UNBROKEN PROMISE

~93~ Trauma

When Logan and Mama Becca stepped back into the house, the air was quiet. Caleb and Jacob were hunched over the chessboard, heads bent, Jacob was teaching Caleb the basics. Across the room, Megan and Oma were engaged in low conversation, Oma's hands twisting idly in her lap while Megan mended one of Caleb trousers.

Oma's eyes lifted the moment Logan crossed the threshold. For a brief second her gaze lingered on him-searching, unreadable-before she turned back to Megan as though nothing had passed between them. Logan felt hurt but said nothing. Instead, he sank into a chair at the table while Mama Becca gathered her things to tend to him.

She crouched before him, her keen eyes scanning the gash above his brow. "Mm. That cut's deeper'n I thought," she muttered, reaching for her needle and thread.

Logan held still as best he could, jaw clenching when the sting of the first stitch bit through his skin. Each time he winced, his eyes flickered instinctively toward Oma. She tried to keep her attention on Megan, but Logan caught the way her head turned-just slightly-each time pain showed on his face.

When Mama Becca was finished, she gave his shoulder a firm pat. "There now. Stitched clean. Don't you go reopenin' it, Logan." She gave him a pointed look before adding in a quieter tone, "And when yer ready, best you make things right with everyone you riled."

Logan nodded once, his expression grave. He wasn't ready-not yet. Rising, he slipped outside, the evening air cool against his heated skin. He settled himself on the porch steps, waiting. He wasn't ready to face Megan, but he couldn't go home without Oma.

It wasn't long before the door creaked open and Oma stepped out. Without a word, she moved to his side. They fell into step together, walking the road toward home in silence, neither pressing the other. The only sounds were the crunch of gravel beneath their boots and the distant chorus of crickets.

Once home, Logan washed up quickly, his movements brisk, almost restless. He climbed into bed without a word. When Oma came in, she blew out the lamp, leaving the room in darkness, and lay down at the opposite end. The silence between them stretched, heavy, though both knew the other was still awake.

Logan let out a slow breath after a long while. Shifting, he reached across the space and drew Oma against him, snug and close. He pressed a kiss to her hair, then another to her cheek, his hand sliding in slow circles over her hip. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

She huffed softly but didn't answer. Logan nodded against her temple, not retreating. His palm kept its steady rhythm at her hip, patient, coaxing. Then he turned her gently to face him. Oma's hand landed on his chest, a half hearted push, but Logan only held her tighter, kissing her cheeks, her nose, scattering soft kisses across her face until her resistance melted into his chest.

"I'm real sorry, baby," he whispered against her hair. "Please forgive me. I don't want you angry at me."

Oma's breath hitched. "I'm not angry," she said at last, her voice small, trembling. "Just... annoyed. Disappointed."

Her chest rose sharply and she began to cry, quiet tears that soaked into his shirt. Logan's sigh was deep, heavy with remorse. He stroked her back, her shoulders, murmuring nothing but his touch steady and sure until her sobs softened. When at last her breathing eased, he pressed a lingering kiss to her crown.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I just... I've got a lot on my mind."

"Then tell me," Oma whispered, her voice catching. "Don't shut me out, Logan. We're supposed to be honest with each other."

He hesitated, then shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."

Her hand trembled against his chest. "Please. I want to. We can't keep not sayin' things."