The last time we spoke I told him, inadvertently, that I mourned for him like he was my father. Whether he was or wasn't my dad, there certainly was the potential for things to be awkward after that statement. He was outside playing with Hunter when I arrived and, it was startling how much they looked alike. Logan spotted me and waved with one hand as he lifted his son over his shoulder like a sack of sugar. Watching them caused a pang of envy—there was no denying the love between father and son. What would it have been like growing up with Logan as my dad? If Logan really was my dad, Hunter was my brother. Warmth filled me with that thought. A family of my own—it was almost too good to be true. Hunter peeked out through his long bangs—two little jewels looked right at me. Logan came over to greet me, his son—my brother?—still on his shoulder. “Good morning, Lark.” Longing tightened my throat, making speech difficult, but somehow I managed to come across lighthearted.
