Logan pedaled his way through an episode of the Best Damned Sports Show from the recumbent LifeCycle at the gym, breathing his own sweat and a cloud of women’s cologne that he ended up downwind of, with three PTA moms using the StairMasters in front of him, in varying stages of “improvement.” Not one of them wore a tee shirt long enough to cover the expanse of their hips, he mused, trying to focus on his show and turning up the volume of the headphones.
“Whatcha doin’ over here, runt?” Vic drawled, his hair dark blond and glistening from a recent shower, slick with grooves left from his comb when he skinned it back into his customary ponytail. His face was ruddy and brutally lean, veins standing out faintly along his jaw. “Not liftin’ today?”
“Eh.” He shucked his headphones and plowed his hand through his hair, leaning back after he put the bike on pause. “Ain’t in the mood. Felt like workin’ up a sweat. Might hit the courts at three.”
“Eh,” Vic echoed. “Why the fuck not? I’ll meetcha out there.” He held out his knuckles for a brief tap, and Logan obliged.
“Loser buys dinner,” he offered.
“Bring yer wallet, runt.” His parting smile resembled a shark’s as he trekked off to the weights. Logan sighed. He didn’t know why he took him up on the game, but decided it would pass the time until he went over to Ororo’s house.
She’d felt soft and sweet against him this morning. She woke up and stretched, making that tiny little mewing sound in her throat that he loved right before plastering herself against his back, tucking her bent knees into the crook of his and tangling their ankles together.
“C’mon, ‘Ro, ya gotta get up,” he grumbled hoarsely, and reluctantly as she caressed his pecs and nibbled the space between his shoulder and neck. Damn, she felt good.
“Errggh. No,” she moaned petulantly. “I ain’t budging, buddy.” He snorted out a rusty chuckle through his nose and wriggled his back into her gut, and she reflexively pressed her hips into his backside, taking umbrage when he told her to stop by removing one of her hands and lightly biting her knuckle. “OW!”
“Up an’ at ‘em. Ya know what ya gotta do today, baby doll,” he reminded her, turning in her embrace and rearranging her, draping her over his chest. He combed his fingers through her hair, absorbing her sign against his flesh.
“I know,” she admitted. “Doesn’t mean it’s any easier.”
“You’ll like the Sweet Success class,” he promised. She made a sound of disagreement at him. “Give it a chance, kiddo. All the nutritionists who teach it are a kick in the pants. That fancy health coverage o’ yours pays for it without that much of an out-of-pocket hit ta yer wallet.”
“I know,” she agreed, less grudgingly. “This is it. Everything’s different now. Exchange diet, needles, insulin, finger pokes, the whole nine yards.” She toyed with the hair on his chest while his lips warmed her forehead. “I promise I won’t do my shots at the dinner table.”
“Do ‘em wherever ya want, darlin’, I just wanna make sure yer never far from yer kit, and that ya keep a sane schedule when ya eat. No more waitin’ forever ta eat, no more manic workouts without packin’ a snack, no more guzzling mocha javas til yer eyeballs are swimmin’ in caffeine.”
“I’ll see what I can do about that,” she murmured. She stroked him thoughtfully before asking, “Have you given any more thought about what we talked about yesterday?”
“Yeah,” he rumbled back, and he urged her to lean up so he could look her in the eye. She was tousled and sexy, her lips still swollen from sleep, and her eyes still had that “bedroom” look that drove him nuts. “I have.”
“And?”
“And I already changed my shift. Spoke ta the HR office about it right before they closed.” Her face split into a grin that he found himself returning right before she squealed.
“No more night shift?”
“Not unless they need me really, really badly on NOC. So no more sleeping away the day and taking off right after dinner. Yer gonna get sick of me,” he promised.
“Sure I will,” she purred, leaning down to gobble his lips and blocking his further efforts at speech.
“Mmmmm…o-KAY…c’mon, ‘Ro, yer s’posed ta be getting ready,” he groaned, making only half-hearted attempts at fighting off her possession, feeling her hips ripple and stroke him beneath the covers into a growing frenzy. Her breasts settled into his chest, and she caged him, her forearms flanking the sides of his head as she teased him, playing a game of connect the dots, dropping kisses in a string from his forehead to his chin. “Ya gotta have time fer breakfast!”
“This is breakfast,” she assured him simply, nudging him with her nose to give her access to his ear. His groin tightened convulsively as she attacked it, and he felt her growing slick against him in the process. He grew so wrapped up in her efforts at seducing him “ not much of an effort, he’d wanted her anyway, from the moment she stirred awake “ that he’d almost forgotten his other piece of good news.
“Hey, you, one more thing,” he insisted, gripping her shoulders and nabbing one more kiss from her, suckling her lower lip and keeping her propped against him. Her eyes twinkled back with mischief and impatience.
“What?”
“I also applied fer a transfer ta Salem Medical Center.”
“Wait, I thought you liked where you were,” she muttered, her brow crumpling. “Why the move?”
“I dunno if the hospital’s big enough fer me and Summers after what happened,” he remarked. She sighed and tried to turn her eyes away, but he caught her chin between his fingers and made her look at him. “Things weren’t gonna be all rosy when he found out, ‘Ro. We both knew that.”
“That’s why I didn’t want to tell him,” she said broodingly.
“It was bound ta come out. C’mon, ‘Ro, the guy’s got an MD after his name, he ain’t an idiot.”
“And Pietro was never that subtle, either. Man, I just hate this. It shouldn’t have come to this.”
“I know, darlin’. Ya ain’t gotta worry about that kinda drama from yers truly.” His chest was inflated with pride as he tackled her again, rolling her to her back and pinning her in a wild tangle of sheets and limbs.
“So what kind of drama do I have to worry about?”
“Me throwin’ a tantrum if I don’t get some pretty soon.”
“I think I can handle that,” she sighed. His face twisted, dropping its smirk as she reached for him and guided him toward her heat, encouraging him to rub his shaft against her sweet spot.
