He swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in his throat and managed roughly, “I do know. And I love you too.”
“I don’t mean to nag.” Her smile twisted, turning a little wicked. “Well, that’s not totally true. You need me to nag you sometimes.”
He barked out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know who you were if you didn’t, lady.”
“Damn right. But when I nag you about dating . . .” She sagged a little against the door frame. “I just want you to find someone, to know you won’t be alone. It’s a big world to be alone in. And . . . I saw what happened to you before when you isolated yourself. I desperately don’t want that to happen again.”
His stomach churned anew. A flash of a memory seared through his brain: When his mom came down to New Orleans, after he’d finally confessed to her he’d lost everything, she’d found him lying drunk as hell on his living room floor. And sprang into action, grabbing him from under his arms and tugging until she got him to his couch. She’d grunted and pushed; he was a big guy, and it took strength she barely had, but she’d picked him up off the ground, literally. God, how scared and sad she must’ve been, finding him in squalor like that . . .
“It won’t happen again,” he managed, his voice gruff. “I swear that to you. I was a different person then.”
“I know you were. You’ve come so far, that guy’s in the rearview.” She reached up to rub her shoulder as she spoke. “But you’ve got a big warm heart in there that you’ve tamped down for a long time. You’re a giver. I want you to find someone to give all that good in you to, you know? And someone who can give it back to you. You deserve that. We all do.” Annmarie’s moss-green eyes clouded over. “I had that with your father . . .” She smiled briefly, a mixture of sadness and pride in her features. “You would’ve been a great father. You’re so much like him. It’s such a shame you never had any kids. They’d have been lucky to have you for a dad.”
Her words hit his chest like she’d kicked him with steel-tipped boots.
“Maybe I’ll stick around long enough to at least make sure you find a solid woman to share your life with. That’s all I want for you, honey. I don’t want . . .” She paused, cleared her throat, and said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear, “I don’t want you to be lonely like I’ve been since I lost your father. After he was gone, at least I had you and your brother. Having you boys . . . that saved me. Gave me purpose, and light, a reason to live on and to live well.” Her eyes locked on him. “When I’m gone? You’ll have no one. You understand now? Why I worry about you? I don’t care how old you are. You never stop worrying about or wanting for your children.” She lifted her chin in a defiant gesture and added, “I’m not sorry for that.”
He stood slowly, his throat too tight to speak, and went to her. Drawing her into his arms for a hug, he could feel the loss of weight on her, feel the bones in her back . . . She’d never felt so fragile in his arms before. “I love you, Mom.” He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head. Her short blond hair, which had always been silky, felt coarse beneath his mouth. When it had grown back after the first round of chemo, it’d come back different. It still startled him on occasion. “I’ll be okay, no matter what. I swear it. Don’t you worry about that.”
“I know. I know.” She withdrew from his embrace, patted his cheek. “That beard is so thick. Again, so much like your father . . .” With a smile, she made her way to the couch.
Logan watched her as she went. Her pace was slow but steady. She didn’t need his help. So why did he have to rein in, with everything he had, the urge to help her? She was proud and still okay; he had to stop hovering. When she needed him, he had to trust she’d ask.
“So you never did say what Tess asked you for,” Annmarie said, once she was settled into her usual spot on the sofa. “But whatever it was, I say do it. Because life is short, and you like her, and why the hell not.”