10 Days Clean
There was the beer bong at that beach party of Dick's, day after Thanksgiving. God, he must have been 16 or so.
"Logan?"
Parker's birthday. He'd been great at hiding it from her. A tiny silver flask he'd liberated from Aaron's bar after his dad had disappeared from home, full of Jack Daniels. Poor deluded Parker.
"C'mon, you need to talk to me."
The premiere. His first serious movie, put him on the map as a bona fide producer. He'd gone to heroin for that one, needed the boost. Oh, God, the burn through his veins...
"Logan..."
"Why are you here?" His voice is low, ragged, but he finally speaks.
Veronica looks up from studying her hands on the table. Her face is white, eyes bloodshot. Logan thinks she's looked better. Knows he probably looks worse. "Because of you," she says, "I thought you were dead."
There's someone Logan should be thinking about, someone whose name comes easily to his lips. He searches, opens his mouth. "What about Piz?"
Tears glitter on Veronica's lashes. "He's gone. Went back to Oregon."
Logan frowns, clears his throat. "Why?"
Veronica just looks at him, the hurt in her eyes ineffable. "The premiere, Logan. Your limo."
And he can't look at her anymore, can't talk, because he remembers and yet he doesn't.
He remembers:
"Veronica," he moans into the skin of her throat. She moves on him, he moves in her, and it's Veronica, it's coming home, it's finding himself again. It's hard to think past the deadly combination of heroin and alcohol, he knows everything about this is dangerous, he remembers Piz, Piz's face under his knuckles in the sound booth at Hearst. But it can't be wrong because it's Veronica with him, and Logan lets go, thrusts up into her and is lost.
78 Days Clean
First thing Logan does when he wakes up is mark a big black slash through the previous day on the calendar. "God grant me the serenity... Ah, fuck it." He stares at the calendar, then rolls out of bed and lights a cigarette.
Logan's not sure he ever believed in God, and serenity is as foreign a concept to him as a cell phone to a baboon. He can catch glimpses of it surrounded by ocean and alone on his surfboard, but most times he's in such forward motion he can't grasp it. The whole therapy thing had ceased being helpful to him since Lilly's death and the monotonous and never-ending How are you feeling that drove him crazy. He didn't want to know what he was feeling, and fuck if he was gonna tell some stranger getting paid $250 a hour to listen.
He pours out Lucky Charms, and as he's adding milk he remembers the champagne Duncan had bogarted from his dad for that last prom with the four of them. He realizes, standing there in saggy boxers, still whip-thin from all the heroin, that he would kill for a taste of that champagne again. But that's nothing new to him, and he sighs, decides today would not be a good day for his grand arrival back into the office. Casual lunches with three martinis, directors coming back from the bathroom wiping their noses, actresses discretely popping pills with their Perrier. Not a good place for someone 18 days out of rehab.
But there's still a lot he can accomplish from home, and he has a suspicion that his office probably runs more efficiently with him not there. A quick call to his partner, Novack, confirms it and Logan dresses and tries to remember the rest of the stupid prayer. It was something about courage and wisdom, but for Logan it's always been sheer luck and stubbornness. He's getting impatient with this whole recovering addict thing, the constant checking up, the constant craving, can't concentrate on the few work-related chores he has. The doorbell brings a wave of relief.
Which crashes at Veronica's feet.
She looks pale and drawn and perhaps worse than the night she'd found him catatonic on the floor of the bathroom in their hotel room. Logan hasn't seen her since that one and only visit in rehab. He looks at her, instantly thinking of every moment she'd been naked in his arms, but she's locked down. Eyes cold and implacable, arms crossed over her chest; Logan thinks she couldn't have been more obviously here for battle if she'd worn a suit of armor.
"Ah, just the ray of sunshine I was hoping for." He leans against the door and walks it open, gestures grandly for her to enter.
She brings a chill with her as she enters, sits stiffly on the edge of the couch. Logan sits across from her, flicks his lighter on a Camel and looks at her. "You here to point and laugh or is there something else you want to torment me with?"
"I'm pregnant."
"That would do it."
They sit in silence for a moment, and then Logan carefully stubs out the Camel. Veronica looks down at her knees. Logan's phone rings and they both look at it until silence falls again.
"Are you sure?" All those lectures from Aaron so long ago, Aaron so terrified his son would knock up some bimbo and have it splashed across the tabloids makes him ask. The irony of that is thick and tastes like blood in his mouth.
Veronica doesn't look up. "I heard the heartbeat."
Again there's a small silence, and Logan worries the lighter between his fingers. "So," he says carefully. "Is this where I write a check made out to cash and change my number?"
