Logan sat up and slapped the snooze alarm button, silencing the static-muddled Gwen Stefani song that the station played on heavy rotation. He mashed the sleep from his eyes with his knuckles, wondering why his facve felt like rubber. He’d fought sleep, watching TV in his darkened living room until half the channels had test signals and infomercials. He knew he was about to crack up when the porcelain dolls they were hawking on QVC seemed to start talking to him, reminding him of those old Chucky movies.
He fell asleep on the couch in his crumpled clothes before dragging himself to bed. His surroundings felt off-kilter and unfamiliar, and the emptiness bit at him. Ororo’s hair was supposed to be spread out over the pillow, tickling his lips.
So much of what they said cut them like a knife, but everything they didn’t say was killing them. Killing him.
He retraced his steps, padding naked into the shower. The water pounding against his back pattered and swirled down the drain as he reviewed the night’s events. Picked up the car, check. Got spiffed up, check. Picked up ‘Ro and fought the urge to do her at the door, check. Went to the bistro. Check. Had his worst nightmare come true when Mary…yeah, there it was.
He draped himself in a towel and stood, dripping as he stretched and rolled his shoulders, working out a kink. He reached for his deodorant and noticed the stick was almost used up, then remembered the bag of toiletries in his room. He went back and bent to retrieve the battered parcel, digging for his Old Spice solid. His dress clothes from the night before lay in a heap; they belonged in the hamper. He fished his wallet from his pocket first, then searched the other to empty it of its contents.
His heart slammed in his chest when he came up empty. Cold sweat broke out across his flesh.
“Shit.”
His clock radio blared on again, and he turned off the alarm before chucking his clothes into the hamper and shrugging into his sweats. He suppressed the wave of nausea over what could have happened to that ring on his drive to the gym.
~0~
“Ya look like Hope Diggin’ Potatoes, shoog.”
“Gee, thanks. That just makes my day.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“More like paradise lost.” Anna’s eyes widened.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“I think we broke up last night.”
“Ya THINK! Whaddya mean, ya THINK ya broke up? What happened, ‘Roro?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“The hell Ah don’t!”
“We went out last night. Logan went to a lot of trouble to take us somewhere nice. All night long he acted like a kid with a secret. It just seemed like he was waiting to spring this big surprise.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I ran into his ex-girlfriend in the powder room when I took my insulin.” Her face darkened briefly. Anna wiggled her toes as the pedicurist scrubbed at a callous on the ball of her foot.
“Spill, girl.”
“Well…it’s more like I overheard her say some shit.” The words felt lame coming out of her mouth.
“Don’t leave me in suspense, sugah!” Her attendant glanced at them briefly as if waiting for the dirt.
“I don’t know how to begin to explain this, Anna! This woman and her friend came into the ladies’ room when I took my insulin. All of the sudden, this woman fills her friend’s ear about Logan. That caught my attention, since I don’t know many other Logans.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, ‘uh-oh.’ No shit.”
“What’d she say?”
“She was a real potty mouth. She gave me and her friend and the rest of the free world too much information about what a stallion he was in bed. I never want to hear that about my man from his old flame, Anna, so you know I wanted to smack the taste from her mouth.”
“I would’ve held yer earrings for ya, kiddo, if I’d ha’been there.”
“Two of us would have been talking about this in jail…”
“Exactly. What’s a real friend for?”
“So, back to Miss Thang. She gushed about his motorcycle and how he used to take her for rides, and then ride HER.”
“Could happen, I guess. But again, TMI.”
“We never rode around on his bike together.”
“Did ya ever wanna? Remy loves fast cars, and he borrowed Logan’s baby a time of two, ta swap it for the Mustang.”
“I asked him once. He said he didn’t really like riding with a passenger, if he could avoid it.”
“Maybe he doesn’t. Think abou tit, ‘Roro. If he rode around with her all the time, wouldn’t it be a turn-off ta associate that with a relationship that went bad?”
“You tell me. It just seems like she was special enough for him to share his prized possession.”
“Naw. Bullshit. You were special enough to him not to risk. And I like ta think, sugah, that maybe he didn’t want yer butt ta rest where she’d had hers. Kinda like offering ya sloppy seconds.” Ororo snorted. “Hey, humor me on this, shoog. He had his reasons.”
“What got me was how cavalier she sounded about what they had. How he supposedly ‘seemed to care.’ What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe it wasn’t a love match.”
“He was hurt when he was talking about her last night. Like a dumb ass, I asked him about her. I shouldn’t left it alone.”
“Hard t’do that, once ya open that can of worms; then good luck catchin’ all the critters and stuffin’ ‘em back in.” Anna looked thoughtful. “How would ya have done things different, ‘Roro?”
“I wish I could say we would have picked a different restaurant. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Nope. Try again,” Anna tossed back as her attendant toweled her feet dry. Ororo’s toes were being filed already; the foot massage earlier helped to rub some of her troubles away.
“Maybe I would have left the bathroom earlier instead of sticking around for that mess. My ears are still burning, girl.”
“That’s what we get for bein’ nosy, ‘Roro. Thing is, she didn’t say she was still seein’ him.”
“No. Thank God. Between that, meeting Pietro’s ex at the movie theater and finding out I was the Other Woman, and finding panties under my bed, I feel like I must have pissed in someone’s coffee and forgot about it. My karma sucks.”
“Ya kin still fix this, shoog. Yer gonna hafta bring him back the ring eventually, betta sooner than later.”
“I know,” she admitted quietly. “Don’t you think I hate that?”
“Ah know ya do, but ya hafta take care of it. Bite the bullet and do it, and ya can both move on. If ya still want him, ya gotta grovel, girl, and grovel BIG.” Anna pointed to a silver enamel when her attendant held up the color palette of available polish finishes. “Ya’ll hate yerself if ya don’t, and he’ll be out who knows how much money. Worst case scenario, he can buy his bike back. Ya’ll find someone else before ya end up an old maid.”
“What’s the best case scenario?”
“Ya get ta tell him ya messed up, he forgives ya, and ya make it up to him for the next fifty years of folding his socks and making him dinner. In a nutshell.” Ororo shook her head and sighed. “Wouldn’t hurt ta wear somethin’ skimpy, either.”
“I even made a muck of that,” Ororo cringed. “I went frigid as a fudgesicle on him when we tried to have some make-up sex. I had these horrid visions of him riding his ex and coming up short.”
“Damn, girl!” Ororo skimmed through the portfolio of decals and stencils and selected some little Playboy bunnies. “Well, we gotta take a different tack. Guess we’re goin’ shopping.”
“For what?”
“Knee pads.” Ororo stifled a guffaw and mock-punched her, but mentally added that item to her list.
~0~
“Eric, they’re here,” Aleytys announced from the picture window, letting the drape of her brocade curtains fall back into place as she moved to answer the door. Eric heard the motor of Pietro’s Jeep cut off from his driveway and sighed gustily. He straightened the pleats of his khaki slacks and ran a hand over his glossy silver hair before joining his wife. He reached around her and opened the door before Pietro and his auburn-haired companion even reached the front porch.
“Son,” he beckoned. “Come in. Hello, I’m Pietro’s father. Call me Eric.”
“I’m Jean,” she breathed, looking flushed and flustered, but extended a slender hand to shake his. He studied her carefully, taking in small details. She was immaculately coiffed, dressed in Armani and wore a small diamond pendant around her neck, accompanied by large diamond studs in her ears when she swept back the fall of hair from her shoulder with a careless flick. Her complexion was tanned, but when she presented a hostess gift in a small box, Eric noticed a faint tanline on her left ring finger, which was otherwise bare.
