Page 180 of With a Cherry On Top

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Don’t be mad at Ian. Or Amelie. I deserve it.”

“Oh, youdeserveit?” Logan laughs, and it’s the laugh of a man who is two seconds away from throwing hands. “Jesus Christ, Aaron. It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“Maybe you don’t,” I fire back, heat rising in my chest. “You haven’t been part of my life in almost a decade. You havenofucking clue what the last two years have been like. Parenting alone, no friends, almost no communication with you. No one in my life.”

“So you fuckCherry?” he barks.

Ian blinks. “Who’s Cherry?”

Logan’s eyes widen like he just unlocked a new level of disappointment.

I open my mouth, then close it. Then open it again. “That’s...Cherry isn’t her name. It’s just her...” I look at Charlotte, waiting for instructions on what to say.

She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, amused despite the tension. “My alias on TOP.”

Ian’s face scrunches. “TOP? You mean like the erotic subscription service? That’s what you do?”

“That’s what I did,” Charlotte replies casually. Then, catching my confused look, she adds, “Well, you’re my...” Her eyes flick toward Logan and Ian.

“Boyfriend,” I say, steady and sure. I’m not ashamed of it, and I want her to know that.

“Right. My boyfriend.” She grins. “Guess I’m hanging up the thong—for now.”

Oh.Relief.I didn’t even know how much I needed to hear that, but it’s clear I did. I don’t want to share her, not even if it’s just a gig.

Logan turns to me again,looking more and more like he wants to kill me. “That’swhere you met her?”

“Okay, okay. Put your pitchforks down, all right?” I raise both hands. “Let’s not do this in a hospital.”

Logan storms toward me, his face dark with anger. “Youabsolutefucking idiot,” he spits, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Do you ever stop to think? Or do you just act on impulse and deal with the fallout later?”

I stand my ground, but my heart is hammering in my chest. He’spissed,and last time I saw him this pissed, I ended up on the floor.

My muscles lock up, instincts screaming at me, and before I can think, my arm moves—shielding Charlotte.

Logan falters.

It’s subtle, but I see it. The flicker of understanding in his eyes, the moment somethingclicks.His chest rises and falls, his fists still clenched at his sides, but his jaw tightens like he’s swallowing down whatever insult was about to leave his mouth.

“Mr. Coleman?”

A doctor steps into the waiting area, flipping through a chart. The air between us shifts in an instant. Logan tears his glare away from me, but I see the words he doesn’t say.

This ishardlyover.

I driftawake to the sound of Charlotte’s voice.

For a moment, I think she’s talking to me. But then Logan responds, and it takes me a second to catch up—to remember where I am, why my back aches like I’ve been run over, why the scent of bleach is thick in the air.

We’re still at the hospital. Still waiting.

Mom is okay. The doctor said that the new medicine will help manage her symptoms, but that we need to be prepared for more of this—more accidents, more moments where her body betrays her.

Stage three Parkinson’s.

There’s a plastic chair squeaking, a shift of movement beside me. I don’t open my eyes.

“For what it’s worth,” Charlotte says, “it’s not his fault.”

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