“Show me where it feels good, darlin’,” he rasped, and bliss splashed its way across his features as she instigated a rhythm beneath him, undulating his hips and skimming him through the streaky wetness, kissing him with her other lips with growing heat, teasing them both. He plundered her mouth, drinking up her sweetness and releasing a guttural cry when he couldn’t take it anymore and allowed himself to slip inside, sinking in to the hilt. He rocked himself into her insistently, loathe to pull away, then grateful to plunge back into her silky warmth. Her words were garbled, faint, then eventually unnecessary as he made love to her. Their breathing was harsh and interspersed with cries of each other’s names and prayers not to stop.
“More,” she whimpered into his neck, clinging to him and clutching handfuls of his luxuriously thick hair. He gathered speed and momentum, delving deeply inside of her, rocking the bedsprings and wordlessly rejoicing at the impact of his flesh meeting hers. She reveled in the sweet sting of her muscles, splayed open and welcoming each thrust of his hips. He gave her more of what she craved, devouring a fiery trail down her neck before he leaned back, letting the bedding cascade from them so he could loop her legs over his shoulders. The change in angle made her feel deliciously split apart as he pumped himself into her harder, sending sensations rippling into her womb.
Curses leapt from his lips, so strangled she could barely make them out, and his eyes darked with desire and fulfillment as he rode her. “Fuck,” he grated through clenched teeth. “Feel so damned good, baby! Oh, God, ‘Ro! Can’t…get enough-“ his voice was cut off in a gurgle of completion as he spasmed, reaching his joy and taking her with him. He came, jerking and pistoning those last few strokes, pouring out everything he had as she clenched herself around him in a loving, viselike grip. Every wave of sensation surging through him jerked his hips in that final dance, making his eyes widen in wonder, pinning her with that gaze pledging that only she had this effect on him. Her womb answered that cry, and she caught him as he tumbled forward against her, spent, as her own contractions had their way with her and she held him for dear life.
They were limp, panting and sated moments later, before Ororo murmured something into his hair that he almost didn’t hear over his own ragged breath.
“Hm?”
“…love you.”
“Ororo?” That made him lean up and stare into her face. She swallowed around a lump in her throat.
“I love you, Logan.” How she found the strength to reach up and cup his cheek like that when he could barely move, he didn’t know.
“Damn,” he chuckled, lightly stroking her wrist and tickling the pulse before he bent his lips into it.
“I can’t help it. That’s how I feel.”
“Ya didn’t hear me sayin’ I wanted ya ta help it, didja?” He silenced her, nipping at her lips before giving her a deeper kiss that she felt down to her toes. “Speaking of which…ya still need ta get ready.” She stared at him like he just farted as he tugged himself away from her and yanked her unceremoniously out of bed. “Yer not gettin’ outta goin’ ta yer class.” He took some of the bluntness from his words by waltzing them into the shower, never letting go of her as they stepped into the warm spray.
“Party pooper,” she accused, securing the bottle of shower gel and scrubbing his back. Her body grew slippery as she leaned around him, raking suds through his chest hair just to enflame him and tease him toward round two.
“Bad girl,” he growled, capturing her hands and wiggling his butt into her belly, just to be funny. He turned and wrestled the shower gel from her, nudging her under the spray so he could work on her hair.
“It was worth a try.”
“Tonight’s my last NOC til my new schedule starts. Do whatcha want fer lunch, darlin’. I’m taking ya out fer dinner. Just eat on time,” he nagged, wagging his finger at her sternly. She kissed the tip of it, then engulfed it just to get his goat. He growled at her. She grinned. With more fumbling, teasing efforts at toweling each other off, they eventually made their way into their clothes.
That brought him here. Logan was at the gym, waiting for Ororo to call or text him that she was on her way out. He still had a lot on his mind.
That night in the E/R burned memories into his brain that kept him up at night for three weeks.
Art and Rory got her settled into the exam room and had the admin at the nurse’s station pull Ororo’s chart. They asked her the battery of the usual questions, and Logan felt a strange burst of pride bloom in his chest when they asked her who her person to notify was.
“That’s him right there,” she murmured, wincing at that IV in her arm as the adhesive tape tugged at her skin.
“And with that in mind, we’ll get another nurse in here in a sec,” Art chuckled. “Sorry, buddy. Just following the rules.”
“I know. I’ll come back when I’m off the clock, namely when I ain’t a nurse,” he agreed, but he remained long enough to explain to the nurse relieving him that he would be on hand to take Ororo home when it was time for her to be discharged. He held her hand and stroked her knuckles while she gave the nurse her history and allergies, medications and insurance information. Her voice was still weak, and Logan fluffed her pillows before taking his leave.
“What happened, ‘Ro?”
“I was waiting for Anna. I had a big mocha latte late in the afternoon. I even thought about going out. It’s been…frustrating.” She gazed at him searchingly, hating the look of worry in his dark eyes. She missed the spare, rugged beauty of his face. “And lonely. I missed you.”
“Why didn’t ya call me?” Then it occurred to him. “Was that you hanging up?”
“Shit,” she hissed, shaking her head limply.
“Darlin’…man. We’re a pair of idiots,” he grumbled. “Ya know I’ve practically worn a groove into yer sidewalk, just from comin’ ta yer front door every night? Ya know how weird it feels not doin’ that?” He was thankful that Art and Rory weren’t there listening in. “I can’t sleep.”
“Why?” He reached down to smooth back her hair,
“Yer not there. And yer bed’s more comfy than mine. And it just ain’t the same. Darlin’, I’m sorry about what happened and that I never told ya sooner about what I saw. I just didn’t think ya’d believe me if ya heard it from me. I didn’t know what good it’d do if I said anything. I didn’t wanna ruin yer relationship. What sucks, though, is that I was already feelin’ guilty.” He sighed heavily, then frowned at her when he noticed the shadows under her eyes. “I already had a thing for ya, baby. That ain’t something ya wanna have come across when ya’ve already met a woman’s boyfriend face ta face, or when yer tryin’ ta tell her that ya caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, y’know?”
