Page 108 of Tortured Eyes
“Uncle Logan!” she screams, diving behind my legs.
“Reece, we do not fight with family,” I snap, grabbing his arm and the rock. Samuel laughs, enough sarcasm building in the sound that I suddenly realise why he’s laughing. I toss a half-hearted glare at him and turn Reece around, pushing him back towards Carter as he comes around the corner.
“Think there’s a little too much Vico in this one,” he grumbles, picking him up. “Reece, what did I tell you about looking after your sister?”
The kid pouts but does his best to remember the rules set in stone. “That we protect our own, Daddy.”
Damn right we do.
I snort at myself and pick Anya up, tucking her small frame against my side and trying to keep her pink dress in place. Carter looks back at me as we start walking again, a chuckle coming from his mouth for some reason. “Loving the pink, Logan.”
I growl and shove the frills out of the damn way, glaring at him as Fia approaches.
“Suits you,” he says, wrapping his arm around her to walk off.
The fuck does that mean? I glare some more, trying to work out if he knows about Samuel and me. Probably not. Still, asshole still needs a damn good hiding. We never did get into that. Plenty of time for it yet, though. Especially if he keeps rubbing me up the wrong way.
“There you are,” my mother says, grabbing Anya from me. “Where have you two been? You do realise you’re both needed in there.”
“Walking. Talking.”
She looks between Samuel and me, eyes flicking back and forth. I don’t know why, but just as I go to move, she takes a step in front of me and keeps looking at us. To Samuel’s credit, he’s the epitome of grace and fortitude. Priestly. Solid. Me, though? Under her stare? I shove my hands in my pockets and look down at the grass, part of me just wanting to damn well tell her exactly what's going on here.
“Walking and talking?” she asks.
“Yes, Mother.”
As the minutes pass, the air around us grows tense, as if at odds with itself. I suck in a breath, trying to hold onto Samuels’s wishes and wants rather than letting it all out.
“Father Cleary, please. If you could? I’d like a word with my son,” she says, putting Anya on the ground to pass her over. He nods and takes Anya’s hand, taking her straight inside without a look back.
I watch them go rather than look back at her, and then I start trying to move around her again. She doesn’t let me. “Does Bryce know?”
Well, fuck. I stop and gaze at her, not quite sure what she’s saying until she actually gets around to saying it. “I saw you touch him, Logan. You don’t touch anyone, ever, unless they mean something to you. Does she know?”
“I don’t-”
“Logan!”
“Yes,” I snap, frustrated at her tone and the situation. “Yes, she knows. She’s always known.”
“And she’s happy?”
“Last time I checked.”
She scrutinises me for a few seconds before linking her arm through mine and moving us forward. “There’s no one else, presumably?”
“No.”
“And you were going to tell me this, when?”
“I wasn’t.”
“I’m hoping there’s a good reason for that,” she replies, laughing to herself. “Okay, it will be our secret then. You know your father won’t mind, though, don’t you?”
My brow arches. I’m damn sure he’ll have something to say about it that I won’t like if Samuel ever gives me the okay to get on with the truth.
“Never mind. Now's not the time anyway, but don't think this is the end of this conversation, Logan. I'm your mother. I should know these things."