She makes a moue of disgust. "Don't be an asshole."
He can't really comprehend what's happening, wishes for a drink fervently. "Can you take…" His hands move futilely. "…care of it?"
She shakes her head, looks away, but Logan catches the hint of tears. "Logan."
He spreads his hands. In his mind's eye, he sees Aaron's furious face because Logan spilled Kool-Aid on the carpet. "What do you want me to do, Veronica?"
She looks at him, face unguarded and open, and he sees Fix it and Help me and Make it better. He'd never been good at any of those with Veronica since their first year at Hearst, since she had found Piz. Logan had seen them, had watched how Piz seemed to find all those spots where she ached and soothed them away. He isn't sure what good he ever did her, only knows now that he can't. He looks down at his hands, still holding the lighter, watches the tremor in them and remembers the beer he had at the party the night Mercer almost raped Veronica.
"Where's Piz?" Puts the lighter on the coffee table, clasps his hands together.
"Not here." It doesn't seem possible, but Veronica gets more defensive, and Logan shies away.
"You weren't on the pill, the night..."
She gives a shaky laugh, and Logan is suddenly terrified of how close she is to falling apart. That can't happen. He cannot live in a world where Veronica falls apart.
"I was, but accidents happen, right?" She raises her hands in a helpless gesture. "You were too fucked to figure out a condom, I was too-" She cuts herself off ruthlessly.
Logan leans back against the couch, looks away from her. Remembers his first hit of heroin at a party of Dick's in his third year at Hearst. "What do you want me to do?" He asks again.
She doesn't answer. Her face closes up, goes stone, and the door closing after her is the only sound in the apartment. Logan reaches for a cigarette, but then throws the pack across the room. He tears the house apart until he finds an old prescription for Xanax, eats it like candy.
5 Days Clean
It's better now, Logan can handle it, he's clean again, and the first thing he does when he wakes up is mark a big black X on the calendar through the day before. "God grant me serenity, no, uh, wisdom... fuck it."
This time he has to leave the house to find anything, comes home from the liquor store with his arms full of vodka and his head full how many times Aaron used the belt.
3 Days Clean
Logan can handle it. "God grant me... Please... Shit." He misses an important call with some high and mighty director, calls another one he knows and ends up with some oxycontin.
1 Day Clean
"Can't do it, Dick."
"You sound like fuck."
Logan gives a high, breathless laugh. The room spins around him. "Is that even possible?"
"With you, yes. Shit, bro, what happened?"
The root cause remains the same, Logan thinks. He can never change the way he reacts to it. The thought is bitter and dark and sends him reaching for the half-empty fifth of gin on the table. "Veronica's pregnant."
"Dude, you sent a man in without protection? Unforgivable," Dick says. "I'll be there in 20 minutes."
60 Days Clean
When Logan gets home Keith Mars greets him, Logan walks right into the man's fist, and sees nothing but flashes of light as he clings to the door for balance. He finally gives up, drops to the floor in a controlled fall and looks up at Keith. "Howdy, Mr. Mars."
"Veronica is pregnant." He is standing in his sheriff pose, hands on hips, mouth set firmly as he stares down at Logan.
Logan stands carefully, moves his jaw experimentally. "I heard." He's always tried his damnedest with Keith, best foot forward and all that. Keith had always been Logan's ideal as far as being a father, if a little schlubby for his taste.
"What are you going to do to make this right, Logan?"
Logan crosses his arms over his chest, fingers worrying at his sleeves. He chooses his words carefully, can't quite meet Keith's gaze. "I'm still trying to make me right, Keith. Mr. Mars."
Keith is implacable, stares at him with cold eyes, and what hurts worse, a small flicker of betrayal.
Logan sighs. He thought rehab had been bad, opening him up and destroying every delusion he'd ever had about himself, all the carefully cultivated lies. Now, only two hours after he checked himself out, Keith Mars shows up to finish the job. Logan had already been working at re-building his ego through martyred self-denial, but Keith immediately throws back in his face. He fumbles for a cigarette, lights it with shaking hands while Keith fixes him with a stony glare.
"To be honest, Mr. Mars, Veronica doesn't want me to make it right. She has Piz, she has everything mapped out just how she wants it." He takes a long drag, remembers the only correspondence he had gotten from her. "She sent me a letter asking me to relinquish parental rights."
Keith's hands tighten into fists again and Logan steels himself for another punch, but the older man turns away. "Their divorce was final a couple of weeks ago."
