Logan (The Kings of Brighton Book 2) Read online

  A hospital suite full of gorgeous men.

  “Hey,” Silver says when she sees us, struggling to sit up further in her bed while what has to be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life lunges out of his seat next to her to help her. “I’m fine, Jase,” she says, laughing while she playfully pushes his hands away. “You don’t have to jump into action every time I sneeze.”

  “This isn’t a have to, Fancy Face,” the man she called Jase says as he reroutes his advances without missing a beat and slips his hands under her arms to gently lift her into a sitting position. “This is a get to—” He flashes her a devastating grin while he tucks a pillow under her shoulders and adjusts her covers. “besides, how else am I going to prove to you that I’m better husband material than that cranky brother of mine?”

  Brothers.

  These are Tobias’s brothers.

  Holy shit, what a gene pool.

  “You’re impossible,” Silver says, still laughing.

  “That’s what they tell me.” He gives her a wink, settling himself back into his chair before looking in our direction. “I’m Jase—the hot brother,” he informs us, and even though he says it with a straight face, I get the feeling he’s joking. “The big, dumb one is Gray, and the weird one in the cat shirt is Logan.” He gives a chin jerk aimed at the other side of the bed before looking at us. “They’re hogging the baby if you want to get a look at her.”

  The big one lifts his head and turns to aim a grin in our direction. “I’m not hogging shi—” As soon as he sees us, his grin winks out in an instant, and Delilah goes stiff beside me.

  “I… ah…” Delilah looks at Silver and gives her a smile. “Is that the kitchen?” She points a perfectly manicured finger at a doorway directly to our right. Following the trajectory of her finger, I look. Sure enough, there’s what looks like a fully equipped kitchen attached to Silver’s hospital room. Before Silver can answer her, Delilah bolts through the doorway and disappears around the corner. Gaze narrowed, the big one with the baby tracks her route. Muttering something under his breath, he gently passes the baby to his brother before skirting the bed to follow after her. When he pushes past me with a ‘scuse me, I turn to trail after them both, even though I have no idea what’s happening or what sort of hope I have against someone who is roughly the size of Declan Gilroy. All I know is that he’s following Delilah and obviously angry.

  “Gray is head of security for Tobias’s New York clubs,” Silver tells me, stopping me in my tracks. “Delilah and her friends caused some trouble last night.”

  I think about the cat lady disguise she has stuffed in her bag and the weird way she’s been acting since I picked her up at the hotel. How emphatic she was that I not get Silver involved, and it all suddenly makes sense. Delilah isn’t in trouble. As usual, she’s just causing it.

  Abandoning my rescue mission, I turn away from the kitchen to give Silver an exasperated smile. “What did she do this time?”

  “I don’t know—” Silver gives me an equally exasperated eye roll. “all I know is that Jordy and Liz were involved.”

  “Jordy and Liz Cramer?” Jase says, the mischief in his eyes chased away by a look of concern. When Silver nods, Jase looks at me, gaze narrowed on my face like I’m no longer just Silver’s boring friend. Like I might be trouble. “What’s your name again?”

  “Me?” For some reason, I direct the question at the quiet one in the corner. The weird one in the cat shirt as Jase described him. He’s standing by the window where the big one left him, sleeping baby nestled in his arms while he stands as still as stone, head bent to look at her like he’s counting every breath she takes. “Jane.” Looking at Jase, I shake my head. “Jane Halstead—and I’m strictly a bed by ten on a school night kinda girl.”

  “That’s not entirely true.” Silver teases me with a laugh. “You and my trouble-making sister are the reason I met Tobias in the first place.”

  “Those were extenuating circumstances,” I say, coming forward to perch myself on the side of Silver’s bed with a laugh to plead my case. “You were watching Pretty Woman and eating pizza rolls on your twenty-first birthday—even I know that’s unacceptable.” For some reason, I look at Jase for validation. “Sweats—she was wearing sweats. There were frozen burritos involved. Something had to be done.”

