Devoted to Drew Read online

  “I hate to lean on a tired old cliché,” Bianca said, “but practice makes perfect.”

  Logan didn’t get it and said so.

  “Having faith in herself won’t come easy at first, but when she realizes she has been making smart decisions, her self-confidence will grow.”

  Bianca leaned forward and explained her rationale. “She decided to leave an abusive relationship, and knowing how kids like Sam react to change, she decided to move in with your folks. When your mom was diagnosed with cancer, she decided to leave her job rather than put her in the care of in-home nurses….”

  She inhaled and let the breath out slowly.

  “With a little help, Sandra will figure out that she’s always been…” She drew quote marks in the air. “…‘management material.’”

  “So you’re saying… I know it’s a lot to ask, especially with all you’re already juggling. But you’d be okay with letting her think she’s in charge of the project?”

  A slight smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and the breath caught in Logan’s throat.

  “I’ve never even met the girl,” she said softly, “and I like her. So if I can help…”

  He’d thought she was a knockout the first time he saw her, but she’d never been more beautiful than she was right now.

  “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”

  Bianca waved the compliment away. “Just wait till I get my superhero cape back from the dry cleaners!” she said, laughing.

  It was a beautiful sound, but not half as beautiful as that face. If she kept looking at him that way, he might just have to thank her for agreeing to help Sandra…with a kiss.

  He licked his lips and told himself his reaction was purely physical. What guy wouldn’t feel the same way, sitting face-to-face with a woman like this?

  She licked her lips, too. Was the moment having the same effect on her?

  His stomach growled. Loud. And long.

  One second, then two, passed as her expression changed from sweet and caring to amused.

  On her feet now, she said, “I take it you didn’t eat what they served at your meeting?”

  Logan got up, too. If he admitted that he hadn’t, she’d offer to make him something. And he didn’t want to put her to the trouble. “The food was free, so yeah, I ate.”

  His stomach rumbled again.

  “Evidently, not enough.” Bianca headed for the kitchen.

  The little clock on her end table said 9:37 p.m. And the weary look in her eyes reminded him that she’d put in a long day. He should leave. Let her get to bed. Promise to check in with her tomorrow, see if, after sleeping on it, she’d made a decision about the job.

  Instead, he followed her as a weird thought clicked in his brain: maybe he was in need of protection…from her.

  He’d been a titan on the football field, and earned the kudos of directors and fellow actors for doing his own movie stunts, but when it came to matters of the heart, Logan knew he was a weakling. There was more on the line, lots more, than there had been when he’d been a younger man, and he had a feeling that if he opened himself up to Bianca—and it didn’t work out—he’d never recover.

  She took a covered dish from the fridge and, balancing it on one palm, said, “Would you rather skip it? It’s pretty late to eat such a heavy meal.”

  This is friendship, he told himself, relieving her of the plate. Strictly platonic.

  “If my head was as hard as the lining of my stomach,” he said, sliding it into the microwave, “my pro football career might have lasted longer than three years.”

  While the appliance hummed and the food spun in a slow circle, Bianca grabbed a stoneware dish from the cabinet and put it on the table.

  “Have a seat,” she said, grabbing salt and pepper and parmesan cheese from the pantry.

  He started to say dirtying another plate was silly, that he was happy to eat from the one in the oven, but she’d started talking about an article she’d read about the parallels between concussion damage and autism and how she hoped scientists would have more than theories by the time his school was built. So he leaned back and smiled as she placed a fork and butter knife on a napkin beside the plate and changed the subject to the similarities between service and companion dogs and how either one had the potential for improving Drew’s life.

  The microwave’s timer dinged, and he started to get up, thinking the least he could do was take the spaghetti out. But her hand on his shoulder stopped him…and doubled his heartbeat.

  “Too hot to handle with your bare hands,” she told him. And then she lifted his plate and plopped a colorful pot holder under it.

  His skin felt cold when she removed her hand. And when she sat across from him, his entire body felt cold. He wanted her closer. A whole lot closer.

