Fic: Today's Inspirational Message (Logan) R 1/2
Today's Inspirational Message
By Melissa (dettiot)
Characters: Logan POV; appearances by Weevil, Duncan, Veronica, Lilly, and Trina. Mentions of Veronica/Logan.
Rating: R
Word Count: 3215
Spoilers: 1x22
Summary: One version of Logan's summer.
Many thanks to cindermom for reading this over when I was stuck and helping me figure out how to end the story. Veronica's line about lessons on being a social outcast is all hers.
June 4
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Undeservedly you will atone for the sins of your fathers.
Horace
There wasn't enough liquor in the world to blot out the facts. There weren't enough punches in Weevil's fists to hide the truth: his father had killed Lilly. Had been sleeping with her, taping their little romps.
Logan wasn't quite sure how he wound up in his bed, rather than in the morgue. He seemed to remember Weevil showing up and beating the crap out of him, before some cops had come along. But did the cops take him home? Was it Weevil who told him about his dad? He couldn't remember. Some days, he couldn't even remember if he was alive. Now, though, he knew he was still in the land of the living. He knew that he was still alive because the pain slicing through him, thanks to the lack of booze in his system, meant that he was still sucking air.
"Yippee-ki-ya-fucking-yay," he muttered, flailing around for a bottle, any bottle, as long as it still had alcohol in it. Anything to block out the thoughts circling inside his head. Like how could he have missed the small fact of Lilly exploring Neptune's class differences in the bedroom. Like how he hadn't figured out that his father had killed Lilly. Like how that streak of violence in the men in his family, from father to son, and whether that meant he was cursed, too. Like how he'd spent his whole life trying to escape from his father's shadow, and just when he thought he had found the way out, he got dragged down into complete darkness.
June 9
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
Alexander Pope
"Yo, Duncan!" Logan shouted at the darkened windows of the Kane house. "Come on, you're my best friend. You dick, come out here and see me!"
Who cared that it was one in the morning? Logan wanted to talk to Duncan. He took a swig from the bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand.
The front door of the house swung open, and Logan smiled widely at the sight of Celeste Kane. "Well, hi, Mrs. Kane! I know you're trying to sue my family for everything we own, but can Duncan come out to play?"
She took a step forward, and looked down at him. It was a major accomplishment, since even in heels she was still two inches shorter than he was. "My husband and I have decided that it would be best if we did not have any dealings with the Echolls family."
"For Christ's sake . . ." he muttered. "Gotta be careful, I guess," he said, looking at her and trying not to slur his words too much. "Never know what I might influence Duncan to do. He could become a drunk, like me. Or a murderer, like my father. Too bad I don't have a sister for him to sleep with . . ."
The slap of her hand across his face was so unexpected, he found himself sitting on the ground at her feet. He shook his head and looked up at her.
"You are hell-bent on destruction, but I will *not* let you take my son with you. It's bad enough what happened to Lilly . . ."
Logan could see the tears glistening in her eyes, even in the little light that came from the open doorway. He rolled over, and managed to get to his feet. He took another drink, then turned around to face Mrs. Kane.
"Don't act like you're mourning Lilly. Now, if Duncan had died, yeah, I'd believe it. But I know how it was for Lilly in this house. Damn hypocrite, that's what you are. But I'm the bad influence . . ."
He turned around, not caring what her reaction might be. He weaved his way back to his house, finishing the bottle of Jack as he went. He took great satisfaction in leaving the bottle in the middle of the Kanes' lawn.
June 17
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.
Langston Hughes
"Oh, Logan," Veronica said, running her thumb over his face. "I don't know if you'll ever know how sorry I am."
"Veronica--" he said, stopping to kiss her. "I've missed you so much. God, you're the only good thing in my life."
He closed his eyes as she pushed him back on his bed, pressing light kisses across his face. Her small body was draped across his, and he rubbed his thumbs in circles on her hips. Her mouth met his, and he kissed her like she was water, oxygen, or some other vital ingredient to life. God knows that she was vital for him.
"Logan . . ." she moaned, a sound that went straight through him and made him hard. "God, I love you."
He felt his brain stutter and stop, as his body surged up, rolling her over and kissing her even more desperately. "I love you, I love you, I love you . . ." he muttered against her mouth.
