“I don’t know how to do this, Cassandra.” Her voice startled me, and my head jerked up from the photo. “I want my son to look at me the way he does his father. And Logan…” Her voice dropped.

Did I want to hear more? I didn’t really have a choice as she found her words again.

“I’ve accepted that he’s moved on—I swear I have. But for him to continue to push me away while another woman steps in as the role of mother to my son when I’m finally ready…” She closed her eyes tightly.

“Natasha, I’m not trying to—”

Her eyes flew open, a strained smile on her face. “I get it. I do. Logan has every right to hate me. But I was young, Cassandra—too young to be engaged, and way too immature to have a child. Logan…he was the perfect father. God, he was so amazing, and I...” Her voice shook. “He loved Oliver from the moment I told him I was pregnant. He worked incredibly hard to buy us a home, signed us up for every birthing and first-aid class he could find…” She huffed out a laugh, nostalgia heavy in her tone. “He never missed a single doctor’s appointment, no matter how busy his schedule got. He was always there.”

Her head and voice both lowered, tugging at my heartstrings.

“I couldn’t even stand to shop for my unborn child. Logan was so happy, and I was miserable. Once he was born, it only got worse. I couldn’t even stomach changing a diaper. I couldn’t breastfeed like Logan wanted, or stand to hear Oliver cry. His screams just…irritated me to no end,” she confessed, holding my wary gaze, trying to explain and justify her actions.

“I wasn’t good for him. Logan had this idea in his head that we’d be the perfect family, but I couldn’t do it. It was too hard.”

Her fingers dabbed under her eyes as she sniffled. I stood silently, stunned at everything she’d revealed.

Her features softened on a heavy sigh. “I know you’re being nice to me because you’re just a sweet person. I’ve heard it from everyone. You and I being friends is probably the last thing you really want, but… I can’t stand for another person close to my son to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I said quickly. It was true: With every emotion I felt toward this woman I hardly knew, hate was not one of them. Great dislike, perhaps, but not hate.

“Maybe not yet, but you will. Logan and Julia will fill your head. With Logan, I broke his heart—for that alone you should hate me, not to mention what I’ve done to Oliver. I want so badly to make things right. I love my son, and I’m finally able to be the mother he wants.”

I couldn’t hear anymore.

“Natasha, I’ll be honest: Us being friends is a little awkward, but mainly because I know when you came back, you still wanted Logan. And that was only a couple months ago.”

She nodded, running her fingers through her long hair. “Part of me still does, and probably always will.”

My jaw clenched.

“We share a child, Cassandra, and he will always be my first love. But I know, I really do know, that I’ve lost him, and my focus now is only on my son. He needs me, and I need him. This last month with him has opened my eyes. I want to be his mother, his mommy...but I also hope that, in time, Logan will be my friend again.”

What could I say to that? It was honest—or, at least, it felt that way.

“He will. Just give him time and show him. Prove to him that he can trust you.”

“See, you’re too sweet. I tell you I’ll always care for your man, and not only do you not attack me, but you…you give me advice.”

My shoulders shrugged, a reluctant smile growing on my face. “That’s just me. I’m not looking to make an enemy out of you, Natasha.”

“I get why he fell for you. You’re good…everything I wasn’t.”

“Nata—” I started to interrupt, but she cut me off.

“When I realized Logan had played me, sending me alone to Aspen for Valentine’s, I was furious. I planned on coming back here and telling you to back off, begging you to let me have another chance at putting my family together again. But I realized that’s not going to happen. Logan will only hate me more if I try to force you to leave him. I want Oliver, plain and simple—and he adores you.”

The apprehension in her voice broke my last thread of suspicion. My eyes closed for a moment, and I collected my thoughts before staring back at her, appraising her emotions. I couldn’t help but feel for her. For Oliver. For Logan.

“Jax said I could talk to you…that you’d understand,” she said, hopeful.

And then it happened: Something clicked inside me, and it all became clear. One single memory was triggered, and a greater understanding suddenly sat at my feet.

She was blackmailing Jax. He wanted me to be nice to her, which meant she was desperate for a way back into the West household—into the hearts of those I loved.

A performance was exactly what it felt like when I looked at it with eyes wide open. Whether I was right or wrong, I went with my gut. If she was being genuine, she’d prove it to me in time. If not, I had to give it to her—she was good.

But for Oliver, I could be better.

“I’ll try to help in any way I can.” The lie came out smoothly for the first time in my life. Hilary would be proud.

I started toward the door again. “I’m sure things will get easier. Now let’s go get that box.”

The walk down to the car was a quiet one, with me on edge. I wanted so much to believe her words, but had to assume I could never trust her.

“Muffins,” I said, breaking the silence. “Preferably chocolate ones.”

Her brows knit together as we stopped at the trunk.

“That’s the key to the PTA. You can pick them up at the grocery store, put them on a fancy platter, and bring them next month. It will get you the in you need.”

She looked thoughtful, and her smile fell. “In the papers I was given, it said no snacks were to be brought to meetings.”

I reached into the trunk and grabbed a side. “They just say that, but they secretly love it.”

It was true—most of the women would be thanking her. But the key player she needed to impress? Not so much. But I wasn’t about to feel bad. She was blackmailing Jax, and she deserved it.

But still, it nipped at me. I wasn’t an evil person, but I wouldn’t be manipulated. And if she thought of me as the weakest link in the West chain, she was in for a surprise.

“Oh, and also try wearing something a little frumpier. And no red lipstick.”

She looked down at her low-cut sweater, skintight jeans, and mile-high heeled boots.

“Just being honest. You don’t want them jealous or thinking of you as a threat, since a lot of husbands help on some projects.”

“Maybe they should.” Her smile curved into a wicked grin. “Kidding. I like my men unmarried.” She laughed.

“Right.” I chuckled, all fake and uncomfortable, not missing the fact that she’d said ‘unmarried’ and not ‘single’.

The game was officially on.

Together, we lifted the box out of the trunk—and it was not filled with pillows. If anything, it felt more like lead weights.