Eric heaved a gusty sigh, prompting Aleytys to cock her eyebrow at him and Pietro to shoot him a warning look.
“Let’s go to the dining room. We’re having the gazpacho first, since we don’t have to worry about reheating it.”
“Something smells delicious,” Jean offered.
“Smothered chicken.” Aleytys, Jean noticed, only looked about ten years older than herself, and had the face and figure of a pampered trophy bride. Hope flared in her chest that this was a sign of things to come, from her potential future in-laws.
They adjourned to the opulent dining room, where the good china had been laid out over a periwinkle blue tablecloth. “It’s beautiful,” Jean pronounced reverently.
“We try,” Eric replied, amused. “God bless our humble home. The decorating is Aleytys other pet project, when she isn’t having lunch with her soroptimist club or volunteering at the hospital.”
“Perhaps you’d like to have lunch with me one day at the spa,” Jean offered, “when you aren’t too busy.”
“That sounds nice.” She beamed, and Jean felt a tiny frisson of relief that was short-lived.
“So, Jean, how long have you known my son?”
“Oh. Well, er, I’ve known him for years. We’ve always been good friends.”
“Through work?”
“No. Just personally.”
“We met through Ororo,” Pietro murmured blandly.
“Ah.” Eric nodded knowingly, a gleam twinkling in his eye. “So you were a friend of hers, then? She’s a lovely young woman.”
“Yes.” Jean’s face felt like it was going to crack. Pietro’s hand searched for hers beneath the table and clasped it, tugging it to rest on his lap. Eloise swept in and brought out the serving cart, loaded with the tureen of gazpacho, and promptly served everyone, ladling the rich red broth into the gold-rimmed bowls.
“Pietro hasn’t told us much about you. He’s been quite the stranger, so it’s nice to finally meet the one monopolizing his time. Do you work locally, Jean?”
“Yes. Full-time. I’m the membership director at a day spa.”
“That suits you,” Eric agreed, sipping his gin and tonic. Eloise offered Jean a mimosa, which she politely declined, stating that her iced water was fine. Aleytys watched the conversation unfold silently, spooning up her soup with casual interest.
It never failed to amaze her what an astute, take-no-prisoners man she’d married, nor how he had the uncanny ability to grill his children like flounder.
“So, how long were you married?” Jean choked on her drink, sending Pietro bolt-upright in his chair, pounding her on the back with concern. His slate eyes met his father’s in silent outrage. “Goodness, that went down the wrong pipe, didn’t it?”
“Ah-herrrmm…not that long. We had different expectations from marriage. Things didn’t work out the way we planned.”
“What other expectations did you have other than to spend the rest of your lives together?” Eric’s smile was serpentine. “Were you two together very long?”
“DAD!”
“What?” He still looked expectant. Aleytys passed Jean a basket of fresh dinner rolls, smiling sympathetically.
“We met each other during college, right before we graduated. I’ve been working for about five years.”
“So when did you marry, then?”
“Earlier this year.”
“So five years wasn’t long enough to decide if you had common goals in life, then?”
“Sometimes, things don’t work out the way you’d like, even when you’ve invested a lot of your time in them.” Jean and Pietro’s eyes met, and he squeezed her hand warmly. Eric made a small sound in the back of his throat and spooned up some soup.
“That reminds me…I have some new pictures!” Eric reached into his pocket, shifting in his chair until he found his thick wallet. He opened up the cellophane sleeves in the billfold and leaned in toward Jean and Pietro.
“Oh, who are these little cuties?”
“These are my two grandsons. One of the happiest days of my life, when my twin daughter had twin boys!”
“He’s not proud, or anything,” Aleytys teased fondly. “Don’t get him started, or he’ll go on like this for hours.”
“I haven’t seen those pictures of Tommy and Finn yet,” Pietro mused, peering over Jean’s shoulder at the pictures.
“They’re both playing soccer this season on the same team. Call Wanda, she said she hasn’t heard from you in a while, son.”
“Wanda can call me, then. She has my number, and her fingers aren’t broken.”
“She’s a busy woman. A mother’s work is never done,” Eric reminded him, and Jean heard a current of something ironic in his voice, and wished fervently that she shared the joke. “And this little young lady is Luna,” he announced, pointing to the last sleeve. Jean admired the little girl’s flawless, peaches-and-cream skin and blue eyes. Her hair was a lighter shade than her own, prompting her to wonder what children with Pietro would like, if they were to have any.
“Is she the twins’ sister?” She looked remarkably close to the boys’ age, Jean mused. “Wanda’s busy, indeed!”
“Oh, no. This isn’t Wanda’s daughter, she just has the boys. Luna is Pietro’s little girl. She looks exactly like his mother did when she was a girl herself! I told him that when her mother sent me this picture.” Jean’s hand stilled in the air, her soup spoon halfway to her mouth. She nearly missed splashing her dress with gazpacho as she dropped it back into her soup bowl with a clatter. Aleytys wore a look of panic, making sure that her best soup bowl didn’t gain a chip in the porcelain.
Jean excused herself, gently rubbing her temple with her fingers, shooting Aleytys an apologetic look. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to do that. How old is she?”
“Just turned five. She’s a little lady,” Eric boasted. “She’s actually done some commercials!”
“She’s lovely,” Jean assured him. Pietro went white as a sheet. He began to tear at his dinner roll uncomfortably.
“I had the chance to meet her a few weeks ago. I’m biased; naturally she’s the apple of my eye.”
“Naturally,” Pietro chimed in bitterly.
“Do you have any children, Jean?” Aleytys asked politely.
“Not yet,” she murmured weakly.
“You’ve been missing out!” Eric called for Eloise, who came out to clear away the soup and serve the chicken.
The ride home was swathed in heavy silence. They were mere blocks from Jean’s home before she shook her head at herself, rubbing the nape of her neck. She had the beginnings of a migraine.
“That was enlightening,” she muttered.
“Jeannie…”
“Yes, Pietro?” Weary, emerald green eyes studied him and pried answers that had eluded her and nagged her with stinging questions for the past two hours.
“Does your father always do that?”
“God, Jean…I don’t want to get into this right now, okay?”
“Get into this…sure. Fine,” she huffed, turning her face toward the passenger window. Pietro turned on the radio and listened to a recap of a Knicks/76’ers game on moderate volume.
The sun was just setting over the treeline, and the evening was relatively warm for a change, but Jean shivered in her light wrap, slightly irritated when Pietro opened his window to let in some air. Her hair danced and whipped across her lips, and she dragged it back behind her ears, coiling it around her hand.
“Great,” he grunted. Scott’s BMW was parked in the driveway.
The past few weeks had been tense enough. Pietro’s “meeting” with his father and both of their attorneys had blistered him and left tire tracks across his ass. Eric had established a trust fund, adding the codicil to his will stating that Pietro had to set one up as well for Crystal that matched his monthly contributions to it until she was twenty-one years old. His inheritance of his portion of his father’s business, holdings and personal property were dependent on that clause. Pietro had been furious but resigned. Crystal had contacted Eric, not Pietro, about setting a visitation schedule. Pietro would be granted partial custody of Luna that included visitation, as well as child support payments with a hefty price tag. Eric would have the rights and privileges, as her grandfather, to accompany Pietro on those visits and to contact Crystal for that purpose.
