Page 52 of Keepsake

She always seemed busy these days. Getting a bed for Lachlan, organizing the kids’ wardrobe. Calling a designer to plan a playroom. The woman was relentless.

Hopeful, annoying.

Beautiful.

I blamed the leggings and that smile on her face. The cute little nose, all red from the cold. I knew she was gorgeous, but her beauty wasn’t for me, so I did the best I could to ignore it.

A switch was flipped on and tugged me, propelling me toward her even if she wasn’t here.

My head ached, filled with reasons I couldn’t be lusting after Logan Hart.

A humorless chuckle broke free. I was Alvaro Castillo. El Toro. Six foot three inches of pure mass, making me a fucking bull in the china shop of her life. She was a princess. Beautiful Logan Hart, with a fancy job and a penthouse.

I had tattoos covering all of my skin and calluses on my hands.

And Logan? She was all hope and bright green eyes.

Done thinking about impossible things, I headed to my bathroom, taking a pair of basketball shorts and tossing my T-shirt to the side. Logan said I could use her mini gym whenever I needed, and today was the day.

Crossing the hall, I went in. The gym wasn’t much but had good equipment and speakers on all sides of the room.

She kept the obligatory cardio corner, an exercise bike, treadmill, and a couple of jump ropes. But she also had weights, bigger than I thought she would care to buy. A weight bench and a fucking freestanding punching bag.

That was all the invitation I needed. I warmed up a little, then went to the weights, taking a smaller one and going from there. I had a routine, but for some reason, this time around, my muscles needed more.

I tried to concentrate on pushing myself instead of thinking about everything going on.

My mother’s calls asking me details of my life with Logan like I was really her errand boy. The kids resisting Logan. Fucking Dash and the most idiotic plan of the century and… Logan.

I moved to the punching bag, determined not to think about her. But as I landed the first punches, my mind drifted. Logan cooking. Logan’s face when Lachlan smiled at her, like that was the biggest gift she was ever given.

The way her hair smelled like strawberries when I kissed the top of her head.

I wanted to protect her, I realized. Mostly because every turn of the way, Logan proved she needed no protection.

I punched the bag, keeping my stance, my knuckles bruising. I breathed slowly out of my nose and willed my mind to stop running amok.

Blame Dustin. He put the what ifs in my mind when they had no place there.

Even if she was just a girl in a bar, I’d never hit on her. I knew my hands weren’t made for something so beautiful.

I cracked my neck and kept going, releasing that energy buzzing under my skin.

A laugh broke free, manic, making my own hair stand on end when I thought how ridiculous this all was. I was concentrating on the little things to forget the biggest issue of them all.

We wouldn’t be here if Sofia hadn’t killed herself.

Most days, I could ignore it. Maybe playing Mamá’s spy was a blessing in disguise. I worried about the kids all day long and ended up forgetting why we were in this position in the first place.

Because I failed Sofia.

I was failing the kids, and I’d fail Logan, too.

A growl came out of me, remembering the moments when I tried to be good. Mamá saw MMA as rebellion, but in those years, I displayed the most discipline.

I followed a schedule my trainer made. I ate what he said I should eat, I trained, I built muscles, and I watched hours of footage of my own fights to catch my mistakes and correct them.

No one saw it, though. Mamá thought I was in Chicago, being a hooligan or whatever. She never even watched the fights and acted surprised when I came home for Christmas with a bruised face.

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