didn’t mean she could call him right now. And yet . . . now was when she needed that lifeline. She wouldn’t have any peace until she talked to him. She just had to.
Heather picked up her phone again and called. She lost hope after a few rings, but then heard, “Hello?”
“Hi, uh, Logan? I’m sorry to wake you.” She still didn’t sound like herself. “This is Heather Anderson, from the choir?”
“Hey”—he cleared his throat—“Hey, Heather. What’s going on? Is everything all right?”
The question almost made her cry again. “I just . . . no. Everything’s not all right. Um, something you said to me awhile ago came to mind, and I have some questions about it. I’m wondering if you might be here at the Indianapolis Hilton.”
“You’re at the hotel?” he asked. “Yes, I’m here, but . . . you want to talk now? Can’t it wait until—”
“I don’t know what else to do . . .” She’d tried to hold back the tears, but her voice broke. “I got put out of the room I was staying in, and I’m down in the lobby bathroom . . .”
“It’s all right,” Logan said. “Listen, I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes. Okay?”
Heather gulped back tears. “Okay. Thank you, Logan.”
HEATHER SAT IN THE SEATING AREA OFF THE LOBBY, staring at the floor. The sound of heels breezing through made her look up. A sharply dressed woman headed straight for the elevators. Had to be Ace’s girlfriend. She hung her head again and, from the corner of her eye, caught someone else approaching.
She turned and saw Logan. For the quickest of seconds, her heart did the little skitter it always did when she saw him, as if surprised he was still as good-looking as last time. The dark features, close-cropped hair, and that Spanish swagger—that’s what she called it, after learning his mother was from Madrid—were easily distracting. But the skitter never lasted long around Logan. He dealt too straight for that.
Heather stood, suddenly self-conscious with so much leg showing beneath her mini, not to mention the tight shirt. But she had greater concerns than that. “Logan. Thank you for . . .” Emotion choked her words.
He gave her a light hug. “Heather, come on, sit down.” His eyes swept her luggage as they sat on the sofa. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Now that he was here, she didn’t know what to say, where to start. She took a deep breath. “When I left the choir, you said God loves me and cares for me. I need to know if it’s true. Really true.” She paused. “For someone like me.”
He frowned. “Someone like you?”
She stared at the floor a few seconds before looking at him. “I’m not a good person, Logan. Did you think I joined the choir at Living Word because I wanted to worship?” She looked down briefly again. “I joined because you all were gaining national attention. That’s why I came to Living Word to begin with. Someone told me I had a soulful voice . . . and lots of recording artists start in the church, so . . .” She shrugged.
Logan stayed quiet, listening.
Heather grabbed some toilet tissue she’d stuffed into her purse and blew her nose. “And I came here for the same reason, trying to jump-start a singing career . . . and I guess I was kind of looking for love too.” She felt the tears starting up. “It took getting put out of a man’s room for me to see how messed up my life is.”
“Heather . . .” Logan shifted his knees more toward her, his brown eyes piercing. “Jesus wouldn’t have had to die on the cross if our lives weren’t messy. I thank God that He would love someone like me. None of us is ‘good.’”
She blew her nose again. “Oh, Logan, you’ve never done anything near as bad as me.”
Logan gave her a thin smile. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’ve done my share. Yet for some crazy reason, God loves us and cares for us anyway. And He forgives us. It’s really true. That’s why He sent His Son.”
Heather had sat in church Sunday after Sunday hearing Pastor Lyles talk about Jesus. Yet only now could she really hear His voice. Sin. Repentance. Forgiveness. Savior. Didn’t seem fair, really, that God should forgive her so easily. Or love her so easily. She’d always thought she had to earn someone’s love . . . and