Meeting His Match (Single In the City 1)

“And now it’s hurt both of us.”

Logan nodded. What else could he say?

He had no doubt the article brought up some unwelcome memories and emotions. He knew Allison still thought of her baby all the time, but if the past was any indication of the future, he knew she’d milk his role in this lovely reminder for all it was worth.

“Do you want some extra money? You leave soon for Europe, right? Maybe you can extend your trip.” He hated himself for it, even as the words left his mouth.

Allison pursed her lips, but he saw the glimmer of interest before she could smother it with her wary expression. “Maybe . . .”

Logan stood. Feeling like a jerk for offering her money didn’t stop him as he fished in his back pocket and slid out his wallet. A check couldn’t ease his guilt and buy him forgiveness, but it was all he had.

He opened his wallet and took out a blank check, then glanced around the room. “Do you have a pen?”

Allison sniffed. “I’ll get you one.” She scurried off down the hall.

Logan’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and when his gaze dipped to the floor, something on the coffee table caught his eye—an envelope with the PopNewz letterhead.

He glowered at it. Why on earth would Allison have anything from PopNewz?

With a glance toward the hallway to ensure she wasn’t coming, he stepped forward and snatched up the

envelope, slid the contents out and gasped. Among the paperwork was a check for seven thousand dollars.

“What are you doing?” Allison asked, her voice shrill.

He glanced up at her, shock roiling his stomach as he held up the check with a trembling hand. “What is this?”

“That’s private,” she snapped, rushing toward him. She tore the papers from his grasp.

He was too stunned to fight her as she scrambled to fold the contents back up. Her hands shook as she shoved everything back inside the envelope like it might make them disappear. Like it might erase the image of it from his head.

“Allison, why do you have a check from PopNewz?”

When she said nothing, the tiny thread on his patience snapped. “Answer me. Now,” he barked.

She met his eyes. Gone were her tears. In place was a mask of pain and hate. “I deserved something for my loss.”

Logan blinked at her in disbelief. “You sold them the story, didn’t you?”

“I need to start over. Every year, I think this is the year I’ll be able to move on with my life, but I never can. Not here. Not with all the reminders of how my baby girl is gone.”

Logan exhaled a shaky breath and turned around, unable to look at her any longer, for fear he might lose it altogether.

Shoving his hands into his hair, he tried to absorb this news. But it was too much.

“Why would you do this to me? You twisted the truth and lied, made me look like a villain.”

“You know who suffered when I lost my baby?” She stabbed at her chest. “I did. Only me. You and that doctor just went on with your lives while mine stopped.” The anger in her voice cut him like a thousand shards of glass.

“I was devastated when you lost the baby. Or are you forgetting I thought I was the father?” He gritted his teeth, pushing the words out. “I thought I was the father even after she died until I read the autopsy report and you admitted you’d cheated. Do you know how that felt? The emotional whiplash? I lost a baby and a fiancé. But the guilt that I couldn’t even save my own baby never went away. And you made darn sure of that these last few years.”

“If you felt any pain at all, you deserved all of it.” Her hands fisted at her sides, practically vibrating with emotion. “It was your fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Logan’s voice boomed across the apartment. He exhaled. For the first time in his life, a weight lifted off his chest as he realized it was true.

“It was not my fault. I’ve blamed myself, yes, and so have you, but I was just a resident—a student. I was in training. I tried to get the attending to take a closer look, to run more tests and consider a different diagnosis, but he refused. He insisted your symptoms were in range with a normal pregnancy, and he wasn’t wrong. Sometimes they are. Preeclampsia is misdiagnosed all the time. But he was the doctor. It was his responsibility, not mine. I was run ragged with school and my residency, working fifteen-hour shifts. I was exhausted, so I accepted what he said at face value because I had no reason to question it. I should have. I wish I did. But there is no culpability in that. He was the professional, and I was under his tutelage. He failed both of us. Meanwhile, that lowlife of a father was nowhere. Where was he?”

Logan ran a hand over the scruff his jaw, emotion clogging his throat. “I’ve blamed myself for years,” he said more to himself than her. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, but God knows I tried to make up for it.”