Kid Things, Chapter Nine
Went to Vegas for Labor Day weekend and took today off from work to recover. Crazy fun. I felt like I was in college again. Among the highlights was a male strip show called "Thunder From Down Under", which was equal parts hilarious and sexy. The last number was a cowboy-themed group dance spectacular that kicked off with "Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy," which, of course, had me giggling the whole time, because all I could think about was that classic piece of crack Save A Pony, Ride A Logan by 
sarah_p. I'm pretty sure that means I read too much fanfic.
Title: Kid Things (WIP, 9/10)
Author:
sowell
Characters: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 2,818
Rating: R, for language
Summary: 5 years after graduation, Logan comes back to Neptune to ask Veronica for help.
Spoilers: Spoiled through 2.22
Disclaimer: They are not mine, they are Rob's
Notes: Feel free to leave me copious amounts of feedback, positive or otherwise. :)
Read it at
veronicamarsfic
One...Two...Three...Four...Five...Six...Seven...Eight
Nine
Logan heard the knock on his door through his growing haze of drunkenness. There were lots of varieties of drunk, he’d learned. For instance, champagne and cocktails inevitably led to drugs, which inevitably led to partying, which inevitably led to sex in a hot tub. Beer - Dick’s beverage of choice - was for playing pool and starting fights in bars and waking up on hard, cold, jail-cell floors. Wine was for trying to charm girls into bed, and hard liquor - whiskey in particular - was for escape. And tonight, he definitely needed escape.
He was two-thirds of a bottle in; the room had begun to blur nicely, and the picture of Trina’s wasted face had begun to blur with it. Percy was long since asleep, and Logan wanted to keep drinking until he was confident he could go to sleep, too, without the nightmares. The knock came again, and Logan didn’t bother to answer. There was only one person who knew where he was staying, and she would come in whether or not he invited her.
He tried to think of what she looked like tonight, tried to find an adjective, but they were all gone. She was just: Veronica, and the last person he wanted to see right now, and the only person he ever wanted to see again. He could still feel the imprint of her body against him, still taste her tongue in his mouth, and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to forget her or his sister more.
"Logan," she said, and she sounded fuzzy, and he thought maybe her voice was as good as alcohol. That he could fall into dreamless sleep to the sound of her saying his name over and over again.
"I wanted to check on you. You seemed pretty upset this after- Are you drunk?"
"I’m fine, Veronica. So sweet of you to ask. No, I don’t care that my sister left me with her precious baby boy. That she’s a junkie and a whore and a fucking made-for-tv movie cliché." His words sounded steady, and he was proud. Well, maybe not quite steady, but a lot better than they felt in his throat.
"You can’t get drunk with a little kid here," she said, aghast. "What if he needs you for something?"
"Then he can take care of himself," he said. Except he didn’t mean it, and he didn’t want anything to happen to his tiny little helpless nephew, and fuck his sister for following in his mother’s footsteps. And fuck himself, too. And I’m so sorry, kid, he thought in despair.
He took another very long swallow from the bottle, and the room swung around him like the barrel of a revolver. Veronica’s form blurred past him, once, twice, three times, and she was just blonde hair and pale skin. Then everything settled again, and she was blonde hair and pale skin and pink lips screwed into a furious scowl.
"I’m taking him," she said in a self-righteous little huff. "I can’t leave him here with you."
"Good call, supermom," he replied. And he was pleased that his voice sounded scornful, even through the whiskey-brown haze of his thoughts. It just went to show that anything could become automatic with enough practice. He watched Veronica stalk into his room, wondering what she’d do if he followed her in there, pinned her to the bed, and just breathed her in for an hour or two.
He stood up, and the room tilted crazily again, and he felt his stomach rise in protest. Veronica came out of the bedroom, looking like she was about to buckle under the dead weight of a sleeping Percy. Jesus, the kid was practically as big as her. He should be carting his nephew around instead of being too fucking drunk and useless to even apologize for being drunk and useless. And he was definitely going to throw up.
"I’ll call you tomorrow," Veronica said tightly. "When you’re sober. Jesus, Logan."
He pushed past her into the bathroom.
He was too busy retching into the toilet to hear if she said anything else. Why the hell did he always turn to her to make things better, when it always ended up so much worse? She smashed everything around him to bits; and he wouldn’t even care about that if she just fucking stayed with him afterwards. But she ran, and she washed her hands of him, and she left him there in the wreckage every time.