“Sign here, here, and initial here,” Eric’s attorney advised him, pointing to each line as he flipped through page after page of documents. “This is your acknowledgement of terms of these agreements.”
“I know what they are,” Pietro snapped, signing each one briskly with the silver Cross pen. His own brokerage created documents like these, he mused. He specialized in estate planning, but never thought the day would come when he was poring over these for Luna.
“I expect you to get in touch with Crystal, and let her know the date when you send her the first support payment.”
“That’s up to me, Dad. Not you.”
“No, it’s up to me, son.” His fists balled up in his lap. Eric craned his chin up and scratched his throat thoughtfully, never taking his eyes off his son.
“We’re all finished here, Eric,” his lawyer announced, loading the documents into his briefcase. “Pietro, we’ll courier copies of these to your office, and also to yours,” he assured him, nodding to Pietro’s lawyer. They shook hands, and Pietro was the first to leave, sparing his father not so much as a goodbye as he headed for his Jeep in the parking lot. Eric sighed, watching his departure in frustration, but there was no help for it. Someone had to make him grow up.
Bringing Jean to meet his folks was the first step toward shoving this whole, ugly mess behind him. New girlfriend. New start. New apartment, even if it was only a two-bedroom for the moment. He’d sold Ororo his half of their furniture, following another meeting of their attorneys once the restraining order was up, which suited Jean fine. They were still up in the air as to whether to sell her house “ hers and Scott’s house “ and buy one new, or to just live in the city for a while. Pietro hadn’t done anything with his second bedroom except store his computer and desk there. Per the agreement, he needed to provide adequate accommodations for his daughter now. He didn’t have the damnedest of what that involved, and he scoffed at his father’s suggestion of “Ask your sister for some insight on that.”
“I didn’t know he’d be here,” Jean offered lamely.
“Sure. Murphy’s Law,” he muttered.
They parked the car on the street, not wanting to block Scott in at the driveway. Jean was given the right to stay in the house until their divorce was settled in court. The night that Scott confronted them found him coming back to Jean, alone and looking like she’d been crying since he left. He stalked inside, closing the door and staring tight-lipped at her, sitting with her feet tucked up beneath her. She rose and started to go to him, but he held her at bay, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Don’t,” he warned.
“We need to talk, Scott, I’ve been waiting-“
“Oh, that’s nice. That’s fucking great. You’ve been WAITING,” he snapped. She winced; his voice was hard, and hurt radiated from him in waves, scorching her.
“I worried when you just left like that…”
“Where’s Loverboy? Is he upstairs?”
“No. He left.” Jean had spent ten minutes tending to Pietro’s bruised face, alternating between horror and relief that Scott finally knew. Pietro’s skin felt cool and smooth beneath her hands as she gave him an ice pack, murmuring soothingly to him even as her own stomach tied itself in a knot. She’d feared that he would leave her, not wanting to have anything more to do with her, but she suppressed a wave of joy when he leaned forward and pulled her into his arms from where he sat, embracing her around her slender waist. She rocked him and didn’t argue when he told her, “I have feelings for you, Jean. You knew that. Now we don’t have to hide anything anymore.”
“So why did you stay?” He flung his jacket into the closet without hanging it up and slammed it shut. She ignored the urge to go pick it up and hang it properly.
“I wanted you to come home, and make sure you made it safely.”
“Why? I didn’t get drunk. I just needed some air.” He made his way into the kitchen. She followed him slowly, watching him reach for one of the leftover beers.
“So you’re going to take care of getting drunk now?” she quipped.
“You’d have to be worth the trouble, Jeannie. You’re not up on that pedestal anymore.” He punched open the tab and took several thirsty gulps, wiping his mouth with the back of his fist. “What the fuck were you thinking, Jean?”
“It just happened, Scott.”
“No, it didn’t. That doesn’t just happen. Was the grass really that much greener, that you had to sleep with your best friend’s fiancée?”
“They were never engaged,” she shot back.
“Boyfriend, then. Whatever. They lived together, and their long-range goal was marriage. Don’t make that your excuse for what you did. It sucked. You screwed over your best friend.”
“Pietro was yours. I’m not happy about that,” she sighed.
“Really? You seemed pretty happy to see him tonight!” He sat down at the kitchen table and slung his feet up onto its clean, pine surface.
“Don’t do that,” she hissed indignantly.
“I can do whatever the fuck I please. It’s still my house!” She returned his glare before spinning and exiting the kitchen.
Heavy footsteps thundered after her.
“No, you don’t!” He grabbed her and turned her to face him, whipping her around so quickly that her hair flew loose from it’s neat low bun. She wiped back the tendrils from her face and stared agog.
“SCOTT-?”
“You aren’t just headed up to bed to sleep in OUR bed, that you soiled bringing Pietro into my house to FUCK him as sweetly as you please until you hear me out. I LOVED you, Jean! I MARRIED you! You took VOWS to love, honor, cherish and not to SLEEP WITH MY BEST FRIEND BEHIND MY BACK! What does that make you? Huh? It makes you a cheater! You broke your vows, Jean!”
“Shut up!” she begged him, unable to look at him. His voice was right up in her face, stirring the hair at her temples, and his hot breath steamed her cheek.
“YOU FUCKED SOMEONE ELSE! You MARRIED ME and FUCKED ANOTHER MAN!” His breathing was heavy, and her eyes teared up, hating the dark look of rage etched in his features. His pupils were dilated, and his nostrils flared, turning his handsome face into a mask of agony. Every ounce of boyish charm was gone. She hated that she drove it away. “Was it fun, Jean?” His shoulders heaved, and his hands gripped her arms, forcing her to feel him tremble. “Did he do you right?” Huh? Was it worth it?”
“Scott…” she wept.
“Don’t cry for me, Jean! Take those crocodile tears to ‘Tro, I don’t want ‘em. I loved you and wanted a life with you. I thought you wanted a life with me.”
“I did, Scott. I…I loved you, so much, and…” She caught herself before her words could damn her any further, only then realizing what she said.
“Loved me,” he repeated blankly, releasing her and giving her a small shove away from him. He walked past her, and she followed numbly up the stairs. She watched him flick on the bedroom lights. Their room was impeccably neat. Scott spared it no consideration, digging in the closet for his large canvas duffle. Her eyes widened as he began rooting through drawers, flinging clothes from hangers and tossing them onto the bed.
“Please, SCOTT, DON’T! DON’T GOOOOO!” she wailed. “I still love you; we can get past this! Don’t leave! What’re you gonna do?”
“Stay at a hotel. Call Alex. Then get a storage locker for a while, til I can get a lawyer.”
“Scott…” This wasn’t the outcome she’d expected.
“You get to dick me around once, Jean. I made a vow to love you for as long we both lived. You reneged on your end of the bargain, and you’re still alive. I don’t know about you, but in my opinion, the deal’s off. You hurt me,” he accused. His voice was calmer, but no less bitter. “This isn’t a matter of winning me back. God, I love you, Jean. Present tense. I might feel differently about that a week from now. Maybe even months from now, but at the same time, I’ve never hated someone the way I hate you and Pietro both. I worked hard for what we had. Our home, our relationship, and our lifestyle. I gave you EVERYTHING I could. Everything. There was never anyone else. I had everything I wanted when I found you. Not many guys can say that and mean it.” Tears leaked and dribbled down her cheeks. “I told you not to cry for me, Jean. Don’t put on a show.”