"Awww, how sweet!"
He jerked up and looked over his shoulder, as Veronica kept running her hands over his shoulders and wiggling underneath him. "Lilly?" he asked in disbelief.
"In the flesh . . . well, not exactly," she said, a saucy grin on her face. "This is pretty hot to watch, I have to say."
"Lilly . . ." he said, not sure what to do.
"Hey, it's okay, Logan." Her grin faded, and a softer, more vulnerable expression came over her face. "You need someone. And Veronica needs someone too." She smiled enigmatically at him. "I'm going to be really happy for the two of you, when this really happens."
"What? What do you mean, Lilly?" he said, pulling away from Veronica and turning towards his dead girlfriend.
But she wasn't there anymore, and when he looked down at his bed, he felt his heart stop at what greeted him. Veronica, sprawled across his bed. Wearing her old pep squad uniform, blood caked in her hair, her eyes wide and sightless.
"Oh, God," he said, reaching for Veronica. But as his hands touched her, she disappeared, right in front of him.
June 27
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: You must do the things you think you cannot do.
Eleanor Roosevelt
"All right, Echolls, get your ass out of that excuse for a bed."
"Wha-huh?" he muttered, not opening his eyes. "That sounds like Weevil . . . why the hell would I hallucinate him?"
Suddenly, he found himself on the floor, squinting up at the man in question. He shook his head. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Weevil shrugged. "A little bird or two talked to me, said you needed to get the crap kicked out of you."
"And here I thought there were more people than that who wanted my ass kicked," he said, looking around for the bottle he'd taken to bed.
"It's all gone, kid," Weevil said. "You've just entered the Navarro Alcohol Rehabilitation Clinic, where the only treatment course is cold turkey."
Logan blinked, then laughed as loudly as he could without destroying more of his higher brain functions. "And you think I'm going to go through with that?"
"Doesn't matter to me whether you do it or not, but it does to the people who got me involved. So you might want to reconsider."
Logan rubbed a hand over his face. "All right, I'm confused."
"Wouldn't think it takes much with you right now."
"Shut up," he said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Someone told you to sober me up."
Weevil nodded. "Couple of benefactors have stepped forward. So, you gonna step up, or are you gonna make me go disappoint people who, for some strange reason, care about you?"
He sighed heavily. It seemed like some kind of sick joke: who cared about him? But then, why would Weevil be here, and not punching him? His head was pounding, his hands were shaking, and he couldn't think. He groaned. "If I say yes, will you go away and leave me alone? Or, even better, get me some aspirin and then go away?"
He fell back on the bed, not even hearing Weevil's response. It didn't matter, really. He wouldn't be there when Logan woke up--it had to be some weird symptom of sobering up.
July 4
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood.
Marie Curie
"All right, Echolls. Time to leave the cave."
"Fuck off."
"And happy Independence Day to you. And in honor of this momentous holiday, you're going out. Celebrating your week of sobriety."
"You asshole, I'm not sober . . . I've drunk so much that I'm going to be wasted for months--years, even."
"Ha, ha," Weevil said. "Go shower, and I might tell you who's going to be joining the festivities tonight."
Logan groaned but pulled himself out of bed. It was easier with Weevil to just do it and then think about how he'd kick the shit out of the annoying spic when he got the chance.
He groaned again as the hot water coursed over him. He'd almost forgotten what a shower felt like . . . personal hygiene wasn't high on your list of priorities when drinking yourself into a stupor. Now, though, he felt as clean as a whistle. Showers helped with the withdrawal.
Not drinking was easily the hardest thing he'd ever done. He couldn't quite remember when he had his first drink . . . he had memories of taking sips from his mom's glass and being surprised at the funny taste. By the time he was twelve, he drank regularly. Alcohol provided oblivion from anything that made him hurt: the beatings, the neglect, the deaths, the betrayal.
Children are fearful. You're scared of the monster in the closet or under your bed. You're scared of thunderstorms, of earthquakes. You're scared that your best friend is going to move away, you're scared that your parents are going to get divorced, you're scared that your grandma is going to die. And then there are the fears that haunt a few children, like the belts that hang in your father's closet.