He didn’t hear her come into the bathroom until her pink-painted toes appeared in his line of vision. "Are you ok?" she asked warily. He wanted to scream at her that of course he wasn’t fucking ok, but he was too nauseous to make his throat obey. He felt her hand like a whisper on the back of his neck as he threw up again, and he felt the cool brush of her as she sank down on floor beside him.
He sat back from the toilet, exhausted and dizzy. Her eyes were dark in her pale face, and they reflected so much of his own pain that it tore ragged in his chest. "I’m sorry," she whispered, reaching out to brush his hair. It was the lightest touch in the world, but it was enough to break what was left of his resolve. He hauled her against him, dragged her down to his level on the floor and locked his arms around her, burying his face against her neck. She stayed rigid in his grasp, but she didn’t push him away.
"I love you," he mumbled, because he’d already puked up the last of his pride into the toilet. He felt her entire body jump, but he couldn’t let her go when she was the only thing between him and insanity. He clutched at her so tightly he was probably leaving bruises, but she didn’t make a peep. Maybe if he squeezed her tightly enough, marked her thoroughly enough, she wouldn’t leave this time, and he would never, ever be here alone on the floor again.
"I always loved you," he said against her skin. "Even when I left."
"Shh," she whispered then, stroking fingers through his hair, twisting to fit herself against him more fully. "It’s ok." He could hear the tears in her voice, and it felt so fucking good to have someone else crying for him, for once. She smelled like soap and lavender and Veronica, and she felt like everything he’d been missing for five years. She was shaking; she didn’t realize how many times he’d done this on his own, without her there. He didn’t know if he was ever going to be able to do it on his own again, and that was the most dangerous thing about Veronica Mars.
But for now she was here, and he couldn’t bring himself to think about the future when her fingers were in his hair and her body was pressed flush against him. He held her tightly, matched his shuddering breaths to her soft, steady ones, and let himself get lost in her, one more time.
*****
When Logan opened his eyes, the first thing that hit him - besides the tiny hammer pounding away at the inside of his skull - was that he was actually comfortable for the first time in three days. He turned his head to the side, and he realized he was finally sleeping in the king-sized bed he was shelling out a fortune for. And he wasn’t alone. Percy was snuggled up next to him, a thumb stuck contentedly in his mouth, and over his head he could see scattered blonde hair and sandy eyelashes against smooth cheeks.
The morning after was never pleasant, but today it was a little better than usual. He vaguely remembered Veronica propping him up at the sink and forcing him to brush his teeth, wash his face. She poured about four gallons of water down his throat until he threw up again, and then he fell asleep with her hand lying in his. And she was still here.
He picked Percy up as gently as possible and set the kid on his chest. Then he scooted closer to Veronica and pulled her against his side. She curled toward him like it was the most natural thing in the world, and her hand crept lightly under his shirt and settled on his stomach. He would give up his entire inheritance for Percy to not be in his bed so he could put a hand on her stomach, too. Instead he watched her breathe and tried to remind himself to do the same.
He could do this, he thought, if Veronica was there. He could take care of this kid and stop being such a fuckwad and behave for the rest of his life if this was the end result. Trina was gone, unsalvageable; he didn’t want to be unsalvageable. Maybe it was possible for him to end up somewhere like this after all, for him to end up happy. The last time he felt this hopeful was the first time he kissed Veronica outside his car, when he was seventeen and he didn’t know his father was a murderer, and all he cared about was that a smart, fierce, gorgeous girl wanted to be with him.
Veronica stirred against him and grunted a little in her sleep, and a second later she opened her eyes and looked at him. He wasn’t sure whether to expect disapproval or pity or some combination of the two. She just blinked sleepily and said, "Hi."
"You stayed," he said, and she gave a small smile.
"You were in pretty rough shape."
"I’ve been in worse," he admitted, and she reached out and slowly, slowly touched his face. He tried not to breathe as she traced the bruises there, tried to hold himself statue-still. The drift of her skin across his was - god. It felt like a drug to have her touching him - it felt like forgiveness, when he didn’t even know he’d been craving it so badly. She trailed her hand down and locked her fingers through his, and he couldn’t do anything except squeeze tight.
She nodded her chin at Percy. "He woke up in the middle of the night. I tried to put him on the couch, but he wanted to sleep with Uncle Logan," she said. The band around his chest tightened another notch.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, one hand still clasped in his. "What are you going to do about him?" she asked, husky-voiced and serious.
