Page 60 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“What?” Emily startles, her gaze darting between us, color draining from her face.

“He hasn't told you?” Cruel laughter erupts from him as he sways. “Thanks to your dear Logan, my wife is dead, along with his fiancée from college and their child. If you value your life, little girl, stay as far away as possible from him. He's cursed.”

I grab him by the jacket and drag him to the door. There's no sense in continuing to waste my breath on him. Tomorrow, I'll call my lawyer and get a restraining order taken out against him.I should already have done it, but for some ridiculous reason, I haven't had the guts. Until now.

“Get out,” I command, pushing him through the doorway. “Go now, or I'll call the police.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I'm going. There's no reason to come back here. As far as I'm concerned, I have no son!”

His words drip venom, but they don't affect me. I feel nothing as I watch the man who was supposed to be a father to me enter the elevator and disappear forever from my life. The doors close with finality, and I exhale like a weight has lifted.

Right when I'm about to go back into the apartment, the door on the other side of the floor opens. It's my neighbor, Nathan Reed. He looks almost as exhausted as I feel, with his dark hair disheveled and dressed in rumpled sweats.

“Everything okay?” He surveys the hallway with concern. “I heard shouting but thought it was just the TV.”

“Yeah, don't worry.” I wave dismissively, noticing the pronounced darkness beneath his eyes. From within his apartment comes the cheerful melody of a children's show. I didn't know Nathan had a kid. No child has ever been with him in the building until now. But Nathan Reed isn't what I'm worried about right now. Emily is.

I return inside, securing the door behind me.

Emily stands frozen in her previous position, still clutching the sheet. Her gaze dissects me like she's trying to crack an encrypted code. “I think we need to talk.”

I nod wordlessly and head to the kitchen on autopilot. From the liquor cabinet, I pour myself a whiskey. The amber liquid splashes into a tumbler, sloshing over the rim as my hand shakes. It's way too early, but fuck it all, it's got to be five o'clock somewhere, right?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Emily

Logan pours himself a drink. After what just happened with his dad, I don't blame him. I'd reach for the whole bottle.

I adjust the sheet wrapped around my naked body, wishing I'd gotten dressed before following him out here.

“What do you want to know?” Logan downs half his whiskey in one gulp.

I shift my weight uncomfortably. “Well, the part where your dad accused you of killing three people seems like a good place to start.” I try for casual, but even I can hear the strain in my voice.

“That man isn't my father,” Logan snaps, his jaw clenching so tight, the muscles bulge. “He's just a sperm donor.”

I flinch at his tone. “Okay... so maybe explain the murder thing?” I soften my voice because, seriously, the idea of Logan deliberately taking someone's life seems about as likely as me suddenly developing a talent for not falling on my face.

Logan's shoulders sag as he stares into his glass. “That bastard's always been good at twisting the truth.” He drains the rest of his drink and pours another. “My mother died of breast cancer when I was eight. She didn't know she had it until itwas too late.” His voice catches, and he swallows hard before continuing. “I was always a sickly child. Too small, fragile, constantly ill. She devoted everything to taking care of me. Daniel claims she was so focused on my health problems that she ignored her own until it was too late.”

Bitterness colors his words. “My grandparents stepped in after she died. I spent summers at their house in the Hamptons. They probably thought a couple of months of kindness each year could make up for the other ten months living with that monster.”

His laugh sounds like broken glass, making my heart twist. I think about my own childhood, chaotic and imperfect but filled with warmth and love. My parents cheered me on even when I kept failing at everything. My little brother, despite being annoying as hell, always defended me when neighborhood kids were mean. The contrast with Logan's life makes something inside me ache.

“My father blamed me every day for killing her,” Logan continues, his gaze fixed on something far away. “My grandparents sent money monthly for my needs, but he took every penny for his drinking, gambling, and women.” He refills his glass without seeming to realize he's doing it. “He called it his compensation payment for the damage I caused by taking my mother from him. He'd say, ‘If she hadn't been so busy running you to doctors, she might have noticed her own symptoms.’” A deep sigh escapes him. “The hell of it is, I believed him. For years, I was convinced that if I hadn't been such a weak kid, she might have lived.”

“Logan—” I step toward him, wanting to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that no child should bear that kind of guilt.

He holds up a hand, stopping me. “Don't, Emily. I've made peace with it.” But the shadows in his eyes tell a different story. He shakes his head as if trying to clear it. “Anyway, Danielhas always used my guilt to extract money. Especially after my grandparents died and left everything to me.”

So that's where his money comes from. Not from being a vet but from inheritance. Somehow, I respect him more, knowing he built a career healing animals instead of just living off his trust fund.

“I'm sorry for everything you've been through,” I say, crossing the distance between us and placing my hand over his. I half expect him to pull away again, but he doesn't, which feels like a small victory.

“I should be apologizing that you had to witness my father's pathetic extortion attempt.” His eyes finally meet mine, searching for something, disgust maybe, or judgment, and finding neither.

“It's fine. I'm a big girl. I've dealt with worse.” This isn't entirely true. Daniel Price ranks among the most disturbing encounters of my life, but I don't want to add to Logan's burden. “What happened with your fiancée?” I ask, treading carefully. I'm ready to back off if he shuts down, but I need to understand this piece of his past.

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