  “I hate to eat alone.”

  “When you’re finished, I might have a slice of pie with you.”

  “Whoa. There’s pie, too?”

  She nodded. “Cherry.”

  “I want pie, too,” a little voice piped up.

  Her voice took on a scolding tone as she said, “Andrew Jason Wright, what are you doing up?”

  The boy rubbed sleepy eyes. “I heard something.”

  He stood beside Bianca’s chair and focused on Logan, who’d just taken a huge bite of a meatball.

  “Mom,” he whispered, “what’s that TV guy doing here?”

  Bianca pulled him into a sideways hug and made an attempt to finger-comb his sleep-tousled hair, an attempt that was barely tolerated by her son.

  Logan could see that his reaction hurt her feelings, so he answered in her stead.

  “I’m a friend of your mom’s,” he said as she slid the file out of Drew’s reach.

  The action made it clear she didn’t want the boy to know about the research just yet, so Logan deliberately skirted the truth.

  “I dropped by to thank your mom for helping me at the station the other day.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Logan. Logan Murray.”

  Drew nodded and began flicking his fingers. “Logan Murray. Tire commercials. Bank commercials. Knights commercials.” He looked up suddenly and met Logan’s eyes. “And commercials about dogs for kids like me.”

  Kids like him. It was disconcerting to hear him say it straight out that way. Drew knew, on some level at least, that his brain functioned differently than other kids’. Logan didn’t know whether to feel sorry for him—and his nephew—or give him a thumbs-up. Because in his opinion, a lot of adult problems would cease to exist if only grownups had the capacity for honest self-appraisal.

  Drew quoted the commercial, almost verbatim, closing with a personal review. “Companion dogs keep kids like me from wandering off or engaging in dangerous activities. And that’s why I need one.”

  “Drew only needs to hear a thing once, and he can recite it word for word. But you’re probably used to that.”

  Because of Sam, he thought. Yeah, he’d experienced the phenomenon before, but Logan didn’t think he’d ever get used to the talent that could, within seconds, go from being a very good thing to borderline unbearable.

  “I’m jealous,” Logan said. “Took four takes before I got it right. And I was reading from cue cards!”

  Drew recited the commercial again, then stopped talking as if someone had flipped a switch. Hands clasped, his gaze traveled the room. Sooner or later he’d spot the file folder. And when he did, Bianca would be up all night, trying to explain why he might not get a dog.

  The ceiling fan captured Drew’s attention, and Logan used the temporary distraction to ease the folder closer.

  “So, Drew,” he said, twirling a noodle around his fork, “is spaghetti your favorite supper?”

  He climbed into his mom’s lap. “I like pizza better. It’s easier to eat.”

  Logan daubed sauce from his chin and said, “When you’re right, you’re right.”

  Bianca mouthed Thanks as Drew launched into a st
ring of questions about Logan’s role in Mr. Action: Had he worn a covert or overt vest under his uniform? Was it lined with titanium or steel? How did he run so fast while wearing so many pounds of protective gear? Did it hurt when he fell from that fire escape? Were the bullets in his service revolver real or pretend? And was he really in love with the woman he and Mr. Action rescued, or was that pretend, too?

  Logan couldn’t help but laugh. “In real life, she’s a very nice lady, and we’re friends. But she has a very nice husband and some very nice kids. I only pretended to love her for the movie.”

  Drew nodded. “Oh. I get it. That’s what they call acting in Hollywood, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. Acting.”

  Drew faced Bianca. “I like this guy, Mom. Do you like him, too?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said.

  And Logan thought it was charming that her answer produced a blush.

  Then Drew cupped a small hand beside Bianca’s ear and whispered, “If you like him, then I think you should marry him.” He glanced at Logan, then went back to whispering. “You know what Dr. Sharon says…I need a good male role model.”

  Bianca hid behind one hand. “Oh, Drew,” she said as her blush intensified.