He touched the kid’s hair with his free hand, because somehow in the last few days he’d started to care. "What are my options?"
"You could turn him over to the state. He would be put in foster care."
Logan remembered the bruises on Percy’s arm again, remembered the stories of what happened to kids in foster care. "No," he said flatly.
Veronica hesitated. "Or you could legally take custody of him yourself."
This was what taking a leap off the Coronado Bridge must be like, Logan thought. He was free falling, no bottom in sight. How the hell was he supposed to take care of a child?
"What would I have to do?" he asked roughly.
"Well, you would need proof of financial stability…I think you’re all set there. They’d have to do a cursory search for his guardians. Trina will be found unfit, and I doubt Sewell will fight you on this. Other than that…you just need a few solid character witnesses to testify to your qualifications."
"Sure," he said. "I’ll just draw from my admiring public."
"I’d testify for you," she said quietly, and something burst inside of him, something so incredibly beautiful and fragile that he was afraid to breathe.
"What if - what if I end up like him?" he asked, feeling Percy’s weight on his chest like an iron load. "What if I can’t help it?"
"I know you won’t," Veronica said fiercely. "But this is how you can prove it to yourself. You’re not your father, Logan."
God, he wanted to cry again, she was looking at him with such conviction. He wanted to make a million promises that he certainly wouldn’t keep, but that’s what she did to him.
"You’re good with him," she continued, squeezing his hand. "And I think he’s good for you."
"Even after last night?" he asked ruefully.
"Yes," she said evenly, and he gathered up everything left of his heart and his soul and his courage. Jumping off the bridge.
"You could be there to watch me," he said, voice unsteady with hope. "Make sure I don’t screw it up."
He held his breath, trying to catch some signal from her eyes. The emotions were playing across her face so quickly he couldn’t pluck a single one out. The moment hung endlessly. Then she pulled her hand out of his. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."
He hit the water at breakneck speed. "Of course not," he said bitterly. "You’ve still got a life." A job and a future and a fucking fiancée.
She drew back a little, climbed off the bed. "It’s not that. It’s just - you and I - we don’t…" she made a helpless motion with her hands.
He was sinking under now, because he had finally remembered what it was like to breathe easy, to be able to inhale without choking, and she wasn’t going to let him keep it. She already had her life mapped out, and he had been excluded from the blueprint a long time ago.
He couldn’t look at her as she picked up her purse and headed for the door to the bedroom. "I’ll bring the second check by the office tomorrow," he said, staring at the pillow next to him.
He heard her stop, shifting her feet like she might protest. But then she walked out, and a few seconds later he heard the outer door open and close behind her. He took a few breaths to calm the churning anger in him. Of all the ways he thought this would’ve ended, he never imagined Veronica would be walking out on him again, and he’d be leaving Neptune with his sister’s kid still in tow. That he would want his sister’s son with him. At least the kid needed him.
He might be able to do this, he thought again. He felt just…empty, but Percy was something. Maybe he could bring him up the way a kid should be brought up - not worrying about finding their mother passed out on the couch or their father waiting in their room with a belt. Not learning how to invite tragedy in so it didn’t just keep walking up and punching them in the face. He wasn’t sure the plan worked without Veronica: he seemed to fall to pieces when she wasn’t there, and maybe he would screw it up entirely. For once in his life, though, he really, really wanted to try.
"Ok," he said to Percy’s sleeping face. "Let’s figure this out."
*****
Veronica went home to her apartment, and she thought about Logan. There were messages again, agitated messages from Jeff. This time she deleted them, and didn’t call back, and thought about Logan.
I love you, he had said last night. I always loved you. He had said it to her before and not remembered in the morning, and she had walked away from it before, convinced herself that he’d be fine. Logan leeched on to the closest warm body. He’d find another girl to love. But what if the next one couldn’t pick up the pieces of him?
She meant what she told him about Percy. She saw the way he looked at his nephew, and the way Percy looked back at him, with complete trust. Maybe they could heal each other. Maybe she wanted to be there and see it happen. She went to the newspaper office, and didn’t visit Jeff at lunch, and came back to her apartment that night, and thought about Logan.
She couldn’t sleep, because she knew Logan was in a bed and breakfast across town. She knew she could go there, and he’d press her against the wall and kiss her brain away, and she wouldn’t have to make any sort of decision at all.
