215 DAYS

It wasn't the bridge, but it was a bridge. Fear is temporary, regret is permanent. Logan finished the bottle of Jack and tossed it over the edge; watching as it fell the 365 feet, 165 feet more than his mother's jump, and was swallowed by the churning water below. The rushing sound of nearby Victoria Falls echoed the same vacant rushing sound in his brain. He stepped to the edge, no hesitation, no second thoughts, and jumped. The ten seconds of falling and Logan felt more alive than he had in months until the bungee cord pulled him back from the brink and the word coward exploded through his head. He didn't know if it was directed at his mother for giving up on her life or at himself for holding on to his.

His body dangled from the cord, swinging back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. A perfect analogy since that was all he had left now- time and it was endless. He was positive there were more than twenty four hours in each of his days. He was literally in two places at once, Zambia and Zimbabwe and yet he felt like he didn't exist at all, not since that day. Actually he didn't know where to start counting. Was it 'you're out of my life forever' (215 days ago), or five days later in the cafeteria 'it's gonna take some time' (210 days ago), or twelve weeks after when he got the news 'Veronica's not coming back to Neptune' (119 days ago). Definitely 215 days.

Logan let them detach the harness and pull him into the boat, a raft really. This was his third jump and he wanted to do it again, but with more booze this time. You weren't allowed to drink or be drunk; those were the rules, but as he learned from dear old Dad, money meant rules didn't apply. He was in Africa. His trust fund could probably support the entire continent for the next several years thanks to a sudden influx of residuals and hidden assets. Thanks Papa.

In Africa and alone for Christmas break and still entirely too sober. On the bright side, he could be with Parker in Denver. God, I'm glad she's gone. He'd found the perfect combination of alcohol, drugs and mindless sex with Parker to get him through the summer and the first semester of his sophomore year at Hearst. Then she had to get clingy and start talking about The Future, throwing around words like marriage and commitment. Parker, are you blind? I've been using you to forget Veronica and it's just not working for me anymore, but hey thanks for playing. Don Pardo, tell her what she's won.

He'd been careful to avoid anyone who might remind him of Veronica. The one class he had with Wallace, he immediately dropped and he stopped calling Mac. It was harder to avoid the places. All of fucking Neptune reminded him of her. His first order of business was moving out of the Grand. The apartment, closet, he rented was a shithole, but it was in a neighborhood they'd never been to. She might've gone there on one of her cases, but they'd never been there together. It was a crappy twelve block radius of no memories and it was right above a liquor store. Perfection.

Dick had been harder to ditch. His one and only friend and even he brought up too many memories attached to her. Seeing Dick made him think of Beaver, which made him think…fuck, he was doing it again, see, entirely too sober.

Logan looked around. He vaguely remembered getting out of the boat, raft, and walking, but he had no fucking clue where he was now. More importantly, he had no idea where to get more alcohol. Fuck you, Veronica.

236 DAYS

He wrote her another letter. God, I'm fucking pathetic. Logan was pretty sure he was supposed to be back in Neptune. Classes had already started, but he didn't want to leave…where the fuck am I? The live reggae music was making his head hurt, but the view was amazing. Especially the very tan, topless beauty with the cinnamon hair, no more blondes thank you very much, and the dark eyes. What did Neil Young sing? I could be happy the rest of my life with a cinnamon girl.

The waitress brought him another round of shots. Six little glasses with the red, yellow and green logo and the words The World Famous, Rick's Café emblazoned across the side. Logan knew there was an obligatory Casablanca reference to be made here, but he didn't feel like it. Besides, he wasn't in Morocco, he was in…Jamaica... Negril, Jamaica and he was here to cliff dive, tombstoning, is what they called it. He made eye contact with Cinnamon Girl and pushed three of his shots across the table toward the empty seat opposite him. She smiled and he gave her the soulful stare and beckoning half smile in return.

When she was close enough to the table to hear him, he said, "please don't make me drink alone." As far as pick up lines went, it sucked, but he didn't really give a fuck. She could take him up on his offer or he could move on to the next one. It didn't matter. Eventually he would find one who said yes and he wouldn't have to be alone tonight. Cinnamon picked up one of the shots and threw it back like a pro. She probably swallows.

She joined him at the table for the next two shots and then he ordered another round. He listened to her, but he wasn't really paying attention. Logan was retaining just enough information to fake it; name? Not important. Here on vacation from? Don't care. "Do you want to get out of here?" That, he heard.