“I’m just so sorry,” she insisted. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I was mad at Jean. Pietro pissed me off, and he cheated, but the worst thing was hearing Jean go at it, telling me all these things about how he felt about me and…this,” she floundered, waving her hand at the IV and the bed she reclined on. “Apparently he filled her ear while they were getting cozy together. I know he used to worry about my condition, and when I would have attacks, but I guess I jumped the gun, thinking he could handle it. He didn’t think I could handle it, either. Jean said he thought I was manipulating him to make him stay.”
“That’s bullshit,” Logan growled. Another tear leaked its way down her cheek, and he leaned over to flick it away. “Ya can handle yerself just fine. And ya were, too, til he started actin’ like a jackass. Who needs that shit?”
“Maybe…you don’t need it.”
“Don’t say that, ‘Ro.” His face was thunderous, and he squeezed her hand to get her to face him. “Don’t sit here telling me what I don’t need. I know what I need,” he informed her. “I missed you,” he grumbled, “so friggin’ much. Don’t listen ta Jeannie spoutin’ off at the mouth fer one second. She ain’t worth it, she lied, and she stabbed ya in the back. Ya didn’t drive Pietro away, and there wasn’t any value in what she had ta say.”
“What she had to say about what?” Neither of them had been paying attention to the comings and goings of the housekeeper working her way through the room, two student nurses who came in to check Ororo’s pulse and check her chart, or to the general noise and clamor in the hall. But Scott wandered inside, wearing his dark blue scrubs and white lab coat, hugging his clipboard against his chest and watching them with curious eyes. “Ororo, are you okay? Art told me they brought someone in matching your description while I was up on the pedes ward.”
“She’s all right, Scooter,” Logan replied, still holding her hand. Scott nodded, even though he wasn’t convinced.
“You look like someone did a number on you, kiddo.”
“I didn’t get the number of that truck,” she offered feebly. His answering smile was tidy and brief.
“Jeannie came home upset and looking like hell a little while back, the same day that you guys went out to lunch.”
“This ain’t the time ta talk about that, Scooter,” Logan warned him.
“Maybe not,” he considered soberly. “But when my wife comes home crying, looking like she had a fight, and suddenly isn’t speaking to her best friend from college, I get a little concerned.”
“Ororo ain’t the one ya need ta be concerned about, bub.” Logan’s spine was stiff, and he raised himself up to his full height. Ororo felt him bristling, and her gut clenched into a snug knot.
“She is if she hurt my wife,” Scott shot back. “You were her maid of honor, Ororo. You don’t just let anger between you build up like this. She went to lunch with you that day so you could talk about what’s been going on since the night of the party. You just left all of the sudden, and then Logan and Pietro got into it. We all know what happened then.”
“I already told ya I was sorry, Scooter.”
“It never should have come to that.”
“Jeannie didn’t exactly kiss and make up when they had their little get-together,” Logan continued. “And ya didn’t exactly get a reason outta Jean fer invitin’ ‘Ro’s ex ta yer shindig?”
“Logan,” Ororo snapped, but he stood his ground. She was torn between wanting to slug him and kiss him. She felt him tense up and relax again under her grip on his wrist.
“She didn’t think it would be a problem. We’re all adults,” Scott reasoned, but Logan could tell it had pricked him sharply. His jaw was tight, and his eyes narrowed over flaring nostrils. “’Tro and I could have gotten together some other time to hang out, so it wasn’t necessary for him to be there, okay? Fine.” He shrugged as though that solved the problem for the next time.
“Scott, my friendship with Jean is a thing of the past. It just won’t work for the two of us to spend time together anymore. That’s nothing against you, but that’s as much as I’m going to say about that. I can’t trust Jean anymore. Don’t get involved in this, please?”
Scott looked confused and hurt. She hated that look, but he eventually stared down at his clipboard. It made her ache, but she wouldn’t be the one to destroy his faith in Jean when he loved her so much. And suddenly, she knew what it was like to be in Logan’s shoes that night at Harry’s. A light went on, and she made up her mind.
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t try to help and make things better. Jean meant well. She wanted you to be happy, Ororo. Never doubt that.”
“Have ya said yer piece, Summers?’ Ororo saw by the set of his shoulders and the defeat in Logan’s voice that he felt like she did. He wouldn’t be the one to let this particular ax fall.
“Yeah.” He turned to leave, but hover by the door to mutter, “Nate will come and check you out. He wants a CT scan, since that seizure was more severe than spells you’ve had before, Ororo. Listen to what he has to say, follow his instructions, and get some rest.” She chafed at the concern she heard in his voice before he left. She fell back against the pillows and crumpled, pressing her knuckles into her mouth to muffle her burgeoning cries.
“It’s okay,” Logan insisted, stroking her soothingly. “Ya didn’t go on the attack. Ya didn’t show him how ugly his wife acted to ya, even though ya could have. I know what ya were feeling, ‘Ro. That don’t mean he won’t find out. Now, he’s got some more reason ta suspect something’s rotten under his own roof, and it ain’t last week’s pot roast. Summers’ll settle her hash.”
“It hurts,” Ororo whimpered. “He’s so good to her.”
“I ain’t worried about Summers. He’ll get through this.” He settled her blankets over her more firmly, tucking her in. “I’m worried about you. I’ll be back in a little while, kiddo. I’ve gotta do my rounds and check my orders at the desk, then I’ll clock out.”
~0~
Meanwhile, back at Ororo’s house:
“Oh, Gawd, it was just awful, Remy,” Anna cried.
“I never want to walk in and see that happen again,” Ali shivered. “I was so worried for her. You would have been proud of Anna, though,” Ali boasted, patting Anna’s knee from her end of the couch. The three of them were crowded around the TV, watching the handset of the phone laying on the coffee table and waiting for Ororo to ring. Attempts at reaching Logan had been futile, so Anna called Remy to let him know she was canceling their date. Once he pried it from her why, he’d raced over, practically running red lights and cutting off a cabbie who flipped him the bird.