She finally rolled out of bed at 5AM and headed to her father’s office to distract herself. Except her car wasn’t in the parking lot. There was a red Porsche sitting in her space, sporty and stylish and perfect for California highways. It was brand new and probably cost a hundred times the remaining fee that Logan owed her. The keys were sitting on the front seat, and there was a note on the dashboard that just said, "I’m gone. Logan."
Chapter Ten
sarah_p. I'm pretty sure that means I read too much fanfic.
Title: Kid Things (WIP, 9/10)
Author:
sowell
Characters: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 2,818
Rating: R, for language
Summary: 5 years after graduation, Logan comes back to Neptune to ask Veronica for help.
Spoilers: Spoiled through 2.22
Disclaimer: They are not mine, they are Rob's
Notes: Feel free to leave me copious amounts of feedback, positive or otherwise. :)
Read it at
veronicamarsfic
One...Two...Three...Four...Five...Six...Seven...Eight
Nine
Logan heard the knock on his door through his growing haze of drunkenness. There were lots of varieties of drunk, he’d learned. For instance, champagne and cocktails inevitably led to drugs, which inevitably led to partying, which inevitably led to sex in a hot tub. Beer - Dick’s beverage of choice - was for playing pool and starting fights in bars and waking up on hard, cold, jail-cell floors. Wine was for trying to charm girls into bed, and hard liquor - whiskey in particular - was for escape. And tonight, he definitely needed escape.
He was two-thirds of a bottle in; the room had begun to blur nicely, and the picture of Trina’s wasted face had begun to blur with it. Percy was long since asleep, and Logan wanted to keep drinking until he was confident he could go to sleep, too, without the nightmares. The knock came again, and Logan didn’t bother to answer. There was only one person who knew where he was staying, and she would come in whether or not he invited her.
He tried to think of what she looked like tonight, tried to find an adjective, but they were all gone. She was just: Veronica, and the last person he wanted to see right now, and the only person he ever wanted to see again. He could still feel the imprint of her body against him, still taste her tongue in his mouth, and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to forget her or his sister more.
"Logan," she said, and she sounded fuzzy, and he thought maybe her voice was as good as alcohol. That he could fall into dreamless sleep to the sound of her saying his name over and over again.
"I wanted to check on you. You seemed pretty upset this after- Are you drunk?"
"I’m fine, Veronica. So sweet of you to ask. No, I don’t care that my sister left me with her precious baby boy. That she’s a junkie and a whore and a fucking made-for-tv movie cliché." His words sounded steady, and he was proud. Well, maybe not quite steady, but a lot better than they felt in his throat.
"You can’t get drunk with a little kid here," she said, aghast. "What if he needs you for something?"
"Then he can take care of himself," he said. Except he didn’t mean it, and he didn’t want anything to happen to his tiny little helpless nephew, and fuck his sister for following in his mother’s footsteps. And fuck himself, too. And I’m so sorry, kid, he thought in despair.
He took another very long swallow from the bottle, and the room swung around him like the barrel of a revolver. Veronica’s form blurred past him, once, twice, three times, and she was just blonde hair and pale skin. Then everything settled again, and she was blonde hair and pale skin and pink lips screwed into a furious scowl.
"I’m taking him," she said in a self-righteous little huff. "I can’t leave him here with you."
"Good call, supermom," he replied. And he was pleased that his voice sounded scornful, even through the whiskey-brown haze of his thoughts. It just went to show that anything could become automatic with enough practice. He watched Veronica stalk into his room, wondering what she’d do if he followed her in there, pinned her to the bed, and just breathed her in for an hour or two.
He stood up, and the room tilted crazily again, and he felt his stomach rise in protest. Veronica came out of the bedroom, looking like she was about to buckle under the dead weight of a sleeping Percy. Jesus, the kid was practically as big as her. He should be carting his nephew around instead of being too fucking drunk and useless to even apologize for being drunk and useless. And he was definitely going to throw up.
"I’ll call you tomorrow," Veronica said tightly. "When you’re sober. Jesus, Logan."
He pushed past her into the bathroom.
He was too busy retching into the toilet to hear if she said anything else. Why the hell did he always turn to her to make things better, when it always ended up so much worse? She smashed everything around him to bits; and he wouldn’t even care about that if she just fucking stayed with him afterwards. But she ran, and she washed her hands of him, and she left him there in the wreckage every time.
He didn’t hear her come into the bathroom until her pink-painted toes appeared in his line of vision. "Are you ok?" she asked warily. He wanted to scream at her that of course he wasn’t fucking ok, but he was too nauseous to make his throat obey. He felt her hand like a whisper on the back of his neck as he threw up again, and he felt the cool brush of her as she sank down on floor beside him.