Logan had found that his fears were best confronted with a smirk and a high blood alcohol level. He knew why he did the things he did, acted the way he did. But he couldn't tell the world at large, "I'm a psychotic asshole because my dad uses me as a punching bag!" He'd rather be the psychotic asshole. At least things would be on his terms then.
He stretched his arms out in front of him, placing his palms on the wall under the showerhead. The hot water sprayed over him, and he wondered if perhaps his terms should change.
"Echolls! Get your ass in gear."
Weevil's voice was muffled through the bathroom door, but it was loud enough to jerk him out of the fog. With a shake, he turned off the shower and got dressed. When he walked out of the bathroom, he drew up short when he saw his best friend sitting with Weevil.
"So, I guess your mom doesn't know you're here?" He didn't know where that came from; it was the only thing he could think to say.
Duncan shrugged his shoulders. "Don't really care, in fact. Had bigger things to worry about."
Logan slid his hands into his pockets, trying to hide the way they clenched. But he found himself sitting in the chair, and talking to Duncan, and insulting Weevil, and watching a ball game on TV, and only freaking out once, at the thought of going out in public to see the firework display. So they found themselves watching the fireworks on TV instead.
July 9
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Think wrongly, if you please, but in all cases think for yourself.
Doris Lessing
"Hey, man."
Logan slid into a booth across from Duncan. He kept his shades on, the light way too bright inside the grungy diner. "Hey. Sorry about the Fourth. Couldn't deal with leaving or anything, really."
Duncan waved off the apology. "Not a problem. I get sick of the rah-rah, yay America stuff, myself."
"Never gonna be president with that attitude, Mr. Kane," Logan said, waving over the waitress and ordering some coffee. Duncan seconded the order, and within a few moments, they had large cups of French roast to wrap their hands around.
Silence fell between them, and he found himself saying, "So why'd you do this?"
Duncan raised an eyebrow, and Logan elaborated. "You know, making me your project."
"You're not a project--you're my best friend." Duncan's words were quiet but emphatic.
"You should let your mom in on that tidbit--she's forgotten all about the years I spent more time at your house than at mine," he said, smirking at Duncan and taking a long sip of coffee. "Not to mention the fact that your father wants to destroy the whole Echolls clan."
"Jesus, Logan. It's not like we're the Hatfields and the McCoys--our families don't have a blood feud."
"Wait!" Logan held a hand up to his ear. "Is that 'Dueling Banjos' I hear?"
Duncan shook his head. "You're annoying as hell, Logan. But it's not going to work on me." His gaze was steady when he looked up at Logan. "It doesn't matter what my parents say or do. I figure it's time I stood by you."
Logan stared into his coffee cup. "I thought it was you . . ." Duncan looked confused. "Right before the shit went down with my dad, I was talking with . . . well, I couldn't help wondering if maybe you had . . ." His voice trailed off.
"Me, too," Duncan said.
Logan sat back in the booth. "So I guess we're good, huh?"
"Yeah, we're good," Duncan said.
Logan nodded, feeling a bit surprised. Duncan had never really disagreed with his parents. Hell, he had even broken up with . . . girls when his parents disapproved of them. So he wasn't quite sure where this new resolute Duncan came from, but he hoped he stayed around for a while. He'd missed his best friend.
July 13
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Hide not your Talents; they for use were made. What's a Sundial in the Shade?
Benjamin Franklin
"What you working on, little brother?"
Logan dropped his pen and turned over the page he had been writing on. "Nothing, Trina. What are you doing here?"
"Gotta check up on you, make sure you haven't done anything stupid."
"Then you're a little late then." He sat back, looking up at his half-sister. She'd been named his guardian earlier in the summer, an event he didn't really remember. Trina was actually working on some sitcom, so she was in L.A. most of the time. "How's work?"
"Oh, it's good." She paused, then drew out a chair and sat down across from him. "What would you think about moving down to L.A. with me?"
"What?" Logan leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. "Wouldn't I crimp your style too much? Get in the way of the wild parties and drunken debauchery?"
"I just thought you might like to get out of Neptune before the shit really hits the fan. Plus, you'd have a blast in L.A. Excuse me for wanting you to have fun," she said, pouting in her chair.
