Page 28 of A More Than Mayhem Christmas

I slap his hand away.

“Oh.”

As gently as I can, I dry his hair, hoping the warmth of the heater and the quiet around us create a sense of calm withinhim. He settles his hands on my thighs, and I listen intently to the way his breathing slows.

“That’s nice,” he hums. “You’renice.”

Done with his hair, I grasp his jaw, force him to look up. There are still remnants of egg and whatever other food he’s been attacked with tonight, and I use the edge of the towel to wipe off as much as I can. His gaze shifts from my eyes, to my nose, to my mouth, and back again, as if he’s searing my face into his memory. In the decade we’ve been together, he often looks at me that way, as if I’m going to up and vanish one day, and he’ll never see me again. Just to be clear, this man is my world.

My life.

Mylight.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I finally admit.

“Who?” he asks, suddenly sitting taller. “Amanda, I’m drunk. I can’t be throwing blows with some random guy tonight. I’m going to get my ass kicked.”

I shake my head, crack the faintest of smiles. “I meant Micah, you idiot.”

“Oh.” His shoulders relax, and he rests the back of his head on the seat. “Well, I don’t want to throw blows with him.” His eyes drift shut, and I know whatI’mthinking, but Logan—he says it out loud. “He’s had enough of that already.”

“Do you know who did that to him?” I’ve been thinking about it all night, but I couldn’t find the right time to ask.

“His dad.”

My stomach drops. “Where was his mom?”

Logan heaves out a breath before answering, “I suspect six feet underground, considering she’s dead.”

“And the rest of his family?”

He adjusts both of us until he’s more comfortable, a clear sign that he’s ready to talk. He may not be in the right state of mind for this conversation, but I’ll take what I can. For now.“The social worker has only been in once to see him. She says she and the cops are trying to find a next of kin, but… it’s not looking good.”

I set the towel aside and place my hand on his chest, right above his heart. He covers my hand with his, the other going to my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me, those sad, solemn eyes making me weak. I ask, “What happens once he’s better? Where does he go?”

Logan shrugs, dropping his hands to his sides. “Probably a group home.”

I suspected as much, but still… “That doesn’t seem right.”

“That’s life, babe.”

“So you’ve said,” I whine, my tone harsher than expected. “And you said there’s nothing more we can do.”

“There isn’t,” he deadpans.

“Who says?”

“Reality says.”

“Why can’t he come home with us?” The words are out before I can catch them, but Logan doesn’t seem at all surprised by them, as if maybe… maybe he’s been thinking the same.

“As much as I love you for thinking of that, and as much as I want to, I’m still doing my residency, and you have clients who need you. The timing?—”

“Why can’thebe my client?” I cut in.

“He can, but that’s all he can be.”

Tears well in my eyes, and Logan looks away. He can’t stand to see me hurt as much as I can’t stand to think what Micah’s future might be like if we don’t do something about it.

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