  When she came out of hiding and fixed those big embarrassed blue eyes on his face, he nearly choked on the bite of meatball he’d just swallowed.

  “Awkward,” she said. “Sorry.”

  Not as awkward as his reaction to her. “I didn’t hear a thing,” he fibbed.

  Something Sandra used to say when they were kids echoed in his head: “If wishes were fishes…” An excellent parallel, he thought, to the old “You can’t un-ring a bell” maxim. But if he knew what was good for him—and for Bianca—he’d better try.

  Drew began flapping his hands and bobbing his head, shouting “I want pie-pie-pie-pie-pie!”

  Bianca wrapped her arms around him and held him close. Pressing her lips to his temple, she rocked slowly, whispering “Shh, sweetie. Remember the rule?”

  A moment of silence before he said, “When I’m calm and quiet, then can I have pie?”

  “If you can stay calm and quiet until Mr. Murray has finished his spaghetti, yes, you can have a small slice of pie, then back to bed for you.”

  Just as quickly as the outburst began, it ended. Drew hopped down from Bianca’s lap and stood near Logan’s elbow. “Are you finished, Mr. Murray?”

  Bianca started to reprimand the boy, but Logan held up one hand. “You know,” he said, putting down his fork, “I am a little full.”

  “Does that mean you’re finished?”

  He shoved the plate away, taking care to keep the file folder hidden. “Yup, I’m finished.”

  Drew ran back to Bianca. “He’s done, Mom. Now we can all have pie.”

  How she managed to collect the spaghetti plate, take the pie out of the fridge and slice it—all with Drew right at her elbow—Logan didn’t know. But it told him she had the patience and focus to slog through reports and sift pertinent information from the experts he’d lined up.

  When she served Drew his pie, he said, “Can I sit next to you, Mr. Murray?”

  “I’d like that,” he said, meaning it.

  Drew picked up his fork and smiled, exposing three missing teeth and the jagged edges of the brand new one peeking from his pink gums.

  “I like you, Mr. Murray.”

  “I like you, too, kiddo.” He meant that, too. “And if it’s okay with your mom, you can call me Logan.”

  He looked at his mother. “Is it okay with you, Mom?”

  “Well, sure.”

  The relief in her eyes, on her face, reminded him of what Sandra so often said: “The parents of autistic kids can’t live normal lives.” Unfortunately, he understood the mindset all too well because he’d been present, in restaurants, at the grocery store, even during church services—where even people who were supposed to be understanding—made her feel like a negligent parent for not knowing how to reel in her out-of-control child. Consequently, Sandra stayed close to home and interacted only with people who understood that Sam really couldn’t control his words and actions. It made him more certain than ever that building the school was the right thing to do. And when the doors opened, he’d make sure it offered outreach programs geared toward parents like Sandra and Bianca.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  LOGAN SCRAPED THE last of the pie from his dessert plate. “Do you make everything from scratch?”

  Bianca stood at the sink as she rinsed dishes and flatware. “When I can,” she said over her shoulder.

  He stepped up beside her and loaded them into the dishwasher. “Be sure to let me know next time you ‘can,’” he said, grinning, “so I can head right over.”

  She laughed as Drew stretched and yawned.

  “You need to get back to bed, sweetie,” she said, drying her hands. “It’s a school night, don’t forget.”

  He looked up at Logan. “Will you tuck me in?”

  Logan held her gaze for all of two seconds—long enough for her to read confidence and certainty in his dark eyes. Okay, so his sister’s son was on the spectrum, but Drew was different from others with autism in a lot of ways. He didn’t reach out to just anyone, but when he did, it was for keeps. Bianca didn’t believe most of the love-’em-and-leave-’em stories the gossip rags had printed about Logan, but she couldn’t take the chance that he’d get busy—or fall in love again—and forget about Drew.

  “I’m sure Mr. Murray needs to get home,” she said, leading her son toward the stairs. “Besides, it’s way past your bedtime, and—”

  “I really don’t mind,” Logan said. “But you’re the boss….”

  “Please, Mom?”