"Well, I'm sure your heart was in the right place--" He paused, and put on his best quizzical expression. "If you don't have a heart, I wonder if it can be in the right place?" Trina glared at him, and he shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks, Trina." Logan stood up and walked over towards the window, looking outside. "You know that going to L.A. would be like moving from a fishbowl to a shark tank. Especially once the trial gets started--"
"He's innocent until proven guilty, Logan."
"Oh, come off it, Trina," he said, whirling around to face her. "We both know that Daddy Dearest is gonna fry for this. Denying it won't change things--or let you get your hands on his money."
He turned back to look out the window, angry yet resigned. L.A. was the last place he wanted to go. And although Trina hadn't realized that he wasn't falling down drunk anymore, hanging out with Trina's crowd would be too big a temptation. He didn't feel the urge to crash the wagon just yet.
He hadn't realized how long he'd been staring out at the sunshine-splashed lawn, until he finally turned around and saw Trina reading his papers.
"What the hell, Trina?" he said, stomping over her and grabbing them away from her.
"Logan--" He ignored her, folding up the papers and stuffing them in his pocket. "Logan, come on, I only read a little."
"Why you'd read any of it?" he asked angrily. He didn't quite know why he felt so . . . vulnerable.
"I couldn't help myself. But Logan, you don't have anything to be embarrassed about?"
"Who says I'm embarrassed?" he said, slumping down on a couch near the table.
Trina got up and joined him. "Because you want to know if it's good, and you don't want to ask, and you hate that I saw it."
He didn't answer her, only shrugged his shoulders.
"Hey, Logan?"
He looked over at his sister. "Yeah?"
She smiled at him. "It's good."
He couldn't help the small grin that broke out on his face, before he ducked his head. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she said, nodding her head a few times. "I wish the scripts I got were that good. Hey, maybe you should write a screenplay! I've got tons of friends who'd be all over this--we could make it as an indie, enter it at Sundance . . ."
He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him. "Sorry, Trina, I don't think that'll be happening any time soon. But you'll be the first person to hear about any screenplays I write."
"You say that now, but then I'll pick up Variety and find out that you've gotten Katie Holmes for the lead," she said, giving him a pat on the top of his head as she got up. "See you later."
"As if I'd take Tom Cruise's girl-toy," he sniped back, watching her walk out the door.
End, Part One
Continue to Part Two
By Melissa (dettiot)
Characters: Logan POV; appearances by Weevil, Duncan, Veronica, Lilly, and Trina. Mentions of Veronica/Logan.
Rating: R
Word Count: 3215
Spoilers: 1x22
Summary: One version of Logan's summer.
Many thanks to cindermom for reading this over when I was stuck and helping me figure out how to end the story. Veronica's line about lessons on being a social outcast is all hers.
June 4
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Undeservedly you will atone for the sins of your fathers.
Horace
There wasn't enough liquor in the world to blot out the facts. There weren't enough punches in Weevil's fists to hide the truth: his father had killed Lilly. Had been sleeping with her, taping their little romps.
Logan wasn't quite sure how he wound up in his bed, rather than in the morgue. He seemed to remember Weevil showing up and beating the crap out of him, before some cops had come along. But did the cops take him home? Was it Weevil who told him about his dad? He couldn't remember. Some days, he couldn't even remember if he was alive. Now, though, he knew he was still in the land of the living. He knew that he was still alive because the pain slicing through him, thanks to the lack of booze in his system, meant that he was still sucking air.
"Yippee-ki-ya-fucking-yay," he muttered, flailing around for a bottle, any bottle, as long as it still had alcohol in it. Anything to block out the thoughts circling inside his head. Like how could he have missed the small fact of Lilly exploring Neptune's class differences in the bedroom. Like how he hadn't figured out that his father had killed Lilly. Like how that streak of violence in the men in his family, from father to son, and whether that meant he was cursed, too. Like how he'd spent his whole life trying to escape from his father's shadow, and just when he thought he had found the way out, he got dragged down into complete darkness.
June 9
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
Alexander Pope
"Yo, Duncan!" Logan shouted at the darkened windows of the Kane house. "Come on, you're my best friend. You dick, come out here and see me!"
Who cared that it was one in the morning? Logan wanted to talk to Duncan. He took a swig from the bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand.
The front door of the house swung open, and Logan smiled widely at the sight of Celeste Kane. "Well, hi, Mrs. Kane! I know you're trying to sue my family for everything we own, but can Duncan come out to play?"