“Scott…” she whimpered, reaching for him. He batted her hand away weakly.
“Get out of the way, Jean.” He wadded up his clothes into smaller heaps and crammed them into the duffle. He brushed past her roughly and stomped into the bathroom to grab his things. She heard him wrench open the drawers and medicine cabinet, clearing it out, and she wept in loud, bawling sobs. She collapsed onto the bed, twisting handfuls of her skirt and staring dejectedly at his open duffle.
He dumped his toiletries into it with a thud, then zipped it sharply.
“Don’t try to contact me. I don’t want to see you. I’ll get the rest of my stuff when you’re not home.”
“Oh, God, Scott, please!” Everything they built came crumbling down in that instance.
“I mean it.” He was stiff and proud as he made his way down the stairs, bag in hand. He walked out the front door and slammed it shut behind him, not bothering to lock it.
Jean hovered by the staircase, numb with shock and hurt. Slowly, she clung to the railing and drifted downstairs. She opened the closet, noticing he left behind his jacket. Out of long habit, she reached for a hanger, picked it up, and gave it a long sniff, inhaling its familiar scent. She wrapped it around the hanger neatly, snapping it partly shut so it would not fall off, then hung it on the rack. She closed the closet and came into the living room, dropping onto the couch with a sigh.
She smothered a strangled cry when she saw Scott’s platinum wedding band glinting up from the coffee table.
“Want me to go now?” Pietro offered.
“Might be best for now,” she replied, not really feeling up to more drama than usual after the grueling dinner. She spoke too soon. Scott appeared at the front door, carrying a crate of his things in his arms. He gave them a heavy stare as Jean exited the Jeep.
“Call you,” Pietro promised.
“Uh-huh.” Her legs felt leaden, and she was a mere three steps up the front walk before she heard his Jeep tear away.
“Nice,” Scott huffed. “Pussy.”
“Don’t start,” she begged. “I have the beginnings of a migraine.” She waited for him to step aside. “Let me in, please.”
“Right away, Your Highness,” he mocked loudly, taking umbrage at her discomfiture. “Have fun with your sweetie, Princess?”
“Do you have everything, Scott? Or are you planning to come back later?”
“Why? Is Loverboy coming back? Can’t stand to be away from you for so much as a minute?”
“I’m not talking about him with you.” She hung her wrap in the closet and adjourned to the kitchen for some iced tea and a Motrin.
“Sure. Easy for you to say. You didn’t talk about him with me til after you fucked him and I found out.” He clumped down the steps with his box, loading it into the trunk of his car. Jean thought that was the end of it til he came back.
The housekeys landed with a jangle onto the kitchen table in front of her; Jean nearly jumped out of her skin.
“There. That’s the last of it. Make sure to sign the papers when they come.”
“Have them sent to me at work.”
“Fine. I don’t fucking care anymore where they go. Shove them up Pietro’s ass, if you want, but sign them first.”
“Oh, that’s nice!” she carped after him. He slammed the door in response. She ruminated over her tea and took stock.
Pietro had a little girl. This added a new layer to the things they had to deal with going in.
“When the hell was he going to tell me?” she asked no one in particular, gulping down her tea. She went back to the refrigerator to return the tea pitcher, then cursed when she saw a photo magnet frame that previously held a shot of her with Scott taken on their honeymoon.
Her face now sported a mustache and devil horns scrawled in black ink; his image was suspiciously missing, the brown cardboard backing showing around the torn edge of the paper.
~0~
“What’s up, runt? How’d it go?”
“Ya don’t wanna know.”
“Whoa…shit!” Vic paused in lifting the loaded barbell over his chest again, holding up his hand for St. John to wait to spot him. “Don’t tell me she said no????”
Logan grumbled something unintelligible as he began a set of chin-ups. He lifted and lowered himself fluidly while St. John and Vic exchanged a look of caution mixed with curiosity.
“She said no,” Vic muttered incredulously. “Dude, that sucks.”
“Yeah,” Logan grunted back.
“Sorry, man,” St. John offered, throwing his hands wide in the universally understood “Better luck next time” man shrug and let them fall to his thighs with a dull slap. “You proposed?”
“Not in so many fucking words.” He levered himself up, down. Up. Down. Up. Dow-
“Waitaminnit. Ya didn’t pop the question?”
“Told…you…ya…don’t…wanna…know,” he growled, wincing as his upper arms began to burn. It was a good burn.
“Naw. Ya bought her a ring, right? Took her out like ya said?” Vic leaned forward against his knees. “Ya ate a breath mint before ya left?”
“Har-de-har-har,” Logan snarled. St. John reached out to slug Vic in the shoulder.
“Ahhh, whaddever. He knows I’m fucking with him, prick, chill out!” He turned his attention back to Logan. “She get a better offer?”
“At least if she did, it’d make more fuckin’…sense…than what…happened,” he grated out, letting himself drop to the floor with a thud after his third set. He stretched, letting muscles in his neck and shoulders pop. “Fuckin’ Mary showed up with some skanky girlfriend o’ hers.” Vic’s eyes bulged, and he shook his head wryly.
“Holeeee shit! Yer kiddin’ me. Mary,” he repeated.
“Yep.”
“That’s shitty. Fuckin’ impossible.”
“Wrong night, wrong place, wrong time. Mary showed up, wanting ta settle my hash and feed me some crap line about how well she was doin’. I told her ta get lost. So, one minute, I’m on top of the fuckin’ world. The next, my girl’s comin’ back from the can, all in a huff, lookin’ like someone fed her a sour lemon dipped in Tabasco.”
“Man,” Vic muttered in sympathy, for a change. St. John tsked and shook his head, scratching his nape in wonder.
“When the old flame meets the new and future missus, get the hell outta Dodge,” St. John added. “I don’t envy you, mate.”
“So what happened?”
“She gave me the third degree. Got all antsy about some shit she overheard Mary say in the bathroom. Asked all these questions and didn’t like the answers much. It was weird shit, too.”
“Weird, how?”
“She asked me about my bike.”
“What was the big deal?”
“She wanted ta know why I sold it.”
“CRAP! Ya SOLD Lulu? DUDE!!!” Vic lay back down on the weight bench and lightly smacked St. John’s leg to get his attention, nagging him to spot him again. “Ya wanna do anything else fer yer old lady, Logan, ya give her a fuckin’ kidney. Ya donate blood. Wrap yer nuts up in a pretty bow fer freakin’ Christmas! Ya DON’T sell a bike as sweet as Lulu!”
“Why did you sell it?” St. John’s inquiring mind wanted to know.
“Thought it made sense. ‘Ro’s got her own ride, which is fine. She’s also got problems with her sugar. If an emergency popped up, I’d wanna be able ta come an’ get her. It took me too long the last time,” he grimaced, remembering the day at the mall. “Remy was there when she called me, thank God. Anna was with her, but if I had ta give her a ride home myself, I wouldn’t have been able t’do that on the fucking bike. And I loved Lulu,” Logan huffed, “but I love ‘Ro more. Figured it was no freakin’ contest.”
“Awwww!” Vic’s tone mocked, but Logan heard no malice in it. “Pussy,” he chided him good-naturedly.
“Don’t see you doin’ any better,” Logan shot back. “Fucker,” he added for good measure.
“No contest, then,” St. John considered.
“Lulu’s special, but Mary left her mark on her. Too many memories of her wrapped up in her ta keep her. I wanna be able ta go wherever we both need ta go without any problem.”