Logan stares at the floor. Stupid, high and mighty Piz. He'd been sure Piz would do the right thing, give Veronica the support she needed. Maybe Piz thought this was the right thing. It's fucked up reasoning to Logan, whose morality starts and ends with Veronica.
"Which is why I'm here." Keith says, and his shoulders slump minutely. Logan's gaze sharpens, sensing a weakness. Keith takes a deep breath, looks up at him. "She needs help."
"She won't take my money." But Logan feels a whisper of hope.
"Then get your butt over there and see what she will take."
She needs help. Logan considers that, pushes past that thready beat of hope. And yet it's her father here, asking for it. Veronica has never asked for help. Logan moves warily past Keith, leading him down the hall and into the kitchen. He goes to the fridge, opens it, and sadly examines the contents. It's obvious Dick's been through, ransacked the house for any and all addictive substances. The only thing in the fridge is a jar of olives, ketchup and a moldy banana. Logan closes the door, leans against it. He doesn't want to confront Veronica. He can't right now. He's teetering on the precipice of sobriety, and all he can see when he closes his eyes is Lynn, lost in a chemical haze while her son gets his ass handed to him on a daily basis.
His voice is low when he finally speaks. "I'll talk to her tonight, okay, Mr. Mars?" He's not really surprised when he says that, when he means it. "Will that get you off my back? I'll talk to her and she'll do what she always does and I'll end up here eating olives and trying not to get high."
Keith doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks at him, and Logan finally turns away to flick his cigarette into the sink. "You don't have time for that," Keith says again, stubbornly. "You need to realize you have a child now."
"Yeah, 'cause I had such a great example in my own father."
Keith moves, his hands moving in a frustrated gesture, starts down the hall for the front door. He stops, looks back at Logan. "Still using that excuse. But it seems to me you're more like your mother, Logan."
61 Days Clean
It's a little after midnight and finally Logan raises his fist and knocks on Veronica's door. He remembers Christmas of '06, the vanilla vodka in the eggnog as he waits for her to open it.
She stuns him with her beauty and he forgets about the eggnog.
They stare at each other for awhile; so many times of opening doors and making decisions based solely on the way they look at each other. Logan goes for somewhere between I want to kill you and I want to fuck you, and he must have hit the right note because Veronica sighs and lets him in.
They sit awkwardly. Logan wishes for cigarettes, looks at the round bump that is Veronica's waist and fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket.
"How was rehab?" She seems very calm, if a little pale, blue eyes searching for something as she studies him.
"Great. The Jonas brothers are very down to earth when they're not stoned."
"Why are you here?"
"Your dad said you needed help."
She sighs again, but her lips curve into a reluctant smile. Logan can't tell what she's thinking, but recognizes the look from the millions of times he tried to show her he could do better. He wants to kiss her. "How are you gonna help me, Logan?"
"I have no fucking clue." He spreads his hands. "Tell me. If you want me to just be a bank for you I can do that. If you want me to... to help you with that breathing shit I can do that." Logan is very careful not to mention the baby, changing diapers, holding small bodies... that he is not sure he can do.
Veronica seems tired but peaceful, Logan had woken her up when he had called, asked if he could come over. She gives him a soft look, and something in him crumbles; he leans forward and offers his hand. Veronica smiles, slips her hand in his. "This isn't us getting back together," she says, her words sharper than the glow in her face, "this is us helping the baby."
Logan drops his eyes, looks at their hands together. He wanted that, he would always want that. Some flash of memory from the night in the limo hits him, Veronica crying even as she takes his kiss. He has some idea that what had occurred that night broke her, Veronica joining the realms of cheaters that she had scorned for so long. Now he and the baby bump would always be a reminder of that night and of her fatal mistake. This was the best he could do. He raises his gaze to Veronica's face and smiles.
88 Days Clean
The lunch had been a bad idea.
Logan jitters in Veronica's kitchen as she gathers together the stuff needed for her birthing class. Veronica's decided on the whole natural birth thing, something Logan knows more about than he thinks he should, but it's not his body and if Veronica wants to squat in a bathtub and give birth all he can do is stand by and cheer her on. He realizes he's not in the best mood today, wishes hard for a cigarette.
The lunch. Him and Novack and that asshole Greg. Greg starting immediately with a Cosmopolitan, Novack shooting Logan an apologetic look before ordering a glass of red wine.
"Logan?"
He looks up and realizes Veronica's been calling his name. "Sorry. What?"
She points to the counter behind him, puts a hand on her belly. "My tablet, please."
He gives it to her and she starts on about something, and Logan can't stand still, goes to her fridge and opens the door. Stares hard at the innocent bottles of water inside before slamming it closed.
"What is wrong with you?"