He sat back from the toilet, exhausted and dizzy. Her eyes were dark in her pale face, and they reflected so much of his own pain that it tore ragged in his chest. "I’m sorry," she whispered, reaching out to brush his hair. It was the lightest touch in the world, but it was enough to break what was left of his resolve. He hauled her against him, dragged her down to his level on the floor and locked his arms around her, burying his face against her neck. She stayed rigid in his grasp, but she didn’t push him away.
"I love you," he mumbled, because he’d already puked up the last of his pride into the toilet. He felt her entire body jump, but he couldn’t let her go when she was the only thing between him and insanity. He clutched at her so tightly he was probably leaving bruises, but she didn’t make a peep. Maybe if he squeezed her tightly enough, marked her thoroughly enough, she wouldn’t leave this time, and he would never, ever be here alone on the floor again.
"I always loved you," he said against her skin. "Even when I left."
"Shh," she whispered then, stroking fingers through his hair, twisting to fit herself against him more fully. "It’s ok." He could hear the tears in her voice, and it felt so fucking good to have someone else crying for him, for once. She smelled like soap and lavender and Veronica, and she felt like everything he’d been missing for five years. She was shaking; she didn’t realize how many times he’d done this on his own, without her there. He didn’t know if he was ever going to be able to do it on his own again, and that was the most dangerous thing about Veronica Mars.
But for now she was here, and he couldn’t bring himself to think about the future when her fingers were in his hair and her body was pressed flush against him. He held her tightly, matched his shuddering breaths to her soft, steady ones, and let himself get lost in her, one more time.
*****
When Logan opened his eyes, the first thing that hit him - besides the tiny hammer pounding away at the inside of his skull - was that he was actually comfortable for the first time in three days. He turned his head to the side, and he realized he was finally sleeping in the king-sized bed he was shelling out a fortune for. And he wasn’t alone. Percy was snuggled up next to him, a thumb stuck contentedly in his mouth, and over his head he could see scattered blonde hair and sandy eyelashes against smooth cheeks.
The morning after was never pleasant, but today it was a little better than usual. He vaguely remembered Veronica propping him up at the sink and forcing him to brush his teeth, wash his face. She poured about four gallons of water down his throat until he threw up again, and then he fell asleep with her hand lying in his. And she was still here.
He picked Percy up as gently as possible and set the kid on his chest. Then he scooted closer to Veronica and pulled her against his side. She curled toward him like it was the most natural thing in the world, and her hand crept lightly under his shirt and settled on his stomach. He would give up his entire inheritance for Percy to not be in his bed so he could put a hand on her stomach, too. Instead he watched her breathe and tried to remind himself to do the same.
He could do this, he thought, if Veronica was there. He could take care of this kid and stop being such a fuckwad and behave for the rest of his life if this was the end result. Trina was gone, unsalvageable; he didn’t want to be unsalvageable. Maybe it was possible for him to end up somewhere like this after all, for him to end up happy. The last time he felt this hopeful was the first time he kissed Veronica outside his car, when he was seventeen and he didn’t know his father was a murderer, and all he cared about was that a smart, fierce, gorgeous girl wanted to be with him.
Veronica stirred against him and grunted a little in her sleep, and a second later she opened her eyes and looked at him. He wasn’t sure whether to expect disapproval or pity or some combination of the two. She just blinked sleepily and said, "Hi."
"You stayed," he said, and she gave a small smile.
"You were in pretty rough shape."
"I’ve been in worse," he admitted, and she reached out and slowly, slowly touched his face. He tried not to breathe as she traced the bruises there, tried to hold himself statue-still. The drift of her skin across his was - god. It felt like a drug to have her touching him - it felt like forgiveness, when he didn’t even know he’d been craving it so badly. She trailed her hand down and locked her fingers through his, and he couldn’t do anything except squeeze tight.
She nodded her chin at Percy. "He woke up in the middle of the night. I tried to put him on the couch, but he wanted to sleep with Uncle Logan," she said. The band around his chest tightened another notch.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, one hand still clasped in his. "What are you going to do about him?" she asked, husky-voiced and serious.
He touched the kid’s hair with his free hand, because somehow in the last few days he’d started to care. "What are my options?"
"You could turn him over to the state. He would be put in foster care."
Logan remembered the bruises on Percy’s arm again, remembered the stories of what happened to kids in foster care. "No," he said flatly.
