Page 19 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)

I couldn’t go back to the city, not after I’d escaped. Not after I’d come here and found the peace I’d craved my entire life.

But the bottom line was, I couldn’t live without my daughter. I needed to see her every single day, and if Logan had her in New York, then I’d have to go too.

I’d be back to living paycheck to paycheck, hoping my Saturday-night tips would be enough to make up for what my hourly wage lacked. Charlie would have to go to a school named after a number—P.S. Whatever, Whatever, Whatever—instead of our beloved Lark Cove School. And I’d be in the city where life hadn’t been all that kind.

My memories of New York were full of loneliness, insecurity and powerlessness. When I’d left, I’d found courage and confidence and control to build the life I wanted. A life I was proud of. Moving back to the city would be like taking an eraser to half of my accomplishments. I didn’t have many on the list.

Bracing my hands on my workshop table, I breathed through the waves rolling in my stomach.

Please, Logan. Please don’t make me go back there.

I’d do it if I had to. Unlike my own mother, I’d sacrifice anything to be with my child.

“Snap out of it,” I scolded myself. There was no use jumping to conclusions until I had a chance to talk to Logan.

I refocused on my work, surveying the mess on my table. I’d been using the torch to heat a spoon so it would bend, but I’d been so distracted that it had gotten too hot and broken in half. Turning around to the back wall in my workshop, I rifled through the mess on one of my shelves.

With a new spoon in hand, I checked my phone for the fiftieth time in an hour.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Ring.”

I waited a few seconds, but a New York number didn’t flash on the screen. Charlie’s face on my screensaver just looked up at me with a smile.

I huffed and set down my phone. Then I took my spoon back to my blowtorch. With it burning hot and my hand regloved, I fit the spoon into my pliers.

“Okay, spoon. Cooperate.”

The stem was just starting to soften under my torch when someone knocked on the open shed door behind me.

“One second!” I shouted, not bothering to turn.

Hazel had learned ages ago to knock before saying anything. Once, she’d come in jabbering about something and had scared me to death. I hadn’t been handling a blowtorch that day, but I had ended up covering a good portion of the floor in yellow paint.

I raked the torch’s flame back and forth over the metal a few more times until it was perfectly pliable. Quickly, I set the torch aside and grabbed another pair of pliers, then carefully bent the metal so it had just the right curve.

“Got it,” I said triumphantly to myself before dunking the spoon in a bucket of cold water to set the arch. I shut off the torch and yanked off my glove as I turned around to Hazel. “What’s up?”

But it wasn’t Hazel leaning on the doorjamb.

It was Logan.

“Oh,” I gasped. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he greeted.

A bead of sweat dripped down my side. Even though I wanted to have this conversation with Logan, I was dreading it at the same time. “Please, come in.” I motioned him inside and went to my water bottle for a drink.

He pushed off the door and stepped inside. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s no problem.” I swallowed a huge gulp, then set down the water.

Logan inspected the workshop as he eased inside. His eyes ran over the many hooks and tools hanging on the walls as he avoided making eye contact. And even though his hands were casually resting in his pockets, his frame was stiff and tense.

With every passing second of him looking anywhere but at me, my heart raced faster. This was agony. Was he still mad? Was he here to tell me he didn’t want anything to do with Charlie? Or was he here to deliver my worst nightmare?

“Please, don’t take her away from me,” I blurted.

Logan’s head whipped around and his eyes snapped to mine. His straight posture relaxed and the cool façade he’d put on fell away. “I’d never do that to you. To her.”