Page 300 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
Logan lifts an eyebrow. “I like that idea, but if things don’t last between you, will you want the reminder?”
“Lo, I’m not going into this with that mind-set. Did you feel that way about Emily?”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “Not even for a second.”
“Then stop projecting that shit on me and Bren.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“And don’t push too hard on Bren moving in here, during or after this. She’s independent because she’s had to be. I’m being careful not to crowd her and let her come to me in her own time. She’s doing great settling into my control.”
“I honestly wouldn’t have believed Bren could do it full-time.”
“She’s not just doing it, she’s thriving. I haven’t seen any sadness in her eyes in days. She laughs so much more than when we first met. Some of that is we’re in the honeymoon stage, sure, but a lot of it is she’s finally getting what she needs instead of what she thought she wanted.”
Logan scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I’m not sure what it says that she’s been at Blunts for over five years and hasn’t gotten what she needs.”
“You know exactly what it means, son. You never paid attention to her.” I hold up my hand to forestall him when he frowns defensively. “You know it’s true. I saw it so clearly when we caught up to the subs at the bar last night. Bren’s never going to be part of the popular crowd. She’s too much of an outsider. You let her be an outsider and I’m not condemning you for that, but you know you weren’t keeping tabs on her and she’s never going to be one to complain. Without someone to advocate for her, the Doms gave her what she asked for, what she said she wanted, but no one was paying attention to her deeper needs. If you want me to help you manage the house subs, that’s something we’re going to have to address.”
Logan’s mouth works for a moment. “You’re right.”
I admire many things about Logan, but nothing more than his ability to admit when he’s wrong.
“I know I am.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Don’t shoulder all the blame, Lo. There are what, thirty house subs?”
“Closer to forty.”
“That’s too many for any one person to manage. It never should have been a one-man job.”
He nods. “I agree with you there, sir.”
“You done anything about it yet? My membership or taking the reins back from your friend?”
“No. Sorry, Mac, I’ve been pre-occupied.”
“Don’t be sorry. Bren’s reward today is going to be a swimming lesson. I can take her to the gym near my apartment, but if you don’t have any plans this afternoon?—”
“Nothing this doesn’t trump. I need to make an appearance at the club every day during the festival anyway and Emily will jump at a chance to go swimming. I’ll catch one or two of the committee members while we’re there and start the sponsorship.” His mouth twists. “They never fail to pressure me about something, so I’m sure they’ll mention the training role.”
“Feel free to use me as a buffer against their pressure, Lo.”
He grips my wrist, where I’m still resting my hand on his shoulder, and squeezes. “I’ll hold you to that, sir.”
We finish the tour of the renovations with a peek into the large closet that’s all that’s left of the formerly huge attic. It’s already stuffed with what looks like boxes of books, carefully labeled in Emily’s handwriting. Good thing I don’t need much storage. “What happened to everything that was up here?” I ask, remembering that Logan refused to part with anything belonging to his parents after their deaths.
“Ebay,” he says. “Emily helped me sell it all. Some surprising things in there. They fetched enough for that new eighty-four-inch telly.”
“You told Emily about that yet?”
Logan shakes his head with a huge grin. “When I do, I’m blaming it on you.”
I laugh as I follow him downstairs.
I give Bren another half-hour to digest and finish the movie with Emily and Cynnie before I drag her into the basement. We’ve brought our own gloves and Bren’s pads. Logan has a speed bag and a heavy bag in his home gym. After several minutes of skipping, we each take a bag to warm up, swap, and then pick up the pads to spar.
Bren’s bound her dreads back with a thick black band that holds them away from her face and she’s holding the pads. Otherwise, she’s naked. The warm-up’s given her colorful skin a gorgeous sheen and I’m already addicted to naked boxing.
“Are we kicking, Sir?” she asks as we circle each other in the small, open space, bare feet squeaking on the mats.
