It was strange to imagine Ian and Noah at Connor’s age, and just as hard to imagine Connor ever being so small and peaceful. Of course he had been—Logan had seen the pictures. Veronica had said Connor was a happy, easy baby, and a good toddler until his father had abandoned them.
As Noah fidgeted, kicking out his little boot-covered foot and grasping the air with tiny fingers, Logan wondered if Connor would ever be happy again. God, he hoped so. He wanted to help, but he was so unqualified to be a father figure. And had Mike bothered to return Connor’s messages? Sometimes it took weeks.
He gave Noah his finger to grasp, the baby gripping on with surprising strength and blinking blearily. Logan tried to imagine actually abandoning your own kid and couldn’t. There was a special place in hell for cowardly fucks like Mike.
When Noah started kicking harder and whining, Logan carefully unbuckled him and lifted him out, taking off his coat and boots and holding him. The kid seemed to settle a bit when Logan walked around with him, patting his back and making soothing noises the way Jenna and Jun did.
Logan headed into the den as Noah gurgled against him wetly. The blinds were shut, probably to avoid glare on the TV. The Christmas tree was lit with gold in the corner, strands of silver decoration stuff all over the carpet. There weren’t any presents under it yet.
“Hey, Pop,” Logan said, walking closer to the tree with Noah still in his arms.
On his ancient stuffed armchair, slippered feet up on the matching orange footstool, Pop grunted. He’d never been much of a talker, but after the stroke, he talked even less. He could after a lot of speech therapy Jenna paid for, but chose not to most of the time, especially when watching TV. On the screen, a contestant played Plinko.
“Anyone guess an exact price today?” Logan asked, peering at the tree’s glass balls and icicle ornaments along with the old decorations he remembered from his childhood. He smirked at the butt-ugly beagle he’d made in Boy Scouts, its tongue too long and ears too short. He didn’t know why Jenna had hung on to all that stuff, but he had to admit it wasn’t bad to see it every December.
“Pop?”
“Nah. These guys are guessing for shit.” Pop took a sip from his mug of coffee, which was probably stone cold by now. He folded his hands over his gut, the TV reflecting in his glasses.
He was only sixty, but after the stroke five years before, he’d stopped dyeing his thinning hair, and it had gone completely gray now. His glasses slid down to the end of his nose, and he was constantly pushing them up.
Shifting Noah to his other arm, Logan reached up to the treetop to brush his fingers along the fringed bottom of the old angel’s dress. His mom had loved that angel with her gold-flecked halo that got bent one year in storage. It was still bent, but the angel beamed like everything in the world was perfect.
“Getting big already,” Pop said.
Logan rocked Noah gently. “He is.”
“How’s Connor?”
“Fine,” Logan lied, lowering himself and Noah to the worn couch carefully.
Pop grunted, watching the TV again. They sat in peaceful enough silence until the next commercial break. “Jenny says you need help finishing a kitchen.”
“Yeah. The bones are all in place. Just needs the finishing touches.” Truthfully, Logan probably could have done the work himself as long as there were enough extra hands to carry the heavy pieces. But it would be good to get Pop out of his chair. “Could really use your help.”
He grunted again. “If it’ll make you and Jenny happy.” Pop was the only person allowed to call Jenna anything but her proper name.
“Thanks. Maybe we can go over and take a look. See what equipment or materials we need.”
The grunt was accompanied by a shrug this time. “After the Showcase Showdown.”
“Sounds good.”
“It’s Jenny’s boss’s kitchen? She said you’re staying over there.”
“Yeah. Just temporarily.” They’d decided there was no need to tell Pop about the deal Seth and Logan had made. It would probably just confuse him. Mostly Logan didn’t want to go there. His father had never seemed to have an issue with gay people, but… Yeah. Just didn’t want to go there.
“That warehouse job fell through?”
Shame simmered in his gut, and he braced for Pop’s judgment. Yet Pop only grunted when Logan nodded. After a few moments, Logan added, “I’ll get a job soon.” Noah gurgled and squirmed, and he rocked him. “I’m trying.”
Pop actually looked away from the TV, bushy eyebrows drawn tight. “’Course you are. Those bums at the railway fucked you over. Sons of bitches. You always tried hard. Skinned your knees raw, but you rode a bike before any of the other kids.”