Anna greeted him at Ororo’s front door, eyes red and her fair skin covered in splotches from crying. Ali was in similar shape as she neatened up Ororo’s kitchen in the hopes that they would have her house looking nice for her when she came home. Anna didn’t resist when he pulled her into his arms, holding her snugly and rocking her until her shaking subsided. He cajoled the full story of what happened out of them, listening to each of them chiming in with their account, of how desperate Ororo had looked, and that she hadn’t seemed like herself for a while.
“Anna just knew what to do, and barked out orders like a drill seargeant,” Ali continued, finishing up the dishes in the sink and putting away Ororo’s heavy skillet.
“Ah was scared ta death,” Anna Marie admitted.
“Ah’m proud of ya. Ya did what needed ta be done,” Remy replied. “That’s m’girl. I’d expect nuthin’ less.”
“Ah was so afraid that we wouldn’t get her help on time. Think of what woulda happened if Ah hadn’t been on mah way here.”
“Don’t think about it. It’ll just make ya more upset, cher.”
“It’s hard not ta think about it. Ah’m whupped.” Anna was still wired and trying to defuse from the night’s events.
“So why didja come over here?”
“It’s nuthin,’ baby,” she murmured.
“Like heck it is,” Ali kidded. “Anna was coming over to borrow an outfit from Ororo to knock your eyes out tonight!”
“ALI!” Anna reached for a couch cushion and brandished it high. Ali laughed heartily, glad at last to have a reason to after what she witnessed.
“Ororo guaranteed her little get-up would do its job,”Ali grinned. She ducked, guarding herself ineffectively as Anna let her have it with the pillow.
“An’ what job was that, cher?” Remy quirked one sexy dark brow and gave Anna the eyeball. She still wasn’t done with Ali, though, if her repeated beatings with Ororo’s blue cushion were any indication.
“Ooh! Quit it, Anna! You KNOW what job! OOF!” BOP!
“Let her up fuh air, cher,” Remy chuckled, hauling Anna Marie onto his lap and relieving her of the pillow, chucking it aside. He wrestled her into his embrace, holding her arms across her chest while Ali stuck out her tongue at them both.
“I’m heading upstairs to fix Ororo’s room,” Ali announced. “I’m gonna make sure she doesn’t walk in on it looking like a disaster area.”
“That’s fine wit’ me,” Remy murmured after her. His eyes swung back to Anna’s and probed them, mischief twinkling in their depths. “What’s goin’ on, baby doll?”
“She’s just messin’ around in my shit,” Anna accused, settling herself more comfortably against him. He smelled good, still fresh from a shower he took just as Anna had rung him on the phone. He was garbed in jeans so worn they were velvety and a green Eagles tee shirt that brought out the auburn glints in his hair. His jaw was scraped clean of its customary stubble, and it looked like he had a recent haircut. His waves were tamed and shorter than usual, but a careless lock of it still fell over his brow. “Ya look nice,” Anna whispered.
“D’ya like it?”
“Yeah. A lot.” She feathered her fingers through his hair, enjoying how silky it felt sliding through them. “Remy?”
“Yeah, cher?”
“Why…what is it about you an’ me? Ah mean, we’ve been goin’ out fer a while, an’ it wouldn’t be premature t’say we’re attracted ta each other…Ah mean, Ah’m attracted ta you, anyway, and right about now, it wouldn’t be too soon if we wanted, uh, ta maybe…y’know?” She felt herself blushing ten shades of red and looked away.
And found her face tilted back toward his just as quickly. She felt his reaction in every muscle of his body.
“Hold on now, cher,” he interrupted. “First of all, yeah, I’m attracted ta you, if the hard-on yer experiencin’ under yer sweet little tail ain’t an easy enough sign fuh ya t’interpret.” She blushed even more furiously as she acknowledged the indeed, noticeable, rising stiffness nudging at her just where he’d mentioned. She cleared her throat and felt her voice become a funny little squeak. She HATED when that happened. “And fer the record, cher…it ain’t so much that I thought it was too soon. I was just havin’ too much fun, an’ I was enjoyin’ yer comp’ny. It’s hard sometimes, girl.”
“What’s hard, Remy?”
“Sometimes…when I meet a new lady, an’ we hit it off, but her first impression is of me struttin’ m’stuff, gettin’ all down an’ dirty when I’m not wearin’ all that much, that don’t always leave a lot of room fuh the basics. Y’know, the little things, like small talk. Real dates wit’ real conversation. Gettin’ past a woman undressin’ me with her eyes. When I go out wit’ a woman, I want her ta notice me fuh who I am. I don’t wanna hafta perform.”
“Oh.” Anna suddenly felt very, very guilty, fighting off little tingles of shame washing over her flesh.
“Cher…”
“Yer right. Ah didn’t wanna treat ya like an object.”
“Ya neva did, cher. I have fun wit’ you. That’s what makes it hard,” he went on, his voice like thick, dark syrup. His hand crept up to knead her neck, relaxing her when she was about to make a move to leave his lap. “Cuz I already wantcha. Stick around fer a while, will ya?”
“Awright,” she stammered, licking her lips.
“Hold that pose, too, baby,” he suggested, tangling his fingers in her hair and tugging her to him for a kiss that rocked her socks.
“MMMpppphhhh!” she breathed, bracing herself against him and letting his mouth wreak sweet havoc, listening to each little voice that had been nagging her before sighing in fulfillment.
“All right, I just changed the bed, Anna; where does Ororo keep the laundry soap…OH!” Ali froze in chagrin and was about to turn tail and run back up the steps at the sight of Anna doing her level best to taste Remy’s tonsils. “Gads…SO didn’t need to see that!”
Anna broke away at the sound of Ali’s voice, heaving for breath and staring at Remy with a wild look in her eye before meeting Ali’s look. Yup. Arms crossed, foot tapping, smirking like the Chesire cat. About what she expected.
