Abby set the box on the floor by the tree, then straightened.
The fragrant fir filled most of the window, and Logan had woven both white and colored lights through the branches. Sage had gifted them a small assortment of her stunning sea glass ornaments, plus they had the ones they made at the Christmas tree lighting ceremony.
Now, they could add hers and Donnie’s to the collection.
She’d been waiting for an opportunity to decorate the tree properly, since Donnie always insisted it be done right—with eggnog, his mother’s peppermint bark recipe, and a recipe they’d invented together called Hot Chocolate Brownies with Marshmallow Icing. Not to mention his special playlist with festive songs like “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” “O Tannenbaum,” and “The Little Christmas Tree.”
Truthfully, she’d been avoiding the tree trimming under the pretense that the timing wasn’t right. They’d been busy showing Nadia around town and participating in various outings and activities, so it was easy to postpone, but she’d run out of excuses.
Abby glanced at the box Nadia brought from her storage unit. The lid sat slightly askew.
Was she ready for this? Each ornament held a vivid memory—moments with Donnie she’d worked hard to suppress. Was she strong enough to open the floodgates and withstand the deluge of emotions?
Her thoughts fluttered to Max, who’d gone to the beach with Verna and Mr. Bingley now that school was out. Did he still look for his father’s boat every time he gazed at the water? She suspected he probably did, which broke her heart.
Max had been through so much. And now, he needed stability, a steady supply of love and attention. She may not be able to meet his long-term needs, but she could give him the best Christmas possible, even if it meant resurfacing her own wounds.
Her mind made up, she searched the house for Logan to discuss her plan, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found. That’s odd. Ever since Max came to stay with them, they’d gotten into the habit of letting each other know whenever they were going out for a while. It wasn’t like Logan to disappear without saying anything.
She had one last place to look.
Abby entered the backyard through the double doors in the dining room, relishing the cool sea breeze against her exposed skin. She’d never get used to the magnificent view or splendor of the outdoor space.
Once again, she tried to envision what it looked like in the springtime with all the flowers in bloom, sipping a glass of iced tea on the veranda, while Max played catch with Logan on the lawn.
Abby shook her head, dismissing the silly daydream.
She wouldn’t be here in the spring.
Suddenly, Nadia’s words came rushing back.
You belong here, Abby.
Her friend had spoken with such conviction. Could Nadia be right?
Her gaze drifted to the quaint bungalow in the far corner of the yard. Leaves covered the tiled roof and the pale, seafoam-green exterior could use a fresh coat of paint, but it looked cozy. Although, she had no idea what purpose it served. Storage, maybe?
She crossed the lawn, hoping to find Logan inside.
But when she opened the rickety screen door and crossed the threshold, her heart plummeted to the floor.
Panic gripped Logan’s chest when he heard the door creak open.
Please, don’t let it be Abby….
His name escaped her lips in a frightened gasp, and within seconds, she knelt by his side.
“Are you okay? What happened? What can I do? Was it another spasm?” The questions poured out of her in a frantic rush, and her wide, petrified eyes scanned his prostrate body for answers.
“I’m fine,” he grunted, trying to sit up. His pain must have been written on his face, because she laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t get up. Do you have a heating pad or ointment to relax your muscles?”
For a brief moment, Logan closed his eyes. He loathed being in the position of needing help, but what choice did he have? “I have a TENS machine. On my nightstand.”
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Her voice had gone from terrified to calm and controlled in a matter of minutes, and Logan once again marveled at her ability to rally in a crisis. He would’ve been proud of her if he wasn’t already consumed by his own shame and humiliation.
What must Abby think of him now? He felt so frail and weak. He doubted she’d ever look at him the same way again. There was nothing attractive about a man who couldn’t take care of himself.
When she returned, she was breathless as if she’d been running. Kneeling by his side, she situated the pads of the machine where he directed and turned it on. The small electrical pulses immediately set to work, relieving some of the pain. “Thanks. You don’t have to wait around,” he told her when she sat cross-legged on the tile.
“I’m not going anywhere until you’re feeling better.”
Logan suppressed a groan. He didn’t want to snub her kindness, but he couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing.
“How long have you been out here like this?” she asked softly.
“No clue. I lost track of time.”
Her brow furrowed when she spotted the outline of his cell phone in his right pant pocket. “Why didn’t you call me to come help you?”
He stared up at the ceiling, unsure how to answer that.
“Logan…” she pressed gently.
He released a heavy sigh. What was the point in hiding it? He didn’t have any dignity left, anyway. “Because I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“Like what? Injured?” She squinted, clearly confused.
“More like emasculated. I don’t want your pity.”
“And I’m not giving you any.” Her blunt tone caught him off guard.
“You’re not?”
“Why would I?”
He blinked, positive he’d missed something. “You are seeing this, right? How weak I am.”
“You’re not weak,” she said firmly. “Weakness is being too proud to ask for help.”
He wanted to believe her, but his self-perception was too ingrained. “What kind of man can’t lift his own head off the floor?”
“The kind of man who was injured serving his country, who puts others before himself, and continues to fight for what’s important.” Her voice resonated with conviction and something softer, something that warmed his entire body, even against the cold tile. “I can only imagine your pain and frustration, Logan. And the last thing I want to do is make light of what you’re going through, but please, don’t let it define you. I only wish you could see the man that I see. The man Max sees. You wouldn’t dare call him weak.”
His throat tightened, and he couldn’t speak. Instead, he stretched out his hand, palm open.
Abby slipped her hand in his, lacing their fingers together.
No one had ever said anything like that to him before.
And her words breathed life into his heart, mending a wound he never thought would heal.