wanted. Money. I only facilitated the discussions. Don’t you dare think that Logan wasn’t the one who took that opportunity the moment it was availed to her.”

  I swallow down the tears that beg to let loose. But I stand firm. I will not cower or roll-over. His accusation deserves response. And I will give it.

  Carver’s face holds a myriad of pained emotion. He never knew about the money his dad gave me. I didn’t take it to keep quiet. I took it to pay for my education. His head turns to me, his eyes searching mine for the answer.

  “He’s right, Carver. It was my choice whether I kept our baby or gave him up. It’s not like your dad could just take him away without my consent. Your dad gave me the options I needed to conclude what was right for everyone involved. I did that on my own. It was the toughest decision I’ve ever made and I still cry every night over my loss. I let go of my flesh and blood. The baby I carried in my womb for nine months. A child that would undoubtedly grow up to look like you. To be like you. It gutted me. But it’s not your father’s burden to carry.”

  I stand, dropping Carver’s hand from mine and face Mr. Edwards, who has his arm around his wife’s shoulder. Althea is softly crying tears for a baby she just learned existed. She has a right to be hurt and angry with all of us.

  I look back at Carver. “And as for the money. Your dad offered me something to go away. I accepted it only for one reason. I wasn’t looking for handouts or charity. I wanted to go to school and it was the only way I could do it.”

  A flash of anger zings through Carver’s eyes. He’s upset because I never mentioned that before. I understand. He has a right to be mad. But it doesn’t change where we’re at now. Or who we are. Or what we need to accomplish.

  “Mr. Edwards. I came here tonight for one reason. Carver and I would like to get the information you have on the adoption. We need to know what happened to our child. I can’t go another day without knowing if he’s happy and well-cared for.”

  His father stands, as if ready for battle against me.

  “No.”

  I flinch at the strong force of that one syllable word.

  “No?” I whisper, but don’t get a chance to say anything else as Carver steps in.

  “We don’t need your permission, Dad. We can figure it out on our own, with or without you. But I know you have all the details locked away in your files since you arranged it all. It would save us a lot of time and difficulty if you’d just hand over the documents so we can move on from here.”

  Carver does a hard turn and heads to his father’s mahogany desk that must contain all his legal documents. Carver Sr. takes one long stride and yanks on his son’s arm. For a second, I’m scared that a fight will break out. Instead, his dad lets go and moves past Carver to his desk.

  He opens a file drawer and pulls out the envelope, clutching it in his hands as if his life depends on keeping it secret.

  “I want you to think long and hard before you proceed with this. Whatever you do at this point will change the course of your lives forever. You can never go back. You will never be able to retrieve the past or be a part of his life. It’ll be like you’re looking through a one-way window with a view into his life, unable to be present or involved. He’ll not know you’re there, and it will only make you desperate to reach him. Do you honestly want to put yourselves through that misery?”

  Carver reaches out and grabs the file, yanking it from his father’s grasp.

  “Yes,” he says, the agony pouring through his voice. “Because at least that misery will be accompanied by the knowledge that our son is living a full and happy life. That he’s safe and loved.”

  My heart explodes with a reborn love for Carver Edwards.

  A love that never left me, but was only hidden deep under the heartbreak of young love and a grief so great, I could scarcely breathe for the last four years.

  Chapter 20

  Carver

  The drive back to Logan’s apartment is solemn, the light drizzle on the windshield echoing in the silent car like booming slaps across my face.

  This evening did not go as planned. On the other hand, it went exactly how I thought it would go.

  I’m mad at my dad and angry with Logan for not telling me about the money.

  Logan’s voice cuts through the gloom. “I’m sorry, Carver. I know you’re upset.”

  “You have no idea how I feel,” I snap, instantly regretful for my hostile response.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see her turn to look out her window and notice the glistening of tears against her cheek.

  Fuck.

  I reach over and swipe an errant tear from her cheek. Her profile is so beautiful, even when sad. Although I’m hurt that she left out such an important aspect of our situation, I don’t blame her. I know she’s suffered. If there was a way I could take away all the pain she suffered, I would. I’d give everything up – my future pro career, the fans, the money – everything. Just to see her happy.

  “Your dad loves you, Carver. He only wanted what was best for you and doesn’t want to see you hurt. And I’m sorry I made matters worse by not telling you about the money he gave me. It was wrong of me.”

  “It doesn’t seem that way from where I’m sitting. He blamed you for everything that happened.” I turn to face her, placing my hand on her shoulder. “Yes, I’m hurt that you didn’t tell me about the money, because you didn’t trust me to know the truth. But it
’s not your fault, baby. You were barely eighteen, alone and scared. I hate knowing you had to live through that and deal with this on your own.”

  “Carver.” Her tone is resolved as she turns off the engine of the car and shifts to face me. “I do trust you, but I need time to process all of this. You’ve coming barreling back into my life and you’re going to be busting right back out once you return to your new normal – whatever that looks like. I’m not sure I can handle learning about our child and losing him again. Losing you, too.”

  I can’t argue with her because she’s right. Once I’m drafted, it’ll be off to whatever city I’m in and then I’ll start training. Hard. Come fall, I’ll begin traveling all over the country, never home longer than a few days. In fact, my agent recommended that once I know where I’ll be, I shouldn’t buy anything for the first year. It’ll be a vagabond life and having ties anywhere will be relationship suicide.

  Logically, I know this. But having just found Logan again and re-establishing our connection, I don’t want to let that go.

  I slide my hands across her cheekbones and through her hair, cupping her head gently in my palms. I touch my lips to hers – once. Twice. Three soft pecks of affection.

  “I know my life will be different, but you’ve reminded me of what it’s like to feel...to want and be wanted in return. I’ve been broken for so many years.”

  I take her hand in mine and bring it to my heart, covering it with our joined hands. “At the risk of sounding lame, and I will deny this to my dying breath if word ever gets out that I’m sentimental...but you own me, Logan. You’re the puzzle piece that locks my heart together. No matter where I am, you’re my home. I want that with you.”

  Logan sucks in a raspy breath and turns away from me.

  “No, I don’t want that. I’m not going to follow you around like a groupie, living my life out of a suitcase so you can have me anytime you want.”