Page 21 of Risky Game

God. That was still over a month away and he hadn’t seen her in a month. “That has to be hard.”

I couldn’t imagine how Jassen would do not being able to see his kids. Traveling for weekends was hard enough on him.

“It’s hell. And so I don’t sit here and wallow in how much I miss her, tell me about your degree. What do you plan on doing with it? What drew you to it?”

“Fourth grade field trip.”

It wasn’t a story I told everyone, but Logan knew Jassen. He had to know some of what our childhood had been like. Jassen never bothered to hide it, but I’d always been more cautious about opening up.

“Really?” Logan kicked his feet up onto the coffee table between us.

I was too short to stretch my legs like he was doing, but I bent my legs, curled my toes around the edge of the table, and relaxed further into the furniture.

“My fourth grade class took a field trip to the art museum one day and I fell in love.” It was as simple as that and way more complicated. I sighed, thinking of that day. The peace in the museum, the gentle, happy feeling and soft, tender smiles that radiated from every adult who perused the art. My classmates and friends had been quieted several times by the parent who went with us, but I’d gotten so lost in the art and in my head I’d almost missed the bus to head back to the school. “Jassen and I didn’t grow up with a lot, you know that, right?”

Logan nodded. “I know some.”

“Our mom wasn’t around a lot, and by a lot, I mean, there’d be days we wouldn’t see her.”

“In fourth grade?”

I huffed. “Since well before that. Jassen was cooking me SpaghettiOs for dinner and he couldn’t have been more than eight. And he’s four years older than me.”

“Four…” Logan said the age and it hit us at the same time. His brows rose in disbelief and then anger hardened his tone. “You were four and your brother was taking care of you?”

He was angry. On my behalf. It wasn’t the warmth from the outside air heating my skin, but the way he was looking at me, with all the shock and fury of a good parent. One who’d protect his child, his daughter, not abandon her.

Most surprisingly, not a hint of pity. I wouldn’t linger on that part of the conversation to allow it to show. So we had a crappy upbringing. It wasn’t the worst I’d heard about, and we’d done okay despite it. Or maybe because of it.

“The museum was quiet.” I sipped my wine and waited until he blinked away his anger to refocus. I took a second to do the same. “It was quiet and peaceful and there was this, I don’t know, gentleness as soon as you walked through the building I’d never felt before. I could have lived in that museum and been happy. That summer, I started making Jassen take the bus with me to go into the city and we’d spend all day in the museum and the library next door. They were free. Sometimes they had kids’ activities going on. And I was hooked.”

I shrugged, like it wasn’t all that impressive or anything, and it really wasn’t. But we’d been ten and fourteen, way too young to be alone on a city bus.

“I think you’re fortunate,” Logan finally said and that surprised me.

“Fortunate?” I laughed.

“Yeah. Not too many people find their passion at such a young age and have it follow them through their life.”

When he put it that way, he wasn’t wrong. I’d always been more passionate about art than Jassen had ever been about kicking some pigskin around.

“So that’s what I want to do. Get my master’s in Art History and become a museum curator. Find art, work on the exhibits and collections, and I want to give tours to kids. Make it fun for them so more people will find the beauty and solace in art.”

That last part was my own personal mission. I’d never told a soul and yet it fell from my lips so quickly, so easily, I didn’t have time to keep it inside.

I sipped my wine and stared out at the lake and the darkening sky, feeling the weight of Logan’s gaze on me for far too long, far too intensely to be able to find the courage to look back at him.

But it was there, pressing against me.

“I’m honored to be a part of your journey, even if it’s only with finances.”

I chuckled. It couldn’t be helped and when I braved a glance back at him, he wasn’t smiling.

“I’m serious, Ruby. And while you’re with Amelia, please make sure you take her to the museums in Nashville as much as possible. Let her see that excitement and passion on your face you show when you’re talking to me.”

My eyes burned. Out of nowhere, emotion sparked. He almost looked proud of me, or impressed, and that was silly. He was far older. Had seen way more than I had. Had lived a life of far more excitement. “I will,” I told him, and I meant it.

But it’d be for Amelia as much as me. If I spent too much time away from art, a part of my soul started to shrivel.

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