“Put yer eyes back in yer head, shoog,” Anna carped. “Aintcha never seen a woman tryin’ ta keep her man from chokin’? He swallowed a crumb, an’ I was just takin’ a closer look, tryin’ t’fish it out!”
“With your tongue. Sure. Best method I can think of.” The three of them were startled the rest of the way out of the blazing awkwardness of the moment by the jangling of the handset. Anna dove for it first.
“LOGAN!” she shrieked. “Oh, mah Gawd, it’s such a relief ta hear from ya! Where the hell have ya been, sugah?!?” Remy drilled his pinky into his ear, which took the brunt of her bellow, and he allowed Anna to sink onto the couch next to him while she spoke. He still held her hand, though, Ali noticed.
“He’s in the E/R,” Anna mouthed to Remy for a moment.
“Figured as much. He works NOCs in Radiology,” Remy supplied. “Is ‘Ro with him now?”
“He just checked in on her. He wants to know if one of us can get over there and trade him a car for his bike ta pick her up and take her home.”
“That’s easy,” Ali decided. “Remy, you take your Mustang. Anna, you go ahead and take me home and then meet him at the hospital in your car.”
“Works fuh me.”
“Ya know ya wanna see Ororo with yer own two eyes, dontcha, Al? C’mon, I’ll drop ya off at home on our way back.”
“I don’t want to get in the way,” Ali reasoned, but she was right.
“You’ll sleep better if ya see that she’s fine. C’mon.” There were no further arguments as they locked up, taking Ororo’s spare of housekeys off the hook.
Ororo was indeed looking a sight better, and her nurse was just helping her to sit up and detaching the IV from her arm, pressing firmly on a wad of folded gauze at the crease of her elbow. In the meantime, her lip was fat, black and blue, and would have an ugly scab in the morning.
“Hey, sweetie,” Ali waved from the doorway.
“What’re you two doing here?” Ororo looked grateful, wincing as she smiled. Her whole head still hurt now that she was sitting up.
“Remy’s in the lobby. We got Logan’s call, and we wanted to make sure you made it home.”
“He was here as soon as I got in,” Ororo mused.
“Thank Gawd,” Anna sighed, shaking her head. “Now y’all can start speakin’ again. No more of this ‘Ah don’t know if Ah kin call him or not, what if he doesn’t wanna hear from me’ crap!”
“He called up in a lather, all worried about you tonight,” Ali announced briskly.
“We talked ta him a while ago when we signed in at the desk in the lobby. Ya shoulda seen him, ‘Roro. The man cares about ya.”
“Heck yeah, he does,” Ali chimed in.
“I’m not letting Jean anywhere near him,” Ororo pouted under her breath, wincing again as her frown made different muscles in her face hurt. “Ow.” Ali dissolved into giggles while Anna just grinned and shook her head.
Logan was waiting with her nurse and had a wheelchair ready and waiting to go. He was back in his street clothes, looking worn and thoughtful.
“We parked in section E; here’s Remy’s keys,” Anna offered. “Ah’m takin’ Ali here home. Let us know if ya need anything.”
“Anna?”
“Yeah, Al?”
“Can we stop at that vending machine by the break room? I wanna see if that cute blond paramedic is still in there.”
“He’s single. Name’s Art,” Logan offered, chuckling. “Has a great three-point shot, too. That’s why we call him Longshot. We cleaned Salem Medical’s clock at our last company game.”
“Hot dog!” Ali crowed, yanking Anna after her.
“Bye, ‘Ro!”
“Bye,” she waved weakly. The nurse escorted them out to Remy’s car, and Logan bundled her inside.
They didn’t talk much on the way inside the house. Logan opened the door with her spare key and was pleased to smell the faint aroma of cleaning products wafting from the kitchen. At least Ororo’s house was in fit shape for her to relax and get settled in.
“Easy, kiddo,” he muttered, helping her up the stairs. They made it to her room, and Logan began doing little things out of habit; searching through her upper drawer for her favorite nightshirt, turning down the bed, cracking the window to let in just a hint of fresh air.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine,” she began.
“I’m stayin’ and I don’t wanna hear ya tellin’ me otherwise.”
That settled that. She watched him continue to fuss over her as he helped her into her night clothes and fetched her some Tylenol. He nagged her into wearing socks, going as far as putting them on for her after rubbing her favorite lotion into her feet.
“You’re spoiling me,” she accused. His only reply was to turn off the lights. She felt the mattress sag beneath his weight, and heard his shoes hit the floor with one thud, then another. His clothes made a sliding sound as he shucked them in the dark, and she felt the brief flap of cool air against her as he crawled under the covers and tugged her to him. His embrace was solid and snug and oh, so cozy. She rubbed her cheek against him, enjoying the familiar feel of the crisp hairs on his chest and inhaling his scent. She’d missed him so much.
“Logan?”
“Yeah, ‘Ro?”
“I do trust you.” His chest rose in a gusty sigh of satisfaction, and her breathing rhythms began to match his as they neared sleep. “Please don’t leave me again.” The ball of tension finally dissipated from her chest.
“I ain’t goin’ anywhere, darlin’.” Those big, wonderful hands caressed her into a drowsy stupor. “Yer stuck with me.”
~0~
And that brought him back here, listening to Vic blather. It just helped, having a distraction to keep from the restlessness that had been plaguing him all day.
“So what’s goin’ on with you and yer girl, bub?”
“She had a spill a little while back. She’s doin’ better now. She had a self-management training class today.”
“No shit? What happened?”
“She has type one diabetes now. She’d been fighting it for a while. Now she’s learnin’ how ta deal with it.”
“Damn. That’s rough. Guess yer little Florence Nightingale job comes in handy for this shit, huh?” For once Logan agreed with him.
“She’s gonna learn how ta take care of a lot of that stuff herself. Don’t mean I won’t be there backin’ her up, though.”