Logan startles, looks up to see Veronica frowning at him.
Greg had gone to the bathroom and come back with blown pupils, and Logan still ached from how near he had been. How easy it would be. At lunch, Logan had realized he wasn't gonna make it. Sobriety. He wasn't gonna make it.
Somehow the thought immediately calms him, and he gives Veronica a smile. "I'm fine. Ready to go?"
He takes her to her class, doesn't participate much, just watches Veronica and the calm, smooth way she moves. The baby seems to have grounded her, tethered her to the world and given her something to protect, and for that Logan is grateful. Mostly because he knows it's just a matter of time for him. He goes through the rest of the day with it beating in his head, the idea of soon. Stoned, drunk, whatever. Soon.
It carries him through the rest of Veronica's class, him with only half an ear on Veronica and the teacher, and he gets a cold look when he drops her off, but he doesn't care. It carries him through the night, the next couple of days, and the only thing stopping him from moving forward with it is just the peace it gives him now. Logan knows as soon as he downs that first glass, swallows that first pill, it will be a long, noisy drop into nothing.
So he waits, knowing that the peaceful thought of soon would last only as long as the road stayed smooth.
93 Days Clean
Logan sits on the edge of the bed with his feet icy on the floor and stares at the clock. It's 5:30 in the morning and Veronica was on the phone. Scared. Nervous. Asking him to come over. They have another month before the kid is scheduled to show up, but Veronica's been having pains all night, and is finally scared enough to want to go to the hospital. Wants Logan to take her.
He's been waiting for it, that final push, and thinking about the letter he still has from Veronica asking him to relinquish parental rights and Veronica's hand in his and the round belly that is his son's home, Logan quits. He can't. And he knows he's a coward, his head full of Aaron Echolls' ghost and right now he doesn't fucking care.
His phone is still in his hand and he speed dials Dick.
"Uh."
"Dick. Go pick up Veronica. Or call her dad. She needs to get to the hospital."
"Wha?"
"Go get Veronica. She needs to go to the hospital."
"Logan. It's not morning."
Logan sighs. He does not need morning-impaired Dick right now. "It is, dude. Listen to me. Veronica needs to go to the hospital. Go get her."
"Why not you?"
"I'm sick."
"Fuck you are."
"I can't."
"Don't you do this, Logan."
"I'm doing it. Please. Go get Veronica."
"You're a cocksucker, Logan, a stupid fucking coward. Don't you do this to her. To me. Fuck, to yourself. Now get the fuck dressed and be a man."
There's a long moment of breathing and then Logan hangs up.
10 Days Clean
Logan hits his office remembering the fifth of rum he had left in his desk, and is mildly surprised when he has to think about the last time he had a drink. Kara the receptionist hands him a stack of mail when he enters, and the blush on her cheeks makes Logan smirk. He doesn't remember fooling around with her but her reaction is promising, and he gives her a wink before turning away.
There's a plain white envelope with no return address in his mail and Logan goes for the rum at the sight of it, pours out a healthy measure in a plastic cup. He stares at the envelope, sure it's hate mail regarding Aaron or Lynn, something to bring up all the old nasty shit again and he opens it hesitantly.
It's a picture of a baby. Logan doesn't know what to feel. A baby with blue eyes. He takes a breath and turns the picture over.
Logan,
This is your son at 2 months. Jackson Keith Mars. He likes to wait until his mom is dressed and then spits up all over her.
~A friend.
Some generic baby, Logan guesses it's cute, aren't all babies cute? And except for the blue eyes there's nothing about the kid that marks it out as his or Veronica's. But looking closer and Logan can see Veronica in the shape of the eyes. Abruptly he opens the middle drawer of his desk and slides the photo in, slams it closed. Downs the rum quickly.
4 Days Clean
Logan,
This is your son at 4 months. He has a favorite blanket that is purple with yellow stars, and loves a giraffe named The Dude.
~A friend.
Logan stands with his hands on hips next to his desk and stares down at the picture. The kid's got a goofy smile, is running drool down his chin, and Logan is struck by the similarity to his own baby pictures. Except for those blue eyes. That's all Veronica, and with an angry gesture he sweeps the picture out of sight into the drawer, with all the others.
2 Days Clean
Logan,
This is your son at 4 ½ months. He just got over RSV, and his mom had to run him to the ER one night because he wasn't breathing.
~A friend.
3 Days Clean
Logan,
This is your son at 6 months. He is very stubborn when it comes to teething, preferring his mom's turquoise pendant as a teether rather than the teething ring.
~A friend.