She took a step forward, and looked down at him. It was a major accomplishment, since even in heels she was still two inches shorter than he was. "My husband and I have decided that it would be best if we did not have any dealings with the Echolls family."
"For Christ's sake . . ." he muttered. "Gotta be careful, I guess," he said, looking at her and trying not to slur his words too much. "Never know what I might influence Duncan to do. He could become a drunk, like me. Or a murderer, like my father. Too bad I don't have a sister for him to sleep with . . ."
The slap of her hand across his face was so unexpected, he found himself sitting on the ground at her feet. He shook his head and looked up at her.
"You are hell-bent on destruction, but I will *not* let you take my son with you. It's bad enough what happened to Lilly . . ."
Logan could see the tears glistening in her eyes, even in the little light that came from the open doorway. He rolled over, and managed to get to his feet. He took another drink, then turned around to face Mrs. Kane.
"Don't act like you're mourning Lilly. Now, if Duncan had died, yeah, I'd believe it. But I know how it was for Lilly in this house. Damn hypocrite, that's what you are. But I'm the bad influence . . ."
He turned around, not caring what her reaction might be. He weaved his way back to his house, finishing the bottle of Jack as he went. He took great satisfaction in leaving the bottle in the middle of the Kanes' lawn.
June 17
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.
Langston Hughes
"Oh, Logan," Veronica said, running her thumb over his face. "I don't know if you'll ever know how sorry I am."
"Veronica--" he said, stopping to kiss her. "I've missed you so much. God, you're the only good thing in my life."
He closed his eyes as she pushed him back on his bed, pressing light kisses across his face. Her small body was draped across his, and he rubbed his thumbs in circles on her hips. Her mouth met his, and he kissed her like she was water, oxygen, or some other vital ingredient to life. God knows that she was vital for him.
"Logan . . ." she moaned, a sound that went straight through him and made him hard. "God, I love you."
He felt his brain stutter and stop, as his body surged up, rolling her over and kissing her even more desperately. "I love you, I love you, I love you . . ." he muttered against her mouth.
"Awww, how sweet!"
He jerked up and looked over his shoulder, as Veronica kept running her hands over his shoulders and wiggling underneath him. "Lilly?" he asked in disbelief.
"In the flesh . . . well, not exactly," she said, a saucy grin on her face. "This is pretty hot to watch, I have to say."
"Lilly . . ." he said, not sure what to do.
"Hey, it's okay, Logan." Her grin faded, and a softer, more vulnerable expression came over her face. "You need someone. And Veronica needs someone too." She smiled enigmatically at him. "I'm going to be really happy for the two of you, when this really happens."
"What? What do you mean, Lilly?" he said, pulling away from Veronica and turning towards his dead girlfriend.
But she wasn't there anymore, and when he looked down at his bed, he felt his heart stop at what greeted him. Veronica, sprawled across his bed. Wearing her old pep squad uniform, blood caked in her hair, her eyes wide and sightless.
"Oh, God," he said, reaching for Veronica. But as his hands touched her, she disappeared, right in front of him.
June 27
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: You must do the things you think you cannot do.
Eleanor Roosevelt
"All right, Echolls, get your ass out of that excuse for a bed."
"Wha-huh?" he muttered, not opening his eyes. "That sounds like Weevil . . . why the hell would I hallucinate him?"
Suddenly, he found himself on the floor, squinting up at the man in question. He shook his head. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Weevil shrugged. "A little bird or two talked to me, said you needed to get the crap kicked out of you."
"And here I thought there were more people than that who wanted my ass kicked," he said, looking around for the bottle he'd taken to bed.
"It's all gone, kid," Weevil said. "You've just entered the Navarro Alcohol Rehabilitation Clinic, where the only treatment course is cold turkey."
Logan blinked, then laughed as loudly as he could without destroying more of his higher brain functions. "And you think I'm going to go through with that?"
"Doesn't matter to me whether you do it or not, but it does to the people who got me involved. So you might want to reconsider."
Logan rubbed a hand over his face. "All right, I'm confused."
"Wouldn't think it takes much with you right now."
"Shut up," he said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Someone told you to sober me up."
Weevil nodded. "Couple of benefactors have stepped forward. So, you gonna step up, or are you gonna make me go disappoint people who, for some strange reason, care about you?"