They went back to her hotel room. In Zambia, he made the mistake of taking… Dusky Jewel, 'her arms are wicked and her legs are long'…to his room and it took forever to make her leave. He wasn't going to be doing that again. Better their room where he could slip out once they were asleep. Cinnamon was taller than Veronica. It made it easier to stop and engage in hot, wet kisses on their walk to the Seastar Inn. No bending down or leaning over required. Her mouth, right there, level with his. She tasted like tequila and seawater.

There were condoms in his pocket. Traveling light was the way to go- condoms and cash. The hotel room was the same as a thousand other hotel rooms; queen-sized bed with scratchy sheets, two nightstands and cheap artwork. Once the door closed behind them, his hands skimmed down her sides and over lush curves. He kissed her while his fingers undid the ties holding up her tiny white bikini briefs. From drinks to completely naked in under an hour, my new personal best.

Her hands were fisted in his t-shirt and she was pulling him toward the bed. Logan let himself be led. They fell on the mattress, a tangle of arms and legs, their mouths still joined. He palmed her breasts, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers; gentle at first and then a little rougher until he found the right pressure to make her moan. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he kissed down her throat. No marshmallows and promises. Her skin smelled like coconut oil and sunshine.

Logan was still dressed. He moved off the bed. Cinnamon propped herself up on her elbows to watch him. She pulled one leg up, bending it at the knee and invitingly parted her thighs. A Hollywood wax; completely bare. Tossing the condoms on the bed, Logan divested himself of his clothes and slid up her body. Her eyes were so dark, the pupils and irises blended together in an inky pool, but all he saw was blue. Squeezing his eyes closed, he kissed her. It was a punishing kiss; an assault, bruising lips, clacking teeth, and clashing tongues. Not her.

His hands found her breasts again; tweaking and pulling at her nipples until they were tight and throbbing beneath his fingers. Cinnamon was moaning against his lips. They were deep, guttural sounds nothing like the breathless pants and the soft whimpers that Veronica…fuck. He needed to think about something else. Logan caught her nipple between his teeth and tugged on it before pulling it into his mouth and sucking. She tastes wrong.

The before-Veronica Logan cared. He wanted to be redeemed, saved even, and reformed. That Logan wanted someone to love him. To think enough of him to stick around, to maybe utter the words I love you and mean them. He cared if it was good for them; if they were satisfied. No skimping on foreplay. This new Logan, after-Veronica Logan, didn't give a fuck. There was no heart left to care. Not after Veronica ripped it from his chest and stomped all over it with her butch boots.

This wasn't working for him. He was still soft. Logan let his mind drift. The first time he slept with Veronica was awkward. He'd been so afraid of hurting her. Not just physically, but emotionally. When he told her if the cuddling is the best part, he didn't do it right, he said it to hurt her because he was angry and jealous. He didn't know how close to the truth his words actually were. Not until he realized Duncan didn't do anything for her; didn't make sure she got off. Kind of like what you're doing now with Cinnamon.

Logan dragged his mind back to the woman beneath him. He planted sloppy, wet kisses down her flat belly and moved down the bed. His tongue circled her clit and she buried her fingers in his hair. Her grip was firm. There was no soft, delicate stroking of his hair. Sliding two fingers into her, he started to pump while he nipped and sucked at her clit. Musky.

The first time he went down on Veronica was mind blowing. She tasted so good. There was nothing he could compare it to. No frame of reference for the taste of Veronica. Watching her pupils dilate and her azure eyes darken when she orgasmed and cried out his name was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Each time he slept with her was better than the time before. He couldn't get enough of her and then he had to go and get drunk and fuck Madison. "What do you want me to do?"

He didn't realize he'd spoken the words out loud until Cinnamon murmured, "fuck me." The words barely registered. In his head he heard the response from when he asked Veronica that question in his suite at the Grand, make it not true…this is something I'm never getting past.

Logan rolled on a condom and slammed into Cinnamon. He unlocked the memory. It was the end of summer. They'd spent the entire day on the beach swimming, trying to seek relief from the heatwave rolling through Neptune. A secluded spot, far away from the rest of the world and Veronica spread out on the red beach blanket.

He moved deeper and harder. His body responding not to the woman he was with, but the woman in his memory. Fuck you, Veronica.