“What’d you get, mate?”
“Camry. Great ratings in Consumer Reports.” Nice family car, too, nagged the voices in his head that were still bellowing at him to call her.
“Eh.” Vic was a slave to his Escalade. “Hey, look, it’s Summers!” Logan steeled himself before turning in the direction where Vic waved.
“I might go play some ball,” he muttered, excusing himself and grabbing his duffle.
“Oh. Awright, dude. Later,” Vic muttered to Logan’s retreating back.
Logan made it all the way into the empty basketball gym and had just set his duffle by the door when he heard a familiar baritone behind him.
“Sure. Run off.”
“Whaddya want, Summers?”
“Nothing. Maybe a game of one-on-one before I run.”
“Suit yerself.” Logan signed his name on the reservation list and grabbed a stray ball, dribbling it and turning to face Scott. Summers looked drawn and unlike himself. His hair was longer in the back, and a faint shadow of stubble coated his jaw. His clothes were hanging more loosely on him than they had the last time they worked the same shift.
“How are things at Salem Medical?”
“Busy. Day shift kicks my ass, but it’s a living.”
“I never figured you’d last, back when you were on my rotation as a student.”
“One-on-one or horse?”
“Shit. Horse! Why not?” Logan lobbed him the ball. Scott caught it left-handed, turned to shoot, then changed his mind and plowed down the court.
“Fucker!”
“Guy’s entitled to change his mind,” he shot back. Logan’s feet thundered after him and he leapt for the rebound when his hook shot bounced off the rim.
“Have it yer way, Scooter!” Logan huffed. “Let’s dance!”
They scuffled, with Scott faking for all he was worth. Back and forth, they charged up and down the court. Scott’s height advantage and long reach made him harder to get around. Scott fouled him when Logan checked him before remembering himself.
“You knew about Jeannie, didn’t you?”
“Not much sooner than you, bub, but even then, only after ‘Ro admitted it after their little fistfight.”
“That’s fucking great,” Scott accused. Logan aimed for a three-point shot that Scott nearly slapped back into his face, blocking it and sending them both running full-steam. Logan retrieved the ball readily enough, eye faking and head-faking as Scott pinned him with a steely gaze. They were both starting to sweat dark triangles through their cotton tanks. “You couldn’t have said anything.”
“I wasn’t the one ya needed ta hear it from, what’d ya want me ta do?”
“Not leave me looking like a chump, pal.”
“Right.” He had a point. “Ya still would’ve been pissed.”
“Yeah. Like how I found out was so much fucking better,” he carped. Okay, Logan decided, he had another point.
“How’d ya find out?”
“Put two and two together. Pietro came over. He and Jean started talking about some fucking movie that they watched together at a time when I couldn’t have been home.”
“How did ya figure?”
“It was an Adam Sandler flick.”
“Gads…what was it, the Water Boy?”
“I didn’t give a shit. They all suck.” Logan stole the ball and dribbled back down court, but Scott was having none of it, stealing it back.
“He shoots, aaaaaaand…IN YOUR FACE!” Swish! Logan cursed under his breath but smirked.
“Ya got lucky.” Then, “So what now, Scooter?”
“She admitted she fucked him. I moved out.”
“Damn.” Logan began dribbling, bounce-passing from one hand to the other as Scott inched his way in, panting for breath. At least there were signs of life in his dark eyes.
“I’m tired of playing games. I didn’t sign on for games,” he spat, lunging for the ball as Logan neatly evaded him this time, even though Scott was practically plastered to him. They clashed and faked, and this time Logan took his patented three-point shot from his sweet spot, nailing it.
“That’s what I said, too. Got played anyhow. Now I’m out one ring.”
“Holy…hold on one second. Out one ring?”
“I was gonna propose ta ‘Ro. I know ya don’t wanna hear about it…”
“The fuck I don’t.” Scott reached out and slapped the ball out from between Logan’s meaty palms, then clutched it under his arm in an easy grip, pausing their game. “You proposed?”
“Like I told Vic, not in so many fuckin’ words. I didn’t even get them out of my mouth. We had a fight. We broke up. End of story.”
“So that’s it. Wow.”
“What’s with you, Summers?”
“All that drama. All those spectacles, all for this. Just for the two of you to break up.”
“Now yer an expert on me and ‘Ro?” Logan shot him a disgusted look.
“Hey, cut me some slack. I love ‘Ro like a sister, despite what happened with Jean. I was mad at her, but I got over it. When you look at everything on the list, I should be more pissed off with her than I am. She doesn’t tell me that Jean slept with Pietro once she finds out. She walks out on the wedding reception, leaving Jean to fret for half the honeymoon and run up our cellular bill calling her. She and Jean duke it out, leaving me no answers as to why and my wife bawling about how she and Ororo aren’t friends anymore, even though they went to lunch to make up. She ends up in the ER, still doesn’t tell me, even though I overheard her telling you that she couldn’t trust her anymore. Then the two of you run into Pietro at my housewarming, and you kick his ass on ‘Ro’s behalf, which I can’t really blame you for in hindsight, but it was kinda shocking at the time.”
“Sorry,” Logan muttered, scratching his chest. Scott mopped sweat from his brow.
“No biggie.”
“You don’t know how much that sucked.”
“I’ve got my own problems. My ex showed up when I was about ta pop the question.”
“Mary?” Logan nodded and shrugged dismissively. “The one whose boyfriend put you in the hospital?”
“One and the same.”
“Did she just show up and start giving you a hard time?”
“She tried. But she managed to say some stuff that Ororo overheard that made her start doubting me.”
“How do you know she doubted you?”
“That’s usually what happens when ya put two woman that have no business sharing breathing space in the same room, Summers, get a fuckin’ clue!”
“Logan…man. This is classic.” Scott guffawed. Logan scowled at him, and he only laughed harder.
“Wanna tell me what’s so flamin’ funny?”
“You figure it out. What’d Mary do, in the end, that made you walk out on her and her games?”
“Slept with every guy in town?”
“What else?”
“Stood there while her john ran me down?”
“Keep going. It’ll come to you.”
“This is bullshit.” He began to stalk off.
“She used you as her get-out-of-jail free card, Logan,” Scott called out, before Logan could sling his duffle over his shoulder. He stiffened, flexing his fingers and letting it sink in. “She used you to break up with that Wade fucker. You told me about him back when you joined my shift. You still had scars from your accident when we met.”
“Don’t remind me,” he growled.
“Hard to forget it. You were a desperate man, Logan.”
“The fuck I was. She dicked me over. I told her ta get lost. End of story.”
“That wasn’t the end. You started a whole different career to get the taste of her out of your mouth. Moved. Went to school. Decided you wanted to help people.”
“Quit playin’ me that song on yer fiddle. Big whoop.” Scott flung the ball into the wall, letting it bounce off with a slam. That got Logan’s attention.
“Don’t give me that shit! It was a big deal! You made yourself a whole different life, Logan, and you’re not gonna act like it’s nothing!”
“Yeah. Because some skank walked all over me.”
“Mary was a piece of work; I never even met her, but I remember how you were after all that happened. She ripped your goddamned heart out, Logan. Why let her take your happiness away now?”
“She didn’t take it by herself. She had help. ‘Ro would hardly talk ta me when we got home last night.”
“So talk to her.”
“Easier said than fuckin’ done.” Logan still knew it was likely, even inevitable, if his phone calls to the restaurant and the dealership didn’t result in him finding the ring to take it back to the store. He was still sick about it.