He sighed heavily. It seemed like some kind of sick joke: who cared about him? But then, why would Weevil be here, and not punching him? His head was pounding, his hands were shaking, and he couldn't think. He groaned. "If I say yes, will you go away and leave me alone? Or, even better, get me some aspirin and then go away?"
He fell back on the bed, not even hearing Weevil's response. It didn't matter, really. He wouldn't be there when Logan woke up--it had to be some weird symptom of sobering up.
July 4
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood.
Marie Curie
"All right, Echolls. Time to leave the cave."
"Fuck off."
"And happy Independence Day to you. And in honor of this momentous holiday, you're going out. Celebrating your week of sobriety."
"You asshole, I'm not sober . . . I've drunk so much that I'm going to be wasted for months--years, even."
"Ha, ha," Weevil said. "Go shower, and I might tell you who's going to be joining the festivities tonight."
Logan groaned but pulled himself out of bed. It was easier with Weevil to just do it and then think about how he'd kick the shit out of the annoying spic when he got the chance.
He groaned again as the hot water coursed over him. He'd almost forgotten what a shower felt like . . . personal hygiene wasn't high on your list of priorities when drinking yourself into a stupor. Now, though, he felt as clean as a whistle. Showers helped with the withdrawal.
Not drinking was easily the hardest thing he'd ever done. He couldn't quite remember when he had his first drink . . . he had memories of taking sips from his mom's glass and being surprised at the funny taste. By the time he was twelve, he drank regularly. Alcohol provided oblivion from anything that made him hurt: the beatings, the neglect, the deaths, the betrayal.
Children are fearful. You're scared of the monster in the closet or under your bed. You're scared of thunderstorms, of earthquakes. You're scared that your best friend is going to move away, you're scared that your parents are going to get divorced, you're scared that your grandma is going to die. And then there are the fears that haunt a few children, like the belts that hang in your father's closet.
Logan had found that his fears were best confronted with a smirk and a high blood alcohol level. He knew why he did the things he did, acted the way he did. But he couldn't tell the world at large, "I'm a psychotic asshole because my dad uses me as a punching bag!" He'd rather be the psychotic asshole. At least things would be on his terms then.
He stretched his arms out in front of him, placing his palms on the wall under the showerhead. The hot water sprayed over him, and he wondered if perhaps his terms should change.
"Echolls! Get your ass in gear."
Weevil's voice was muffled through the bathroom door, but it was loud enough to jerk him out of the fog. With a shake, he turned off the shower and got dressed. When he walked out of the bathroom, he drew up short when he saw his best friend sitting with Weevil.
"So, I guess your mom doesn't know you're here?" He didn't know where that came from; it was the only thing he could think to say.
Duncan shrugged his shoulders. "Don't really care, in fact. Had bigger things to worry about."
Logan slid his hands into his pockets, trying to hide the way they clenched. But he found himself sitting in the chair, and talking to Duncan, and insulting Weevil, and watching a ball game on TV, and only freaking out once, at the thought of going out in public to see the firework display. So they found themselves watching the fireworks on TV instead.
July 9
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Think wrongly, if you please, but in all cases think for yourself.
Doris Lessing
"Hey, man."
Logan slid into a booth across from Duncan. He kept his shades on, the light way too bright inside the grungy diner. "Hey. Sorry about the Fourth. Couldn't deal with leaving or anything, really."
Duncan waved off the apology. "Not a problem. I get sick of the rah-rah, yay America stuff, myself."
"Never gonna be president with that attitude, Mr. Kane," Logan said, waving over the waitress and ordering some coffee. Duncan seconded the order, and within a few moments, they had large cups of French roast to wrap their hands around.
Silence fell between them, and he found himself saying, "So why'd you do this?"
Duncan raised an eyebrow, and Logan elaborated. "You know, making me your project."
"You're not a project--you're my best friend." Duncan's words were quiet but emphatic.
"You should let your mom in on that tidbit--she's forgotten all about the years I spent more time at your house than at mine," he said, smirking at Duncan and taking a long sip of coffee. "Not to mention the fact that your father wants to destroy the whole Echolls clan."
"Jesus, Logan. It's not like we're the Hatfields and the McCoys--our families don't have a blood feud."