“Listen t’you! ‘Don’t mean I won’t be there backin’ her up!’” Victor mimicked. “Yer so fuckin’ whipped, bro.” Then he mellowed a bit. “That’s cool, dude. Ya’ve been with her a while, eh?”
“Yep.” Logan wiped down the seat of the Lifecycle and unplugged his headphones from the cardiotheater. “I plan on bein’ with her a long time.”
“Damn. Sounds serious. We talkin’ you two movin’ in and shacking up together, keepin’ more’n a toothbrush at her place?”
“I’m talkin’ sharin’ bills, laundry, and eventually bringin’ little rugrats into the world that look like her. I’m poppin’ the question.” Victor was silent for once. Then, suddenly…
“DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDE!” WHACK! Vic pounded him on the back, making Logan bite his tongue in surprise. “Are ya shittin’ me? Holy crap, wait’ll I tell St. John about this!” Vic was in rare form. “The runt’s gonna pop the question and get himself a ball an’chain! Friggin’ excellent! This I gotta see,” he mused. “Whooooooooo!” He gulped water from his sports bottle and swabbed his forehead with the back of his fist.
“It ain’t like it was never gonna happen,” Logan huffed, “ya prick.”
“Just didn’t seem like it was ever gonna happen ta you, runt!” Then he sobered again. “She ain’t like Mary?”
“She’s nothin’ like her,” Logan insisted gruffly. “Don’t even question it. Their names don’t even deserve ta be mentioned in the same fuckin’ breath.”
“Got it,” Vic agreed.
“Good,” Logan grunted, reaching for the loaded curling bar and starting his reps. “Otherwise, I was gonna hafta kick yer sorry ass.” Vic barked out a laugh. “Steroid shriveled dick and all,” he added, just to get his goat once Vic was securely pinned to the weight bench beneath a loaded barbell, defeating his chance to take umbrage properly.
Their game of meatball out on the court yielded similar outcomes: Logan, ten; Victor, zip.
~0~
Still elsewhere:
Pietro was having a bad day. She repressed the urge to flip off every person who cut him off on his way over to Scott and Jean’s, doing a less than stellar job parking his Jeep in their driveway before galloping up the front walk.
His father’s bellows still blistered his ears from their talk. He just wanted to kick something. Who did Crystal think she was? What the fuck gave Ororo the right to interfere?
“What’s going on, Dad?” he drawled into the phone, hoping he would make it quick. He promised to head to Jean’s in a half an hour; he and Scott were going to watch the game, and Jean was making her famous beef stew. Warmth swept through his gut at the thought of her, her sheaves of red hair flowing long and loose, looking good enough to eat.
“Something very upsetting came to my attention a few weeks back, Pietro. I was wondering if you could clear the air.”
“What’s so upsetting?”
“Son…I received a letter a while ago from a young woman who sent me a photograph of a child she claims is your daughter.” The blood rushed away from Pietro’s face, and his fingertips felt cold and numb. A dizzy wave of tingles made him sit down in the middle of drying his hair out of the shower.
“You’re joking,” he murmured.
“No. I’m not. So tell me, is it true?”
“Dad, you can’t just trust some stranger who contacts you with pic-“
“You didn’t answer my question. Is it true?” A long, heavy silence that Pietro could cut with a knife followed before he cleared his throat and mastered the urge to groan.
“It was a long time ago. Crystal and I, we were together a long time ago.” Pietro was breathing harshly through his nose, gusting, unsteady breaths. “We agreed to go our separate ways?”
“Pietro, is Luna your daughter?” Eric’s voice brooked no further delay.
“Yes,” he answered at last. “Crystal got pregnant with Luna while she and I were together. You could say she’s mine.”
“I can see she’s yours, Pietro,” Eric barked, laughing over the irony. “Before I even finished reading the letter, I knew who that child was. She’s perfect. She looks exactly like your mother did as a child. She’s Magda, and even Wanda, all over again. How would you think I would have any doubts, Pietro?” Shame fluttered in his chest, and his heart knocked hollowly against his ribs.
“Dad…”
“If you wanted to keep her a secret, that was one thing. But I can’t allow another day to go by without letting her know she has family who want to know her and be a part of her young life. You had the benefit of having two parents who loved you growing up, Pietro. We gave you everything a boy could ever ask, to the best extent that we could.” Pietro laughed harshly, the sound uncannily like his father’s.
“You think you did right by me? You rode me every day, Dad! You didn’t want a son; you wanted a yes man! You wanted someone who would be just like you, say all the right things, and who wouldn’t embarrass you! You never treated Wanda like you treated me!”
“So this is how you decide to treat me now, son? I want to see my granddaughter. Regularly. But I can’t intrude on Crystal’s life if you aren’t doing your part to support her and take any responsibility. Crystal mentioned in her letter that you never signed any declaration of paternity, even though she listed you on the birth certificate as the father. So as a formality, I want a DNA test taken, and I want you to sign one.”
“The hell I will,” Pietro muttered. “Why should I do all this for your benefit, Dad?”
“You’ll do it for Luna’s,” Eric snapped. “She deserves better than what you’ve given her. My God, Pietro, have you even been a presence in her life? Have you been in contact with her at all?”
“Dad…it’s complicated, and I don’t see where it’s any of your business.”
“Tell that to my attorney. I expect you at a meeting I’m having next week with him. Bring along your own, if you like. I’m making provision for Luna in my will, pending completion of a DNA test proving she’s your daughter and my grandchild. Once that is finished, I’m contacting Crystal to invite her to come and bring Luna for a visit with Aleytys and me. If you’re smart, you’ll be there for that, too.” Pietro’s stomach turned over.
“What are you going to do, disinherit me?” he scoffed, even though he was terrified of what his father seemed to be suggesting. “Don’t interfere, old man. This is none of your business,” he repeated, but the starch left his voice, and he slumped defeatedly on the bed, cradling his forehead into his hand.
“I’m not disinheriting you, son. I love you. That hasn’t changed.” He heard his father sigh before he continued. “I’m just exercising my rights as a grandparent to have contact with my granddaughter. With that being said, if you don’t comply, I plan to sue you for fraudulently letting me believe that you’ve been childless all this time.”
