“You’re not hearing me.” She sighed.
“I’m picking you up at noon on Friday to take you to radiation, and that’s all there is to it.” He scrubbed his hands over his beard and added, “We’ll talk to Dr. Cranston, discuss where we go from here, okay? See what he thinks. But giving up just isn’t an option.”
She looked up at him sadly. “I’ve never been a quitter and you know it. But sometimes . . . you need to know when to call it.”
“Really?” Suddenly angry, he started to pace the small living room. His lungs felt tight, and his blood raced through his body. “When I tanked my life—drank myself into a fucking stupor, lost my job, and my wife left me—what did you do? You flew down to New Orleans. Told me to get my ass in rehab. Paid for it, if I remember correctly.”
“Logan—”
“You told me to keep fighting. I’d made a wreck of everything, and you told me Carters are fighters.”
“This is different,” she said.
“Not much,” he said. “I was fighting for my life, and I didn’t even know it. You’re fighting for your life now.” He stood before her, stared down, and tried not to let his panic show through, only his determination. “You didn’t let me give up. I’m not letting you give up. End of story.”
She met his gaze, unblinking. “You didn’t realize you were killing yourself,” she said with quiet steel. “I know I’m dying, Logan. You know it too. Maybe I want to do it on my own terms, whatever of those I have left.”
That made him stop cold. Waves of emotions crashed through him, a mixture of fear, rage, hopelessness . . . “Fuck that,” he spat. “We’re not calling anything yet. You hear me?”
She sighed heavily. “We’ll let this go for tonight. I’m sorry you’re this upset.”
“What’d you think I’d be?” he cried. “How could I be anything else?”
“I haven’t seen you this emotional in a long time,” she admitted. “You do such a good job of swallowing things most of the time, being all stoic and sure. I forgot how fired up you can get.”
He raked his hands through his hair and looked around, a bit wild. His ears were ringing, like they used to when anxiety would sweep in and take over. He steeled himself against it. “I’m picking you up for your appointment on Friday, and you better be dressed and ready to go. Got that?”
“Yes sir, bossy.” She sighed and lay back down. “You want to watch some TV?”
“I want to shake you is what I wanna do,” he growled.
“Go for it.”
He huffed out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. His stomach churned and his blood still pulsed in his head, the start of a stress headache. But at least he didn’t want a drink. That was a relief. He rubbed his face and rolled his head around on his neck.
“Sit down, Thor,” she said. “You never did tell me about New Year’s Eve with that Tess. How’d it go?”
“I didn’t tell you because I don’t report my activities to you.” His grumble was good-natured as he sat down again in the armchair. He willfully ignored the traces of adrenaline still shooting through him, reached for the remote, and turned on the television.
“Throw me a bone here,” Annmarie needled with a grin. “Did you kiss her at midnight, at least?”
The memory of their steamy kisses flashed through Logan’s mind, sending a new rush through his veins. “Maybe.”
“Damn, I hope so. You’re cranky as hell lately. Need a good woman in your life.”
“Says you.”
“That’s right. Now gimme.” She held out her hand and he forked over the remote. “Are you going to go out with her again?”
He sighed. She was relentless. “Actually, we’re going skiing tomorrow. Up on Ajax.”
“Wellllll!” His mother’s smile was both pleased and a bit smug. “Must’ve been some kiss at midnight, then!”
“She’s just a friend, Mom,” he cautioned. “Don’t get all nutty.”
“I’ve always been nutty,” she said. “That ship sailed long ago, my sweet boy.”