Noah's POV
Oliver lies fast asleep in my arms, his little chest rising and falling against mine, utterly spent from the storm he let loose earlier. He'd cried himself hoarse when he realized Logan was leaving again. Fat, wet tears and hiccuping sobs until his whole body trembled with exhaustion.
Now he's finally still, his curls damp against my shirt, his thumb slack between his lips. He looks so small, so fragile. My heart should feel soft at the sight — but all I feel is rage.
Logan's gifts lie forgotten at the foot of the bed. Toys and sweets from San Diego, an additional new gold and diamond watch for me, a pathetic apology in the form of plastic, sugar and luxury. Placations from a man who didn't even bother to spend one single day with his mate and son before waltzing back into the woods.
I've shed my tears. I've nursed my pain. I've buried my longing so deep I don't even recognize the shape of it anymore. All that's left now is fury.