“Not all women are like Mary, or even like Jean.”
“Jean wasn’t like Mary. You had ta hear about it after the fact. I walked in on it happening in my face. Yeah, she cheated on ya, but fer one person in particular, not just usin’ you like she used everyone else. That was Mary’s gig, Summers, so it ain’t the same.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Scott walked up and clapped him on the back. “She acted hardheaded. I don’t know why I’m even saying this. You two getting together was practically a frigging curse! The moment you and ‘Ro hooked up, me and Jean started falling apart!” Logan emitted a bark of harsh laughter. “Even if things don’t go back to how they were, clear the air. You’ll at least be able to sleep at night, knowing you were big about it. Otherwise, that mess at the restaurant is all you’ll ever think about. And you and Ororo had some good times.”
“Yer the fuckin’ pot callin’ the kettle black, Summers, ya know that?” Scott smirked wryly.
“Get your lazy ass to work!” Scott retreated back to the hoop with the ball and started taking free throws. The bounce of the ball off the court floor followed Logan out of the gym.
~0~
Piotr and Sage sat contentedly on the bench in the park, enjoying the sun on their faces and the shifting shadows of the trees. Aliyah was in her element, climbing the wrong way up the slide.
“Baby, don’t do that, there’s a little boy up there who wants to come down!” Sage cried, waving for her to stop. Aliyah grinned unrepentantly back at them but obeyed, turning and letting herself slide down to the bottom. The next boy gave up his pout and took his place at the top of the slide, sliding down to the ground with a thud of his light-up sneakers.
“She’s a pistol,” Piotr chuckled.
“She’s a stinker,” Sage corrected him. “But she’s my stinker.”
“Mmmm.” He tightened his arm around her. “Where do you want to go for lunch?”
“Someplace simple. Maybe we could go for ice cream and a movie afterward?”
“At the Movies Ten, or just rent one?”
“Either one.” Then she reconsidered. “Nah. Rental. There’s nothing good on in the theater.”
“She might like the Ninja Turtles.”
“Or you might,” Sage grinned.
“I might, too,” he admitted, nipping the crest of her ear between his teeth. Aliyah ran over to them, now covered in a fine layer of sand that left her thick white stockings looking slightly grubby. “You’re a mess, baby,” he mused, moving over when she wriggled her way between him and Sage. Her mother began to brush her off and straighten her pigtails, which had worked their way crooked. She snugged up the bobble-beaded elastic, pink to match her winter corduroy jumper.
“Hungry now, Momma,” Aliyah complained, leaning her head into Piotr’s bulk and playing with a button on his coat. Piotr patted her affectionately and stood, making Aliyah hop off the bench after him. She danced on her toes, lifting her arms for him to pick her up.
“Me, too. Let’s eat!” he announced, catching her between his large, strong hands around the waist and lifting her up on his shoulders like she weighed nothing. She shrieked and giggled her delight. Sage watched them fondly, a wistful look on her face. “What?”
“Nothing. Let’s go, like you said.” He held Aliyah steadily on her perch by her ankles as Sage held loosely on to his coat sleeve. The weather was brisk, and a faint breeze stirred the leaves on the ground, sending them dancing along the concrete.
Sage enjoyed watching the people around them, noting how many strollers being pushed by women who looked to be around her age, many of the infants squalling in protest at the wind or being smothered in layers of blankets against the chill. She gave silent thanks that her own child was out of diapers and attending school. The background sounds seemed to fade to a blur as she listened to Piotr and Aliyah chatter and argue back and forth.
“I know what we’re having for lunch today, Aliyah.”
“What are we having?”
“Lizzard gizzards!”
“NOOOOOO!”
“Yup. Lizzard gizzards and peanut butter pickles!” he stated authoritatively. Aliyah leaned over his head and peered down at him, grinning even though he wore a serious expression.
“We can’t eat THAT!”
“Oh, but we must, we HAVE to, it’s my favorite food in the whole world!”
“Yucky!”
“It’s wonderful, it’s the most delicious lunch in the world, right, Mommy?”
“Oh, it is,” she chimed in mischievously. “Can’t wait. Yum, yum, eat ‘em up!”
“MOMMY!” Aliyah insisted indignantly. “Tell him we aren’t eating lizards!”
“Lizard gizzards,” he corrected her.
“NO GIZZARDS!”
“We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of lizard gizzards,” Piotr sang, joyfully slaughtering an old movie classic. Sage rolled her eyes, then gave pause as her ears picked out other voices through the chatter around them. Two female voices chatting a few yards away caught her attention.
“Cute little girl.”
“I wonder if they adopted her?”
“I don’t think so. Look at her little face; I think that’s her mother with her. Look, they smile the same and have a similar profile.”
“Hmmm. Could be his little girl.”
“Her father must have been dark. Look at that hair, that must be a job and a half, combing that out every morning.”
Sage felt her cheeks flush and tried to control her impulse to quicken her steps. Piotr noticed the change in her pace and peered over at her, taking in her beetled brows.
“What’s the matter, Sage?”
“Oh. Nothing. Let’s go, Piotr.” She recovered with a sunny smile. “Let’s eat. Who’s up for McDonald’s?”
“MEEEEEEE! No lizard gizzards, I TOLD you!” Aliyah crowed. Piotr patted her foot fondly and they made their way back to the subway tunnel. Despite a peaceful lunch, ice cream at Baskin Robbins, and renting two Disney films, the pall lingered over Sage’s afternoon. She was irritated with herself that she let it linger.
Their evening settled down to a dull roar. Piotr helped Sage tidy up the living room once Aliyah tucked into bed. Her breathing was deep and even, her arm wrapped snugly around her dollie as she smacked her lips, burrowing her cheek further into the downy pillow. Piotr enjoyed one last peek inside her room and clicked on the night light before tiptoeing out. Sage was gathering up Aliyah’s toys and loading them into a small toy box next to the television as he approached. The set of her body and the look of tension etched over her features troubled him. She stood with her hands on her hips, scanning the living room impatiently before she reached up to knead a kink from her neck.
“And to think, I thought parenting would be a snap, back before I had one of my own,” she mused, peering up at him as he came near. His smile was warm as he circled her slowly, embracing her from behind and letting her lean into his solid bulk. He hugged her firmly, nuzzling her and gently kissing her temple. “What was that for?”
“You looked like you needed it. You’ve been quiet tonight.”
“Eh.”
“What’s this ‘eh?’ I mean it. You have been. Ever since we left the park.”
Sage sighed gustily. “It’s no big deal. I guess I’m just worn out.”
“All right.” He could understand that easily enough. Aliyah was exhausted from their full day and they entered the apartment with her snuggled and sleeping in her mother’s arms, her little cheek mushed up against her shoulder as Sage handed Piotr the key to unlock the door.
Their reverie was interrupted by the insistent trill of Sage’s cell phone. She reluctantly stepped from Piotr’s embrace and retrieved it from the counter.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Where’s Baby Girl?”
“Baby Girl’s in bed. She’s worn out.”
“See if she’s awake enough to say hi to her daddy.”
“Trust me, she’s down for the count. Let it wait until tomorrow, Luke.”
“Sure. I hardly get to see her, and you put me off when I call.”
“Call earlier next time,” she snapped. Piotr scowled, watching the tension spring into her spine. Her hand drifted back onto her hip.
“Damn! Don’t get your panties tied in a knot, woman! I’ll call tomorrow. Why’re you getting all evil with me?”
