“I’m working tonight.”

“Do you want Maia to come to me?”

“Nope.”

“Who is looking after her, then?”

“I don’t need looking after,” Maia huffed.

“Shannon,” Logan said.

“How is Shannon?”

“Fine.”

I shivered at the chill Logan was giving off. I felt like we were meeting all over again. However, his monosyllabic, gruff way with me was even more unpleasant this time around.

I thought of Patrick, who actually seemed attracted to me. Maybe Aidan was right after all. Maybe there really was hope.

Upon our return to Nightingale Way, Maia followed me into my flat and Logan disappeared into his own.

“What did Mr. Tatum want?” Maia said immediately.

I wrinkled my nose at her. “You really are getting very nosy.”

“Well?”

“Maia.”

“Dad’s upset.”

I huffed. “Not about that, I assure you.”

“You know, for a smart lady, you can be pretty dumb.”

I narrowed my eyes on her. “Watch it.”

It was her turn to wrinkle her nose. “You can’t date my history teacher, Grace.”

“If you must know, Mr. Tatum asked me for a favor.” I slumped down onto my armchair and stared up at her as she glared down at me in irritation. I tried to keep my tone gentle. “But if Mr. Tatum was to ask me on a date, or if anyone was for that matter, it will be up to me whether or not I decide to say yes. Maia, I’m not stupid. I know you’re hankering after something to happen between your dad and me, but it’s not going to happen. I’m sorry.”

Tears sprang into her eyes, making me feel guilty as hell.

“Maia.” I stood up, but she’d already spun on her heel and dashed out of my flat.

I heard the slam of Logan’s front door and slumped back in my chair, wishing my life weren’t so freaking complicated and that I didn’t care so damn much about one fifteen-year-old girl and her annoying father.

CHAPTER 18

It would suffice to say that I could not get to sleep that night. I tossed and turned for hours, until eventually I gave in and got up to do some work.

At around four in the morning I was in my sitting room stretched out on the couch with my laptop, working on Joss’s manuscript. I was having the best time with it. The lady knew how to bloody well write a good book. This was when my job was amazingly fun, because I got to read a great book and then advise on little things that I thought might help make it greater.

I was lost in Joss’s compelling heroine and whether a scene she’d written that let the reader dive a little deeper into the heroine’s psyche should perhaps be brought forward in the plot so the reader could connect with her a little faster, when —

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I jolted up on the couch, my laptop almost sliding off of my lap at the sound of a fist banging on my front door. Wary, I got up, placing my computer aside, and hurried down the hallway on tiptoe. I peeked out of the peephole, and my heart leapt into my throat.

I unlocked the door, yanking it open to reveal Maia standing there in her pajamas with hair disheveled and face pale. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “Dad’s having a nightmare.”

Worry instantly moved through me. “A nightmare?”

Maia nodded. “He’s thrashing around and all sweaty. I’m really worried.”

“Okay. One second.” Pulse racing, I rushed back into the flat, grabbed my keys and slippers, and hurried out to Maia. Following her into Logan’s, I whispered, “Does this happen a lot?”

Her wide eyes met mine. “Not at first, but the last few weeks he’s had a few. I’m frightened to wake him because I saw this movie once where this guy had nightmares all the time and he could be, like, violent in his sleep. But I can’t leave him like that. It’s really bad tonight. It’s been going on for ages.”

“Right.” My gaze was automatically drawn down the hallway to where his room was. “Go back to bed, sweetheart. I’ll make sure he’s all right.”

Maia sagged with relief and exhaustion. After giving me a grateful hug, she returned to her room.

Filled with trepidation, I started down the hall to Logan’s room, and sure enough I heard a noise like a pained grunt. Moving faster now, I pushed inside his domain, my eyes taking in the shadow of furniture in the dim light. Logan was curled up in the tangle of his blankets as if he were contained in a small space and not a huge bed. Everything about his body language suggested he was trying to protect himself, and the vulnerability of it caused a painful streak to radiate across my chest.

He jerked suddenly, his face tightening in sleep, and he gave another pained grunt. I switched on his bedside lamp, and the light exposed the sweat glistening on his face and the dampness of his T-shirt.

I felt anxious about waking him, unsure how he would react, but I couldn’t bear to watch him in pain like this. “Logan,” I said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Logan.” I shook him.

He flinched but didn’t wake up.

I bent closer, my lips at his ear. “Logan, you’re having a nightmare, sweetheart. Wake up.” I shook him harder and jumped back as his whole body jerked.

Violet eyes blinked up at me in confusion and shock.

Logan’s chest heaved with exertion.

“You were having a nightmare,” I told him softly.

“Jesus,” he whispered, running a hand over his damp short hair. Then something changed in his expression. “Maia?”