  “Sorry, Fancy Face—she’s right.” Jase laughs, the sound and light of it taking him from merely hot to the kind of beautiful that makes it hard to look at him in a heartbeat. “Sweats and pizza rolls on your birthday—that’s the definition of extenuating circumstances.” Laughter tapering off, he looks at me again. “Jane Halstead? I know that name. You work for Patrick and Declan Gilroy, right? You’re the head of their HR department.”

  “Uhhh…” Head of their HR department is a little much—even though I do about a million different things for the Gilroys, I don’t consider myself the head of anything. “Well—”

  Before I can explain, Jase flashes me another grin, taking my stuttering as confirmation. “Then you already know my weirdo brother, Logan.” He aims another chin jerk across the bed. “He’s currently wasting his life tending bar at Gilroy’s.”

  The name sets off a bell of recognition and I nod. I’ve seen him a few times, from a distance, behind the bar—dark, unruly hair and a lean, swimmer’s build—while swinging by to drop off contracts or proposals to one of the Gilroys. “Yeah, but I don’t think we’ve actually—” I turn to introduce myself so I can finally put a face to the name and am met with a pair of deep-set, ice-blue eyes behind a pair of thick-framed glasses and a slightly clefted chin.

  I’m suddenly sitting in my mother’s kitchen again, staring at the Polaroid photo paper-clipped to the inside of one of her case files. One I’m not supposed to be looking at because they’re confidential. Because my mom could get fired if someone finds out that I went through her bag. And even though it should matter, should make me stop, it doesn’t. I can’t stop looking at his picture. Can’t close the file and put it back where I found it. Even when my mom catches me snooping, I can’t let it go.

  That’s your job, right? To help him. You’re his Guardian ad Litem, aren’t you? Helping him is literally what you get paid to do.

  “Matthew?” It comes out before I can stop it, and as soon as it does, the open, easy smile in his eyes shutters closed so fast and final, I can practically feel the slap of it against my face.

  “Nope.” Recovering quickly he aims a quick, puzzled smile over my shoulder at his brother who is undoubtedly watching our exchange with avid interest. “Logan—my name is Logan.”

  “Oh…” I nod, laughing a little, playing along even though I know he’s lying. “Sorry—you just look like someone I used to know. It took me by surprise.”

  “No worries.” He laughs back, the sound of it light and easy, even though we both know he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “I must have one of those faces.” He doesn’t. He doesn’t have one of those faces. Flashing me another smile, he moves forward, past me, to stand over Silver. “I think she might be hungry,” he murmurs, gently setting the sleeping bundle in Sliver’s waiting arms. “I’m going to hit the vending machine,” he says, standing to aim a look at his brother. “You want something?”

  “Vending machine?” I don’t even have to look at Jase to know he’s worried. I can hear it, dull and heavy, in his tone. “You won’t find one on this floor. You’ll have to—”

  Logan lifts his arm and flashes his metal wristband like it’s an all-access pass. “I’ll find one.” Careful not to look at me before he turns away from the three of us and heads straight for the door.

  Seven

  Logan

  Matthew.

  She called me Matthew.

  Recognized me, which is impossible because I don’t recognize her. I have no idea who she is. No idea how she knows me.

  The fact that I come face to face with someone who knows who I really am, the same day that one of my father’s groupies tracks
me down and slips a letter under my door—that can’t be a coincidence. It can’t be. There’s no way—

  “Matthew.”

  She’s behind me, trailing me by less than a handful of steps, calling out to me. Every time she says his name, it’s like she’s wielding a knife. Stabbing me in the back with it. Trying to hamstring me. Keep me from getting away.

  “Matthew?”

  I keep walking, vaguely aware of the fact that people are watching us, nurses who’ve been hand-picked for their discretion and ability to keep their mouths shut about the people in their care are openly gawking at us as I speed-walk my way past the nursing station, Silver’s friend trailing behind me while calling out a name that none of them recognize.

  “Matthew Emmett Collins.”

  Fuck.

  Me.