"Wait!" Logan held a hand up to his ear. "Is that 'Dueling Banjos' I hear?"
Duncan shook his head. "You're annoying as hell, Logan. But it's not going to work on me." His gaze was steady when he looked up at Logan. "It doesn't matter what my parents say or do. I figure it's time I stood by you."
Logan stared into his coffee cup. "I thought it was you . . ." Duncan looked confused. "Right before the shit went down with my dad, I was talking with . . . well, I couldn't help wondering if maybe you had . . ." His voice trailed off.
"Me, too," Duncan said.
Logan sat back in the booth. "So I guess we're good, huh?"
"Yeah, we're good," Duncan said.
Logan nodded, feeling a bit surprised. Duncan had never really disagreed with his parents. Hell, he had even broken up with . . . girls when his parents disapproved of them. So he wasn't quite sure where this new resolute Duncan came from, but he hoped he stayed around for a while. He'd missed his best friend.
July 13
You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Hide not your Talents; they for use were made. What's a Sundial in the Shade?
Benjamin Franklin
"What you working on, little brother?"
Logan dropped his pen and turned over the page he had been writing on. "Nothing, Trina. What are you doing here?"
"Gotta check up on you, make sure you haven't done anything stupid."
"Then you're a little late then." He sat back, looking up at his half-sister. She'd been named his guardian earlier in the summer, an event he didn't really remember. Trina was actually working on some sitcom, so she was in L.A. most of the time. "How's work?"
"Oh, it's good." She paused, then drew out a chair and sat down across from him. "What would you think about moving down to L.A. with me?"
"What?" Logan leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. "Wouldn't I crimp your style too much? Get in the way of the wild parties and drunken debauchery?"
"I just thought you might like to get out of Neptune before the shit really hits the fan. Plus, you'd have a blast in L.A. Excuse me for wanting you to have fun," she said, pouting in her chair.
"Well, I'm sure your heart was in the right place--" He paused, and put on his best quizzical expression. "If you don't have a heart, I wonder if it can be in the right place?" Trina glared at him, and he shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks, Trina." Logan stood up and walked over towards the window, looking outside. "You know that going to L.A. would be like moving from a fishbowl to a shark tank. Especially once the trial gets started--"
"He's innocent until proven guilty, Logan."
"Oh, come off it, Trina," he said, whirling around to face her. "We both know that Daddy Dearest is gonna fry for this. Denying it won't change things--or let you get your hands on his money."
He turned back to look out the window, angry yet resigned. L.A. was the last place he wanted to go. And although Trina hadn't realized that he wasn't falling down drunk anymore, hanging out with Trina's crowd would be too big a temptation. He didn't feel the urge to crash the wagon just yet.
He hadn't realized how long he'd been staring out at the sunshine-splashed lawn, until he finally turned around and saw Trina reading his papers.
"What the hell, Trina?" he said, stomping over her and grabbing them away from her.
"Logan--" He ignored her, folding up the papers and stuffing them in his pocket. "Logan, come on, I only read a little."
"Why you'd read any of it?" he asked angrily. He didn't quite know why he felt so . . . vulnerable.
"I couldn't help myself. But Logan, you don't have anything to be embarrassed about?"
"Who says I'm embarrassed?" he said, slumping down on a couch near the table.
Trina got up and joined him. "Because you want to know if it's good, and you don't want to ask, and you hate that I saw it."
He didn't answer her, only shrugged his shoulders.
"Hey, Logan?"
He looked over at his sister. "Yeah?"
She smiled at him. "It's good."
He couldn't help the small grin that broke out on his face, before he ducked his head. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she said, nodding her head a few times. "I wish the scripts I got were that good. Hey, maybe you should write a screenplay! I've got tons of friends who'd be all over this--we could make it as an indie, enter it at Sundance . . ."
He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him. "Sorry, Trina, I don't think that'll be happening any time soon. But you'll be the first person to hear about any screenplays I write."
"You say that now, but then I'll pick up Variety and find out that you've gotten Katie Holmes for the lead," she said, giving him a pat on the top of his head as she got up. "See you later."
"As if I'd take Tom Cruise's girl-toy," he sniped back, watching her walk out the door.
End, Part One
Continue to Part Two