Meeting His Match (Single In the City 1)

For a moment, Logan debated feeding her lies. What Marti said earlier was true. They hardly knew each other. And though there was only one way to remedy that—and an inexplicable part of him wanted to—he wasn’t entirely sure he could trust her. She was a woman who regularly made her personal life public, openly admitting to embellishing the truth and sometimes lying when necessary for the sake of her career. Nothing was off limits. He knew that. And yet, he wanted to tell her. He was an idiot with an MD.

Logan ground his teeth. Regardless, the words spilled out. “We started dating early in college, clear through graduation. When I went into Med school, it was with her by my side. I knew it would be tough. The curriculum was demanding. It was stressful and the hours grueling. Once I started my residency, I knew I’d have even less time, but I proposed a year into Med school, anyway. Maybe I felt us slipping apart, and I thought a ring would be enough to hold us together. I don’t know . . .” He shrugged.

“It’s a common mistake.” Marti reached out and touched his arm.

“You’re being kind.” He flashed her a tight-lipped smile. “But I know what you really think. It was a stupid mistake, to think a further commitment might fix the fissures in our current one.”

“Me? Think an engagement stupid? Pah.” She grinned, and he felt a surge of affection for her attempt to bring levity to what was an uncomfortable conversation.

“I was in my final year, mid-deep in my residency when she told me she was pregnant. At first, I was shocked. Then shock quickly turned to fear. I was fresh out of school and had no clue how I’d help care for a baby. And more selfishly, my dreams of starting my own practice and starting Hidden Heartbeat seemed impossible. But I warmed to the idea. A family of my own was something I’d always wanted.”

“Because of your mom?”

She saw more than he gave her credit for. “Yeah. It’s stupid to think you can make up for the loss of a parent by having your own kids, but—”

“It’s not stupid.” She gripped his arm, her eyes fierce.

He reached up and lifted her hand off his arm, threading his fingers through hers. She shivered at the touch. “Are you cold?”

“I’m okay,” she whispered.

Regardless, he shrugged off his coat and slid it over her shoulders, ignoring her protests. His fingers lingered on the collar, smoothing it down. His knuckles brushed her skin and an electric jolt cut through him. He dropped his hands, then guided her to a bench.

He sat a moment, trying to clear his head.

“What happened after?” Marti asked, hugging his coat to her.

“Allison’s doctor was a physician with the practice where I was doing my residency, and just so happened to be my attending physician. About six months into her pregnancy, her symptoms seemed to become more pronounced—just little things. Her blood pressure spiked. She was often nauseous, complained of shortness of breath, and abdominal pain. Around this time, I not only started attending all her check-ups, but I assist

ed as a resident. I gave the doctor my opinion that she may have preeclampsia. He insisted she didn’t, that all these things were perfectly normal. And I supposed they could be normal symptoms. There was nothing off the charts, nothing that stuck out like a red flag. All I had was this feeling . . .”

Logan clutched at the center of his chest, his gaze lost in the indigo sky above them. The gnawing ache his words brought on was the same one he felt years ago.

“You don’t have to tell me. If it’s too hard,” Marti said.

He glanced over at her, and her words rang true. He saw the sincerity. She could leave this bench and go back home without hearing the rest. It would suit her just fine. Because she avoided anything real. If she could gloss over the tough stuff, she was okay.

“No. I want to,” Logan said, not even fully understanding how true it was until that moment, looking over at her. “I didn’t argue with the attending, despite my better judgment. I told myself I was being paranoid. It was my child. I was biased, overreacting. So I let it go.”

He swallowed over the lump in his throat, meeting Marti’s gaze as regret pumped through his veins. His breath puffed in the air in front of him as he mustered his courage. The temperature had dropped, and whether it was the chill in the air or the memories, he went numb. “She went into labor early. Way too early. I was at the hospital, just finishing a twelve-hour shift when she came in. Things went from bad to worse, and when she delivered the baby, it was already gone.”

Marti covered her mouth, shock turning her eyes black. “But I thought you said . . .” she trailed off as Logan nodded.

“Turns out she did have preeclampsia. It was news I would torture myself with in the months to come, and even years later, because I could have prevented all of it, had I just listened to my instincts. I should have insisted she get a second opinion. Something.” He laughed bitterly. “Heck, there I was seven months away from becoming a doctor myself, and I didn’t diagnose her. And it wasn’t just some random patient. It was my fiancé. I thought it was my baby.”

“Logan, you tried.”

“I caved. Because I was afraid I was wrong. Because I didn’t want to look stupid or cause trouble as a new resident. I told myself my attending knew better, ignoring my instincts. But I was right, and he wasn’t. And we all paid the price—Allison, me, and the baby most of all.”

Logan felt her fingers slide over his, her palm cupping his hand, giving him the courage to continue.

He cleared his throat and squeezed, wondering if when he finished, she’d feel differently about him. “It was months later when I read the official autopsy report for myself. That’s when I discovered I wasn’t the father. It was nearly impossible with the baby’s blood type, mine, and Allison’s. It’s not conclusive, but when I confronted her about it, she readily admitted to sleeping with one of my classmates, a fellow resident, for years. And I knew. I was right, and the baby wasn’t my daughter. I called the engagement off and moved on as best I could.”

Logan hung his head, staring down at their joined hands, hoping in vain she didn’t let go because at that moment, it felt like she was the only thing holding him together. He was nothing but a sheet of tissue paper—gauze-thin and fragile—stitched together at the seams.

“I don’t know what to say,” Marti said beside him.

Logan lifted his shoulders, staring at the ground. “There’s nothing to say.”