Chelsea folded her arms.
“You didn’t defend him either.”
“I know.”
That seemed to take the strength out of her.
She looked toward the hallway.
“I didn’t want him to hate me.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s still worried about us.”
Chelsea’s eyes dropped to the envelopes.
“What happens now?”
“We refinance the line or sell something.”
“We don’t have anything to sell.”
“Then we find a way.”
“And the family loan?”
“We speak to the bank.”
She gave a small, humorless laugh.
“Your father wants one hundred eighty-six thousand dollars.”
“He gave us the money.”
“He said it was for the house.”
“He said it was a loan.”
“You never told me that.”
“I thought you knew.”
“I thought it was his contribution.”
“To what?”
“To the family.”
Logan stared at her.
For the first time, he understood that Chelsea might not have known the full arrangement.