  Jogging my gaze to the side, I spot a closed door coming up on my right. Not knowing if it’s an occupied patient room or a supply closet, I dodge across the hall, spinning toward her to swipe my left wrist against the door’s security panel. Suddenly face-to-face with me, Silver’s friend’s gaze goes wide, her soft green eyes rounding on my face as she tries to pull the brakes on the impulsive chase she’s giving me, but she’s too surprised, and she’s moving too fast to stop herself from plowing right into me. The security panel reads the bracelet Jase slapped on my wrist in the elevator, and the door pops open with a barely audible hiss.

  “Look, will you just stop for a—” She stalls out when she feels my hand close over her upper arm, stunned to find the tables turned and herself suddenly caught.

  I shoulder the door open and, aiming a tight smile at the gawking nursing staff over her shoulder, I drag her into the waiting room behind me. As soon as the door snaps closed, the overhead lights click on. It’s not a supply closet. A patient suite—thankfully, it’s empty.

  Partially recovered from my surprise role reversal, she yanks her arm out of my grip, eyes narrowing slightly. “What the fuck do you think you’re—”

  Again, I don’t give her the chance to finish. I step into her, this time keeping my hands to myself as I advance, forcing her to scramble back until her ass hits the door I just pulled her through. Even though she’s trapped, I keep coming. Don’t stop until I’m standing over her. “You’re the one following me, remember?” I remind her in a tone I don’t recognize as my own. “Who are you? Why are you following me?”

  “I just…” Her gaze goes wide again, sliding to the side before bouncing back to mine, looking away from me and back again like it’s a nervous tic she can’t control. “My name is Jane,” she tells me like we didn’t just meet each other five minutes ago. Like she’s sure I’ve lost my mind somehow. “Jane Halstead—I work for Patrick Gilroy. We both do. You’re a bartender at—”

  “Stop.” I bark it at her, my chest squeezed tight by frustration and something else. Something that makes me hate her.

  Fear.

  I’m afraid of her because even though I have no idea who she is or where she came from, I know that she’s dangerous. That she can destroy me. Take everything I have away in the blink of an eye.

  Because she knows who I really am.

  “Why do you keep calling me Matthew?”

  For a second doubt clouds her soft green eyes, like it’s a trick question and she’ll be punished if she answers wrong. “I told you, I thought you were someone I used to know. In high school—I thought—” She stammers through the obvious lie, rambling and shaking her head while raising a pleading hand between us to distract me from the fact that her other hand is fumbling across the door in search of its lever.

  Lifting a hand, I flatten it against the door, inches away from her neck. Leaning my weight against it, I bring my face close to hers. “Matthew Emmett Collins.” I say the name like I’ve never heard it before. Like it never belonged to me. “Is that who you thought I was?”

  “Yes.” She nods and swallows hard, the bob and scrape of her throat against the soft skin of her neck drawing my attention. “I thought…” Her voice gives out and her gaze jogs away again, this time landing on the hand I have planted against the door.

  I’m too close.

  She’s afraid of me.

  Of what I might do to her without witnesses.

  That makes two of us.

  That fear drops my hand and straightens my frame. Pushes me back to put space between us, but I don’t let her go. “You’re lying.” I shake my head at her, growling the accusation, low and tight in my throat. “You never knew me in high school,” I tell her with absolute certainty while trying to ignore what I just did. What I just admitted. That she’s right. That I’m who she says I am. “Matthew Collins—how do you know him?” If she notices the emphasis I put on the word him, she’s smart enough to keep it to herself.

  “I…” She shakes her head, her fumbling hand finds the door lever but she doesn’t pull on it. Doesn’t try to get away from me. “I don’t. I don’t know him, I just—”

  That’s the first truthful thing she’s said to me since I pulled her into this room. My gaze falls to the floor, following the length of shadow shifting and reaching under the crack of the door I have her pushed against. There’s someone out there. Probably one of the nurses, trying to decide if she should get the security guard. I don’t have much time before someone knocks or tries to push their way in. “Was it you?” I ask her, digging my hand into my pocket to pull out the wad of yellow, lined paper containing my father’s cramped, heavy block lettering and hold it up in front of her face. Because I don’t believe in coincidences. Because it has to be her. It has to be. “Are you the one who found me? Shoved this under my door this morning? Are you one of his?”