  She looked from Drew to Logan and back again. How odd that she’d never noticed before how many traits they shared: big, expressive eyes, long eyelashes, the talent for looking like a sad, lost puppy…

  Smiling, she said, “Well, all right. But only if you promise to go right to sleep.”

  Drew fist-pumped the air. “Yes!” he said, then took Logan’s hand and led him to the staircase.

  If you need me… she mouthed.

  And he nodded.

  She watched until they’d disappeared into Drew’s room before ascending the stairs, where she leaned against the wall right beside the door.

  “Mom always sits there,” she heard Drew say. She pictured him patting the edge of his mattress. Her spot, from the time he moved from the crib to his big-boy bed nearly five years ago.

  Logan said, “So when I tuck my niece and nephew in, we read a book. Just one. Then we say our prayers. Is that how you and your mom do it?”

  “Yeah, except I already said my prayers, so there’s time for two books.”

  She didn’t envy Logan because when Drew was in a mood like this, it wasn’t easy to deny him anything.

  “Remember the rules,” he said.

  Nice, she thought. Firm, but gentle.

  “It’s way past your bedtime,” he added, “so one book. Okay?”

  Silence.

  Eyes closed, she took a deep breath and prepared to march in there and avert the chaos that his common-sense approach would surely provoke.

  Instead, Drew said, “Then…could you read Alexander? It’s forty-two pages long.”

  Logan laughed. “Good thing for you, I’ve read it before.”

  Meaning he knew it was mostly pictures. Bianca had to smile at that.

  “‘It was bedtime,’” Logan read.

  Bianca sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, eyes closed. How strange it was to listen to the soothing baritone, to enjoy the story herself for a change. It was so foreign to feel completely safe and at peace…while Drew was awake!

  Drew had made many advancements in the past year. But this? Inviting a near-stranger into his room, where previously no one but his mom and grandmother were welcome? Bianca didn’t know what to make of that.

  Several times since Jason’s d
eath, Drew had wished for a dad, one who saw him as he was…and loved him anyway. So it wasn’t surprising that he was drawn to Logan’s natural, easy charm. He’d starred in a couple of Drew’s favorite movies and had appeared so often in TV commercials that he probably didn’t seem like a stranger to the boy. But she needed to be careful here. Very careful.

  A shadow fell across her crisscrossed legs, and Bianca looked up, into the smiling face of TV’s commercial king.

  Logan pressed a forefinger to his lips. “Sound asleep,” he whispered as she got to her feet.

  She could count on one hand the number of times Drew had gone to sleep that easily. On the way down the stairs, she said, “What are you, a magician? It takes me a minimum of fifteen minutes and two picture books to accomplish what you just did in half the time.”

  “I can’t take any credit. Poor kid was plumb tuckered out.”

  If only that was the easy explanation. Tired or not, healthy or sick, Drew fought sleep every single night.

  “He’s a great kid,” Logan said, following her into the kitchen. “It’s hard to believe he’s even on the spectrum.” He smiled at her. “You’ve done one heck of a job.”

  Drew might be too young to exercise caution with this charismatic guy, but Bianca was exactly old enough—and jaded enough—to keep up her guard.

  “‘On the spectrum’ is about all the experts can say. I’ve lost count of all the therapists and counselors who’ve worked with him, who’ve worked with me, so I could help Drew achieve his own level of normal.” She watched as he leaned his backside against the counter, just as he had earlier. And on the day he’d saved her from crashing to the floor. “He’s not there yet,” she finished, “but it’s good to see he’s well on his way.”

  The dishes were done, and the clock said 10:15 p.m. She had towels to fold and ironing to do before turning in.

  “That book Drew chose,” Logan said, folding his arms over his chest. “My mom used to read it.”

  “Funny. My mom read it to me, too.”

  “Something else we have in common, then.”

  Bianca knew if she’d stay quiet long enough, he’d tell her what those things were.

  “We both have careers in television, Italian moms, connections to autism and the same taste in books.”