“I’m not.”
“I know evil. This is evil,” he chuckled. “Whatsamatter?”
“We went to the park. Same old story. A couple of women behind us today were playing a game of “One of These Things Is Not Like the Other” trying to figure out which one of us was Mimi’s mom or dad.”
“You and the Big Guy took her out today, huh?”
“We had a nice time, until that happened.” Sage heard the sounds of Piotr’s retreating footsteps moving into the kitchen and the refrigerator door opening as she spoke. “This time one of the women asked if she was adopted.”
“Shit never happened when you were with me,” he pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean shit didn’t happen,” she quipped smoothly.
“Never happens when she’s out with Charlotte and me, either.”
“Well, goodie for you and Charlotte.” She sighed. “I’m proud of her, Lucas. She’s my baby girl, too.”
“Remember that any time anyone says something dumb-assed,” he ordered calmly. “Anyway, g’night.”
“Night, Lucas.” She clicked her phone shut and set it on the counter. Piotr was nursing a glass of orange juice at the kitchen table. His gaze was full of questions.
“Lucas?”
“Yup.”
“What did he want?”
“To say hello to Aliyah. He doesn’t have a visit with her scheduled until next weekend.”
“That’s fine.” He gulped down a swallow of juice and set it on the table, playing with the rim absently. “You didn’t say anything about what happened at the park.”
“The park…oh. No. I didn’t. It was no big deal.”
“You thought Lucas needed to hear about it.”
“It’s just…something that happens every now and again. People see me, and they see Aliyah together, and they ask questions, or they just talk about me behind my back when they think I’m not listening. Sometimes, back when Luke and I were together, they stared, but at least you could see the wheels turning, and they put two and two together and got the answer they expected.”
“What did they get today? What did you hear?”
“Two women walking by when we were at the park were wondering if Aliyah was even mine.”
“If she’s with you, she’s yours. End of story.” Piotr thought it was the logical conclusion.
“Thank you!” She raised her hands demonstratively, slapping her forehead as if to say “Eureka! By George, I think he’s got it!”
“Does it happen often?”
“Depends on where I go. This is a big enough, diverse enough city, but people still talk if they want to talk.”
“Aliyah looks a lot like you in her face and build.”
“I know.” He finished his juice, and Sage reached for his empty glass, returning it to the sink. “But Lucas had a point. When he and Charlotte take Mimi to go out, they make a pretty little picture.”
“So do we,” he rumbled, standing and approaching her, again enveloping her against his chest. “Someone just used a different palette.” He heard the crack of her smile, and it evoked one from him.
“You really get a kick out of her, don’t you? She’s fond of you, Piotr.”
“Good. Because I’m fond of her, too. She takes after her mother. I’m a sucker for a pretty face and a smile that makes me unable to say no to her silliest whim.”
“Ooooh. Yer a goner, buddy. With little girls, ya HAFTA learn to say no!!!”
“How about big girls?” His lips nibbled her earlobe before laving it hotly and sucking it inside his mouth. Her response was unintelligible as pleasure curled in her stomach.
“Moving on, then,” he decided, bowing his lips to hers as her hand reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair.
~0~
Logan collapsed onto the couch, letting himself sink back into the cushions as he rolled his shoulders and took a sip of Gatorade. His feet still throbbed, stocking-clad in his favorite grey Nike basketball socks that were a gift from ‘Ro. The recap of the Knicks game was still playing on three different channels, thanks to his digital cable package. He had three more days until his subscription expired.
He didn’t plan to renew, even since he gave his landlord notice that he was moving out. Flattened, new moving boxes leaned against one wall, propped against his little bookcase. Thankfully he didn’t have much. All he had to do was head to the leasing agent’s office and sign the paperwork on Friday; his security deposit had already been cashed.
Work had been a bitch. Salem Medical was closer to the business district, unlike Westchester General, which someone had the insight to build right in the middle of the historical buildings and older homes. Industrial injuries were the order of the day. No retching teenagers, thankfully, since he took the day shift, but he’d been bled on twice and had to scan two broken legs and a fractured thumb.
He wasn’t expecting the hesitant knock on his door. “Who is it?” he rumbled, not getting up.
“Logan? It’s me.” ‘Ro.
Logan steeled himself, then set his Gatorade bottle on top of an old issue of Sports Illustrated laying on his coffee table before getting up to answer her. He unchained the locks and yanked the door wide, leaning against the frame. “Can I come in?” He exhaled slowly. He was loathe to admit that she took his breath away. She was garbed in a long-sleeve, black Lycra wrap top and tapered jeans shrink-wrapped around those gorgeous legs and curves. Her hair was tugged back into a simple ponytail, revealing a pair of gold hoop earrings and her slender neck to their best advantage. A pair of high-heeled black ankle boots made her even taller.
She worried her lip between her teeth.
“Take a load off, ‘Ro.” He unblocked the doorway and turned his back on her, not bothering to gesture inside. She obeyed, closing the door after herself and rechaining the lock while he resumed his place on the couch.
“You just got off work?”
“Shitty day,” he nodded, shrugging. He swallowed some more Gatorade. “Game’s over. CSI’s not on fer another half an hour. Yer gonna hafta suffer through the recaps.”
“That’s fine. It’s a free country.” Logan grunted absently, staring blankly at the TV screen. Ororo eyed the other end of the couch with yearning, but settled for the easy chair by the bookcase. She gave pause when she noticed the cardboard boxes. Her purse hit the floor with a thud as she took her seat.
“Ya gonna be here fer a while?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I wanted to talk…”
“Wait fer the commercial.” His tone was blunt. He still wasn’t meeting her eyes.
She sighed and reached for her purse. She unzipped it sharply and rummaged through the compartment, her hand closing around what she wanted. She stood again and slung her purse over her shoulder again, then approached the coffee table on clipped steps.
She bent down and laid the blue velvet ringbox next to his Gatorade bottle.
“I’d rather not wait, but I don’t want to bother you.” She was already on her way to the door, letting her words drift back to him. “Maybe I’ll just get out of your way so you can-“
The TV was clicked off with a harsh punch of the remote button behind her.
“Wait just a goddamned fuckin’ minute.” Her stomach looped itself into a double knot, and she felt a sheen of cold sweat break out over her upper lip. She bowed her head, staring at his hardwood floor, and her hand tightened on his doorknob. “Yer just gonna get up and leave? Just like that?”
“Logan…uh-uh. This wasn’t what I planned to do when I came here.”
“Then what’d ya plan, ‘Ro? This looks like a drop-and-run, and not much else.”
She could have handled the silent treatment. She knew she deserved it.
She removed her purse from her shoulder and hung it gently over the doorknob, leaving it locked. She turned to face him and felt a mixture of anguish and yearning at his face. Indignant anger, frustration, and perhaps a hint of something else contorted his features, bearing no shred of the tenderness she knew she was responsible for taking away. The cords of tendon in his neck stood out in stark relief, and vein jumped in his jawline as he worked it, trying to come up with the words he needed her to hear.
“C’mon. Ya showed up on my doorstep. Now talk.”
“Last night I found this on the floor. I was headed downstairs and I nearly tripped over it.”
“Saved me the trouble of callin’ the fuckin’ restaurant, then, I guess.”
“Sure,” she agreed miserably. “Logan…you were going to give that to me.”
