Can't Let Go - By Michelle Brewer Page 0,46

sent to her family. She felt they should have at least one memento of their daughter’s—something to remind them of how happy she had been. Abby was more than willing to oblige.

Both Abby and Logan had chosen various items that they wished to have—assorted photos, gifts they had given them over time, or certain pieces of clothing that held special meaning to them. It had been a difficult task to get through, and Abby knew that the bedroom was going to be much worse. She had tried to convince Logan to let her do it on her own, knowing she couldn’t afford to expose herself to him any further. But he’d insisted, and so the two had decided to meet some time in the afternoon.

Logan started in the closet while Abby worked at the dresser, packing up various clothing items they were planning to donate. But she froze when her eyes landed on a small green baby blanket. She removed it from the dresser and held it up, so that she could get a better look at it.

It still had the tags on it.

Her eyes instantly welled up with tears and she closed them, hugging the small piece of fabric close to her heart. She imagined Hayley out and about, her eyes landing on the blanket. It appeared to be meant for a newborn, and Abby was certain it was an impulse buy Hayley had made before she’d even known she was pregnant. She suddenly longed for her friend—to hear her voice, to feel her arms around her.

Abby imagined Hayley having a little girl, with golden hair just like her own. She would have had the rebellious nature of her mother, but the gentleness of her father. And her laugh—her laugh would have been contagious, just like her mother’s.

How she ached for that reality. The yearning was so intense in that moment that she nearly doubled over, losing herself in it. But then she heard his voice and she remembered that she was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be able to handle this.

“I—” But he stopped upon seeing her, her eyes locked on the pale green item she held in her hands.

“It’s a baby blanket.” The tears were obvious in her voice, though she didn’t appear to be crying. “Hayley must have…” But she couldn’t finish.

“You can take it.” She placed it in her lap. “I won’t need it.”

“Neither will I.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, probably not even meant for Logan’s ears. A sadness swept over him as he realized what she was implying.

Abby wouldn’t be having children? Hadn’t they spoken about this just a few days ago?

For as long as he’d known her, she’d always wanted a family. She’d always wanted to have lots of children of her own. Sometimes, especially after their pregnancy scare, they had lain in bed at night and talked about it—what they would look like, what their names would be, who they would take after. They were some of Logan’s most cherished memories. He had always seen little girls the spitting image of their mother that would ride around on his shoulders and little boys with piercing green eyes and a devilish nature.

They had imagined that their children would grow up alongside Blake and Hayley’s.

He wanted to press the subject. Did Eric not want to have a family? Was he taking away even the slightest chance at happiness Abby would have?

But he’d lost that right. He knew that she would no longer open up to him—that as far as Abby was concerned, Logan was hardly more than an acquaintance.

He sighed, looking her over. Something had changed. It was as if she’d been drained of life and was merely working on autopilot, drudging on through the day. He wanted to take her in his arms, to argue with her—anything to bring the life back into her eyes. He knew, though, that it wouldn’t work.

She was gone to him. Lost. Just as unreachable as his fallen friends.

At least that was what he told himself. Something within him, something deep down, buried in some unseen place, knew differently.

If there was anyone who could reach her, it would be him.

Hayley had spoken to him often of Abby. She had always thought the two would end up back together somewhere down the line—a love like theirs, she insisted, was never-ending. It would last an eternity, and forces would constantly be at work to push them back together. She had often tried to