“I can’t fucking believe this. I’m going to contest this,” Pietro insisted. “You can’t just do this…on a whim, goddamn it!”
“I’m old, Pietro. I’ve lived a long, good life. I’ve built a strong living and I have a lot of money. I can do whatever I darn well please. Aleytys is planning on serving lasagna next week. Be on time.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“You have to take accountability. Pietro, you’ve done nothing but establish this mad pattern of hurting people. You push me away, you push Wanda away, you push Aleytys away whenever anyone tries to question some of your actions. Ororo was a lovely woman. I know you two had your problems, but it seemed like you walked out on her on a ‘whim,’ so to speak, and then got back together with her just to dangle her. You could have been married to her by now, with a home and children with her!”
“You wanted that. Not me,” he shot back. “Just…not now. We were fine the way we were; you and Ororo were always so damned cozy, you just had my life planned out and wrapped up in a little bow!”
“I hate to think of what will happen if I let you continue this path you’re on, Pietro,” Eric intoned. With that, he hung up.
It was all he could focus on as he waited for Scott to answer the door. His palms were still sweating. He eased his face into calm lines as Scott opened the door. “Hey, buddy.” He strode in, clapping Scott on the back as he entered the foyer. Scott’s expression was measured and calm, and his smile was only riding at half-mast, but Pietro ignored it. “Something sure smells good! Where’s Jeannie?”
“In the kitchen. C’mon. The game’s about to start,” Scott urged, beckoning for him to follow him into the den. Pietro felt himself relax a notch among the cozy, familiar surroundings of his best friend’s home. He winced silently at an old photo of Jean, Scott, Ororo and Pietro still hanging framed in the hallway. He considered the restraining order, still in effect for another month. He hadn’t violated it “ much “ since Ororo had him served, but he decided he might have reason to break his silence in light of her involvement with shoving Crystal under his father’s nose. How fucking dare she? Better yet, how did she even find out about her?
He was still fanning the flames of his indignance as Scott handed him a beer. He popped the top and took a grateful gulp as they settled in. A random thought interrupted him once the ref called a flag on the play.
“Hey, Scott,” he piped up, “do you still have that DVD I brought over here?”
“Which one? You haven’t brought any discs over here for a while, ‘Tro,” Scott murmured over his beer.
“You know, ‘Anger Management.’ That Sandler flick.”
“I never borrowed it from you.”
“Sure you did. I know I left it here, it wasn’t in my stuff when I moved out of Ororo’s place, I would have packed it up with the others,” he nagged.
“I’m pretty sure you didn-“
“PIETRO! Hon, I’m pretty sure it’s in our DVD rack upstairs,” Jean called as she made her way down the hall with a bowl of pretzels. She looked invitingly pretty in a lightweight, pink cotton dress with a richly embroidered hem that she bought on their honeymoon in St. Maarten, and her feet were bare. She smiled at him fondly as she set the bowl down on the coffee table. Then she laughed at a particularly silly memory and broke into song with hammy aplomb: “I feel charming…oh, so charming…” and she warbled the lyrics to the song from the duet scene on the bridge. A scene Scott wasn’t familiar with, but that didn’t stop Pietro breaking into the same refrain.
“Who’s that pretty girl in the mirror there? What mirror, where?” he chimed in on a comical falsetto.
“God, I love it when you sing that part!” Jean giggled. “Let me go grab it before you leave, you can take it with you on your way out.” Scott just turned back to the set and scratched an itch behind his ear. “Ya gotta love Sandler.”
“Eh. Actually, I don’t. I think his movies suck. I hated The Water Boy.”
“You’re crazy, Scott. He rocks. I love Anger Management.”
“I know, ‘Tro.” Scott set down his beer, then leaned over his knees in his recliner, staring at his friend with an odd look. “I wouldn’t have borrowed that movie from you.”
“Well…I might have told Jeannie about it, then. I remember bringing it over here. It’s been a while, I haven’t thought about it for a while.” Jean padded back into the study, still smiling brightly as she handed Pietro the DVD.
“You didn’t bring it the night of the housewarming,” Scott pointed out. He seemed to be trying to isolate any possible incidence when Pietro would have come over specifically for a movie night. “Last time the four of us got together was for Scrabble,” he murmured.
“The last time we played Scrabble, honey, was when Ororo brought Logan here,” Jean corrected him absently as she reached for a pretzel and popped it into her mouth. She came to lean on the arm of his chair, and looked slightly surprised and put out when he rose instead of letting her drape her arm around him like he usually did.
“Pietro…Ororo mentioned that night that you weren’t supposed to come within a hundred feet of her. I kinda came in on the end of it.”
“It was no big deal. She served me with an order to stay away from her, even though I didn’t do anything,” he scoffed. “What’s your deal, Scott? Why the game of twenty questions?”
“Because I read Jean’s guest list when she sent out the invitations. She told me Ororo was coming over. I figured you and I could hang out some other time, so I was kinda surprised when you showed up, all dressed and looking like you knew there was a party at my place.”
“Scott…you’re my bro, dude. My best friend. Sorry if that didn’t apply to coming to a party at your place,” Pietro huffed, smiling to cover up the fact that he was slightly taken aback.
“Just not one where your ex is already planning on showing up.”
“Not like she even stayed long,” Jean sniffed. “She just walked out on a huff. Not that I’d put it past her, anyway, after the wedding. She left early then, too.” She reached for another pretzel and munched it casually, but Scott was growing increasingly uncomfortable. He got up and left the den without excusing himself. Pietro and Jean stared after him for a moment, then gave each other a measured look. Neither one of them wanted to acknowledge the elephant sitting in the room.
Scott came back to the den with the rest of the six-pack dangling from his hand, and he pressed a diet cola into Jean’s before sitting back down in his recliner. Jean noticed that both men were pointedly ignoring her, so she left to check on the food in the kitchen, but she felt Pietro’s eyes following her on her way out.