“Fuck, no. It’s my size, I just bought myself a fuckin’ trinket,” he snapped. “Ya must have a mighty high opinion of how I feel about ya.” His tone was jeering, but again, his stance radiated hurt. He gesticulated impatiently, flinging his arms wide. “I dropped a wad on a ring like that just because I felt like it. Call it impulse spending, if ya want, ‘Ro.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t tell me yer sorry, unless yer gonna go into detail about why. Take yer pick. Sorry about not giving me the chance ta tell ya how I felt about ya? Sorry about listening to my piece of shit ex-girlfriend who ripped my heart out? Sorry about walking out on our night out before we could even get to the good part? Do ya wanna know what the good part is, Ororo, or do ya just wanna hazard a guess, now that you’ve seen that little surprise lyin’ there?” She breathed heavily through her nose, hugging herself and rubbing her temple weakly.
“How do you feel about me?”
“Do ya even hafta ask?”
“Yes,” she replied quietly. “I need to know.”
“Ya could’ve asked me last night. That might’ve helped.”
“No matter what I said, things kept on getting worse. I didn’t think you would hear me, or want to hear me.” Logan stared at her incredulously. He turned his back on her and plowed his hand hopelessly through his unruly hair.
“What the fuck…? When did I give ya the idea I wouldn’t listen, ‘Ro? When have I ever been like that with ya? Ever?”
“Never.” He wasn’t pacified, but his shoulders relaxed a notch. “Last night was tough.”
“We’ve had worse nights than that, darlin’.” She felt a small flare of hope at the use of his pet name for her. “If we can get past me havin’ ta kick yer ex’s teeth in, you havin’ a run-in with mine in the can should’ve been a walk in the park. Shit, ‘Ro, he even kissed ya in front of me, and we got past it.”
“You knew I didn’t want him to do that,” she snapped lamely, clinging to her side of the argument and instantly regretting it.
“Doesn’t mean it didn’t take pieces outta me. I walked in on Mary once, ya know. It was the last time I spoke ta her before my accident.” Ororo’s blood froze in her veins as he flung himself back onto the couch. He stared up at her, looking exhausted and resigned. “The whole house smelled like burnt dinner and sex. No telling how long he’d been there. I didn’t wanna think about how often he’d been there, either. She always came ta my place. Almost never the other way around. After a while, that got ta me.”
“Yeah,” she agreed on a low murmur. She swallowed around a lump, aching for him. “It stinks, not knowing until it’s just right there in your face.”
“I ignored the signs. I listened to her tell me tale after tale. I had a thing fer her, ‘Ro. It just reached up and grabbed me one day that it wasn’t just a fling. I got comfortable. I got cocky that she was mine, just ‘cuz I was hers. Turned out I was wrong.” Ororo’s throat closed up, and she tried to clear it to little avail. Logan continued to watch her; she couldn’t meet his level gaze any longer and went back to staring at her hands, twisting them. “This guy, Wade, was her client. He was keepin’ her. Payin’ her rent and God knows what else. I was sleepin’ with his mistress.” Horror made her feel clammy.
“Oh, God…”
“I fell fer the okey-doke. She packaged it up real pretty, too. I found out about him, when he found ME in bed with her the first time around. We got into it.” Ororo braced herself for what she knew was coming next. “I kicked his ass; I almost hated havin’ t’do it, in hindsight, because I was the one stepping with his woman, in principle. Sucks.”
“Yeah. It does.” She plowed her hands through her hair helplessly and closed her eyes. Her face was strained. Logan watched her curiously, but hadn’t dropped his scowl. “I’ve been there, too. Pietro was with another woman when he started dating me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. She introduced herself to me.”
“When?”
“At the movie theater a few weeks ago. In the women’s room.” Logan tsked.
“Fuckin’ figures…ya got a curse, ‘Ro.” Ororo stifled a mirthless laugh.
“I’ve got a curse. Pietro’s got a child.”
“Holy shit,” he breathed.
“He left her high and dry to be with me.” She drew in a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not flattered, knowing this.”
“Guess ya wouldn’t be.”
“He didn’t provide for his child, Logan.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised about that. Chances are, darlin’, he wouldn’t have been much better, even if he loved ya more than he did his last girl, if ya married him and had two point five kids, a dog, and a picket fence. Maybe, but I ain’t vouching for him.”
“I don’t want you to. But it just made everything hurt more.”
“Yeah. It does.” His brows finally lifted, and he studied her. “Ya never told me about him havin’ a kid.”
“I would have gotten to it eventually. There’s been a lot going on.”
“Did he ever talk about havin’ any with you?”
“His dad always wanted us to…”
“I ain’t asking about his dad. Did he, ‘Ro? Did he want a family with ya?”
“I…no. Honestly, Logan, he didn’t. He tap-danced around it, and gave me vague answers when I asked. Why? Mary never wanted a family,” she retorted.
“Fuck, no!”
“It doesn’t really matter, I guess. I was raised in a nice family, Logan. I loved both of my parents. They loved each other, and they loved me. I was about to settle for less with him, because I didn’t think I could do any better, waiting so long for him to come around. But he was right where he wanted to be, how he was, so my wanting what I wanted didn’t affect what we had.”
“Whaddya want, ‘Ro?”
“Logan…”
“What did ya want, before last night happened? And whaddya want now?” She clammed up, defiance making her hug herself more tightly as she stared at the floor. She shook her head mutely. “C’mon. Tell me. I deserve to know that much. What would’ve made ya happy, that listening ta my ex destroyed for ya, darlin’?” Her lip quivered.
“I’d better go…” She scooped up her purse and made for the door again.
“Don’t,” he rasped. She shook her head again, her vision blurring as she fumbled with the chain on the lock.
He moved like lightning, letting his palm slap the door shut and covering her back with his bulk. “I said don’t,” he muttered. She drew in large, deep breaths through her nose, her chest heaving as she struggled to compose herself.
“Let’s…let’s not do this,” she pleaded quietly.
“I ain’t gonna be able ta sleep tonight til ya tell me, darlin’. Didn’t sleep a flamin’ wink last night. I can’t keep that up.” His hand slid down the door to the knob, where it rested over hers, cupping her knuckles. He gently pried them away; her palms were icy as he twined his fingers through hers. “Easy, Ororo.” He tugged her back, inching them back from the door. He leaned in closer in an attempt to make her see him, to read the emotions on his face. She stubbornly craned her face away. “Tell me,” he murmured.
“I…she hurt you,” Ororo blurted. “Then I turned around and hurt you, too.”
“Ro, c’mon…”
“I told her she wouldn’t get the change to hurt you again.” Logan tsked.
“Shouldn’t have wasted yer time on her. I don’t anymore.” Still, pride flared briefly in his chest. She stood up for him.
“I told her you didn’t need to be handled.”
“What?”
“She said not many women could handle you.”
“Like she’d know,” Logan grumbled. “So, is that it? D’ya want a man ya can ‘handle?’”
“Still working on handling myself, thanks,” His lips briefly warmned the sideof her throat, and one brawny, steady arm looped around her waist. His hand flattened and splayed over her abdomen and she let his strength support her, enveloping her and making her feel safe. Turmoil still roiled in her chest, but he wasn’t pushing her away.
“Right answer,” he muttered. “We’re both works in progress, ‘Ro, when it comes to that.”
“Pietro thought I tried to handle him.”
“He just needed his ass kicked. Check that off yer to-do list.” Her lips quivered, and Logan heard her trying to master her breaths and compose herself. “Since yer not tellin’ me what m
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