  “One of—” She swallows the word his like she can’t bear the thought of giving it sound. Like, even though she has no idea what I’m accusing her of, the thought of saying it out loud disgusts her. “I don’t know what that is,” she tells me, pulling her hand off the door lever. Uses it to push my hand, and the letter clutched in it, out of her face. Looking me in the eye, she shakes her head again. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  That’s truth #2.

  I feel the rage drain out of me, the swirl of it so fast I stagger back a bit. When the knock I’ve been expecting on the door behind her comes, I expect her to run. Fling herself at the lifeline being offered. Use it to pull herself to safety. Yank the door open and tell whoever’s waiting on the other side of it that I’m a crazy animal who threatened her and made insane and ridiculous accusations against her.

  She doesn’t.

  She doesn’t move.

  Doesn’t start screaming.

  She just stands there and stares up at me like she’s waiting for something. Waiting for me to let her go. Decide what happens next.

  There’s a murmured voice behind the door followed by the low, static squawk of a two-way radio. A man. Probably the security guard. Probably calling for back-up.

  Reaching for her again, I move her, gently this time, away from the door so I can open it. “Is there a problem…” I look at the name tag clipped to his chest while pulling Jane from behind the door to present her like a fattened and obviously unscathed calf while trying to look as undangerous and sane as I possibly can. “Roman?”

  Ignoring me, the security guard focuses on the woman I just shoved between us. “Are you okay, ma’am?” he says, his face falling into a scowl when his gaze connects with the hand I still have wrapped around her upper arm. “Do you need help?”

  “No.” Jane smiles and shifts her weight back, pulling her arm from my grasp and turning to the side so she can slip it around my waist. “We’re fine,” she says, looking up to aim her smile into my face before pointing it back at the security guard and the tight knot of worried nurses a few feet behind him. “OMG, were we loud?” She blushes and shakes her head. Her fingers slipping through one of the belt loops on my jeans. “Babe, I’m sorry—is your brother going to be mad at me?” She tilts her head to look up at me a
gain, her soft green eyes full of worry. Looking at the nurses watching the drama unfold, she sighs. “I’m really sorry—”

  “Do you know this man?” The security guard interrupts her, with an impatient headshake at her insipid rambling. “There were reports that he forced you into this room against your will,” he says, his gaze falling to my security bracelet like he’s trying to remember if he gave it to me or not. He didn’t. Jase slapped it on my wrist in the elevator and pulled me along in his wake while the security guard stumbled and stammered all over himself because Tob owns the hospital and Jase is Jase—even in dark wash jeans and a casual button-down, he looks important. Not like me. In my worn-out jeans and dumb cat shirt, I look exactly how Jase said I looked—ridiculous. Kinda homeless and just this side of crazy.

  “Forced me?” The embarrassed smile on her face slips away at his accusatory tone. “He didn’t force me to do anything—I was following him and screaming like a loon, and he just pulled me into this room so we could talk quietly,” she says like what I did was completely justified.

  “Ma’am, do you know this man or not?” The security guard is losing patience. He looks like he’s two seconds away from calling the police and letting them handle the situation themselves.

  “Seriously—” Jane rolls her eyes at his tone and scoffs. “Have you even been listening? Of course, I know him,” Jane says, flipping her hair over her shoulder in a gesture that, even though I only met her less than fifteen minutes ago, I’d bet my life is totally uncharacteristic for her, just as the door to the private floor’s secure lobby bursts open and a small army of armed security guards pour onto the floor. “This is Logan Bright—my boyfriend.”

  Eight

  Jane

  I’d hoped the name Bright would work like a magic word and defuses the situation instantly. Instead, it had the opposite effect. As soon as I say it, the cluster of nurses tighten and turn to whisper among themselves. A few keep looking at us, skeptical of what I’m saying while the security guard looks like he might skip the cop calling altogether and just shoot us himself.