Halftime found both men reaching for another beer. Pietro had been pretty quiet up until then, but a revelation struck him.
“I know when it was now!” He snapped his fingers impatiently, as though urging Scott to remember along with him. “I dropped Jeannie off that night! From Harry’s. Last spring,” Pietro offered.
“Dropped her off?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Man, was she smashed! Emma and Betsy ran off. Leave it to them to do something like that; chicks can be so flighty about that shit. I was out with Alex that night,” he explained. “Jeannie asked me if I could take her home.”
“Really?” Scott’s voice dripped with interest. “That’s funny,” he remarked.
“What? She needed a ride,” Pietro added, as though it were the most sensible outcome in the world.
“No. She wouldn’t have. I would have been home, waiting for her to call.” Scott’s jaw was set in a stubborn line. “Even if I was out with my friends, she would have called me on her cell.”
“She didn’t have to, I was already ther-“
“When was this?”
“It was a while ago, dude.”
”When?”
“Last spring,” Pietro replied quietly, wondering why Scott had such a hard look in his eye. “That second week in March.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Jean trilled from the hallway. She paused in the doorway, watching them have what looked like a staring contest while their halftime show played in the background. “Who’s winning?”
“Jean…do you remember about when you watched the movie the first time? Say, about mid-March?”
“Sure,” she agreed, and it dawned on her. “Exactly!” she crowed, shaking her finger. “THAT’S when ‘Tro brought it over! All you had to do was remind me, Pietro, and I would have brought it back sooner.”
“Sure you would have,” Scott muttered.
“What?” Her auburn brows drew together in a little scowl, and Scott almost laughed aloud.
“God…I should have known.”
“Scott, what are you…?”
“It makes sense now. You, coming home looking like you’d been attacked. Nice, friendly little lunch with Ororo. This after she left in a big rush from our house without explaining why the night of the party.”
“Ororo’s psycho. She’s got issues, Scott, so why give Jean a hard time if Ororo made a scene and ran off?”
“She wasn’t the one who made a scene, ‘Tro. You did.”
“Scott, why are you acting like this? I said dinner’s ready, let’s just sit down and eat-“
“I’m not finished.” Scott brushed his hair back impatient and measured them both. “Jean…you’ve been acting weird these past few weeks. Back before we got married, I just marked it up to cold feet and jitters. But this puts a different spin on things. You went out and Pietro gave you a ride home that night during the week I was away on my conference. You watched that movie with him that same week, obviously more than once, if you can quote the song, crap that it is,” he shrugged.
“It was just a movie,” she said calmly, but her voice drifted off. “Why is this important, Scott?”
“Because you and Ororo never had a fight like the one you had this last time, Jean. And you never explained why she flew off the handle.”
“Because she’s psycho,” Pietro quipped, repeating himself.
“Fine. But I just saw Ororo in the E/R a few weeks ago.”
“What happened?” Scott had Pietro’s attention, but Jean eyes were pinned to Pietro.
“She had a diabetic seizure. She’s okay now, but she took a bad fall while she was home alone. Ali and Anna Marie somehow got there and called an ambulance, and I was there when she was brought in.”
“You never said anything.” Jean sounded offended.
“Ororo wouldn’t have wanted me to. She had some interesting things to say. I overheard her talking to Logan. Logan was assuring her that what you said didn’t mean anything, and that she shouldn’t believe what you had to say about Pietro since you lied and stabbed her in the back? And then Ororo told me not to worry about the fight when I asked her about it, since I had to get straight answer out of someone, right? Then she says ‘I can’t trust her anymore, Scott.’ So that leaves me wondering then, much like it does now, why can’t Ororo trust Jean?” He exhaled a pent-up breath and set his beer down. “Jean, I think you and Pietro snuck around behind my back.”
Jean shook her head, but her eyes were already brimming with tears. “Scott, it’s not what you-“
“Don’t lie,” he snapped.
“Don’t speak to her like that, Scott! Who are you gonna believe, Ororo? She ran out on me at the wedding, and went straight to bed with Logan the same night! She had the nerve to have a restraining order on my front doorstep as soon as I had my last box packed!”
“Why did she run out of the wedding?”
“She came back with this cockamamie story about Pietro cheating on her,” Jean piped up, not realizing she was digging herself in deeper. “Right when we came back from the honeymoon! She said she found panties under the bed. They were probably hers.” Pietro’s blood ran cold. She’d said too much.
And it was too late, because Scott saw the look on his face. Pietro resembled a proud lion who’d found himself caught in the crosshairs of a hunting rifle, moments too late to move.
“Scott,” Jean implored, “let’s just go have dinner, you don’t mean any of this, I know you don’t!”
“Bullshit,” he roared, and Jean stepped back, aghast. She’d never seen him like this.
“Please,” she begged, reaching for him. Scott slapped her hand away, and she cradled it against her, still feeling the sting as tears dripped onto the bodice of her pink dress, leaving stains that looked almost red.
“Don’t.Fucking.Touch.ME.” He turned to Pietro. “Get the fuck out of my house, you sonofabitch.” He nodded at the DVD case. “Take that piece of shit movie with you.”
“Scott…you don’t get it, nothing happ-“
BAM! In a flash, Scott’s fist connected with Pietro’s jaw, sending him reeling. He tripped over the ottoman and his head hit the hardwood floor with a sickening crack.
“SCOTT!” Jean cried in horror, covering her mouth with shaking hands. She turned to him beseechingly, face pale and blotchy, her eyes glassy and red as it dawned on her that the day she’d feared had finally come to pass. She whimpered when he threw up his open palm as though to slap her when she tried to reach for him again. Then Scott’s face crumpled, and he let his hand drop in defeat.
“Just get out, ‘Tro,” Scott muttered, and he stomped off. Jean hurried to Pietro’s side solicitously, shivering when she heard the front door slam. Her tearstained face filled his vision when he finally opened his eyes.
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