Veronica hesitated. "Or you could legally take custody of him yourself."
This was what taking a leap off the Coronado Bridge must be like, Logan thought. He was free falling, no bottom in sight. How the hell was he supposed to take care of a child?
"What would I have to do?" he asked roughly.
"Well, you would need proof of financial stability…I think you’re all set there. They’d have to do a cursory search for his guardians. Trina will be found unfit, and I doubt Sewell will fight you on this. Other than that…you just need a few solid character witnesses to testify to your qualifications."
"Sure," he said. "I’ll just draw from my admiring public."
"I’d testify for you," she said quietly, and something burst inside of him, something so incredibly beautiful and fragile that he was afraid to breathe.
"What if - what if I end up like him?" he asked, feeling Percy’s weight on his chest like an iron load. "What if I can’t help it?"
"I know you won’t," Veronica said fiercely. "But this is how you can prove it to yourself. You’re not your father, Logan."
God, he wanted to cry again, she was looking at him with such conviction. He wanted to make a million promises that he certainly wouldn’t keep, but that’s what she did to him.
"You’re good with him," she continued, squeezing his hand. "And I think he’s good for you."
"Even after last night?" he asked ruefully.
"Yes," she said evenly, and he gathered up everything left of his heart and his soul and his courage. Jumping off the bridge.
"You could be there to watch me," he said, voice unsteady with hope. "Make sure I don’t screw it up."
He held his breath, trying to catch some signal from her eyes. The emotions were playing across her face so quickly he couldn’t pluck a single one out. The moment hung endlessly. Then she pulled her hand out of his. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."
He hit the water at breakneck speed. "Of course not," he said bitterly. "You’ve still got a life." A job and a future and a fucking fiancée.
She drew back a little, climbed off the bed. "It’s not that. It’s just - you and I - we don’t…" she made a helpless motion with her hands.
He was sinking under now, because he had finally remembered what it was like to breathe easy, to be able to inhale without choking, and she wasn’t going to let him keep it. She already had her life mapped out, and he had been excluded from the blueprint a long time ago.
He couldn’t look at her as she picked up her purse and headed for the door to the bedroom. "I’ll bring the second check by the office tomorrow," he said, staring at the pillow next to him.
He heard her stop, shifting her feet like she might protest. But then she walked out, and a few seconds later he heard the outer door open and close behind her. He took a few breaths to calm the churning anger in him. Of all the ways he thought this would’ve ended, he never imagined Veronica would be walking out on him again, and he’d be leaving Neptune with his sister’s kid still in tow. That he would want his sister’s son with him. At least the kid needed him.
He might be able to do this, he thought again. He felt just…empty, but Percy was something. Maybe he could bring him up the way a kid should be brought up - not worrying about finding their mother passed out on the couch or their father waiting in their room with a belt. Not learning how to invite tragedy in so it didn’t just keep walking up and punching them in the face. He wasn’t sure the plan worked without Veronica: he seemed to fall to pieces when she wasn’t there, and maybe he would screw it up entirely. For once in his life, though, he really, really wanted to try.
"Ok," he said to Percy’s sleeping face. "Let’s figure this out."
*****
Veronica went home to her apartment, and she thought about Logan. There were messages again, agitated messages from Jeff. This time she deleted them, and didn’t call back, and thought about Logan.
I love you, he had said last night. I always loved you. He had said it to her before and not remembered in the morning, and she had walked away from it before, convinced herself that he’d be fine. Logan leeched on to the closest warm body. He’d find another girl to love. But what if the next one couldn’t pick up the pieces of him?
She meant what she told him about Percy. She saw the way he looked at his nephew, and the way Percy looked back at him, with complete trust. Maybe they could heal each other. Maybe she wanted to be there and see it happen. She went to the newspaper office, and didn’t visit Jeff at lunch, and came back to her apartment that night, and thought about Logan.
She couldn’t sleep, because she knew Logan was in a bed and breakfast across town. She knew she could go there, and he’d press her against the wall and kiss her brain away, and she wouldn’t have to make any sort of decision at all.
She finally rolled out of bed at 5AM and headed to her father’s office to distract herself. Except her car wasn’t in the parking lot. There was a red Porsche sitting in her space, sporty and stylish and perfect for California highways. It was brand new and probably cost a hundred times the remaining fee that Logan owed her. The keys were sitting on the front seat, and there was a note on the dashboard that just said, "I’m gone. Logan."
Chapter Ten