30 Days Clean
The plain white envelope with no return address sits innocently on Logan's kitchen countertop. He stares at it in defeat. It's the first time he's ever received one at home, and he has the sinking feeling that his "friend" knows he's taken leave of his production company. Just got up and left one day, Kara staring after him, a $500 baggie of heroin left in the middle drawer of his desk. There hadn't been room for it at first, and Logan had taken all the pictures of the baby out of it, shoved in the heroin and shoved the pictures in his messenger bag. Walked out nearly 20 days ago, with only one phone call to Novack.
There's no calendar this time, no fucking serenity prayer. Just Logan and the sheer stubbornness he's always had, the determination to do things his way. He's been doing things his way for about a month now.
Until this picture.
Logan thinks about the first glass of wine he'd had, sitting next to his mother at Thanksgiving, Aaron giving him a smile and a pat on the head. If Logan remembers correctly, he'd been 10, and that night he'd ended up in the ER when Aaron shook him so hard by the arm it had snapped.
Fuck it. Logan nods to himself, and quickly opens the envelope.
It's Jackson, dressed in Easter best, bowtie and sweater vest, with bunny ear boppers on his head. He looks completely miserable, and Logan gives a surprised bark of laughter, turns the picture over.
Logan,
This is your son at 7 months. He loves razzies on his tummy and eats bananas only when they've been squeezed to the right consistency in his hands.
~A friend.
Logan studies the picture for a long time, then sets it neatly down on the top of the others. Turns his back to the pictures as he speed dials a number, leans against the counter and chews his thumbnail as the phone rings.
"You named him Jackson?" He says in response in Veronica's hello.
There's a quick, indrawn breath. "Logan."
He needs to move, draws his hand down over his jaw, fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "And I don't think Jackson is a bowtie kinda guy." His own breath in is a bit ragged.
"I really don't think you're in a position to know," she says, her voice cool.
Logan considers carefully his response, given what he knows from the pictures and the small tidbits of information written on the back. "A man with a stuffed giraffe named The Dude would not wear bowties," he says finally, hand over his eyes.
There's a long pause from Veronica. Logan can hear her breathing. "I see," she says finally. "Someone's been snitching."
Logan has his own ideas of who the friend is, but the point was never who was sending the pictures. He stays quiet, nibbles a fingernail.
"And how long has it been since you've been high?" Her voice is blank, careful.
Logan sighs, rubs his face, toes at the linoleum. He hates that she asks, but can't fault her for doing so. "About a month. Can I -" and he stumbles a little, mostly because he's not used to asking, but this is Veronica and he needs her permission. "Can I see him?"
He hears a voice in the background, takes a long breath because he thinks he recognizes it as Piz's. Veronica's voice back is muffled, her hand over the phone. "Tomorrow," she says abruptly, anger predominant in her voice. "Come to the house at 3." She hangs up quickly.
Logan remembers to breathe, goes out on the balcony for a cigarette.
31 Days Clean
Piz answers the door.
They stare at each other for a long moment, and Logan can actually feel his hackles rise. Piz's face is wide open with anger and that earnest look that Logan hates. Piz steps back, and behind him Veronica is watching them, arms folded across her body. She's stone, more than stone. Logan suddenly feels immensely weary, looks away from her, hands fisted in the sleeves of his jacket.
"He's in the kitchen," she says, blue eyes sparking.
Logan moves by Piz and walks down the small entry hall, pauses briefly next to Veronica and looks at her. She doesn't move, her eyes flick up to his and away, and Logan brushes by.
He turns the corner into the kitchen and immediately behind him he hears Piz talking low and intense, Veronica's voice furious in reply. Can't really make out what they are saying and doesn't want to, their words meant only for the other. Logan knows what he destroyed that night in the back of his limo. He's not asshole enough to listen to the death throes.
There's a baby in a high chair next to the table, and the kid looks up when Logan enters the room. He's gnawing on a wooden spoon, and there's a smudge of something yellow on his face, and Logan has to wonder what babies eat that are yellow. The kid stops gnawing when he sees Logan, and the two of them stare at each other for a moment.
Logan's hands go in his pockets. "Hey, Jackson," he says, standing a couple of feet away.
Jackson's face sharpens with curiosity at this stranger who knows his name, and the slant of his blue eyes reminds Logan powerfully of Veronica, hunched in thought over some mystery. The spoon lowers slightly and suddenly Jackson grins, points the spoon at Logan and chants, "Da da da da da da," through a haze of drool.
He'd been twelve, the first time Logan tried to breathe ocean water, and Dick had hauled him to shore, pounding his back and cursing. Logan remembers the struggle to breathe, his lungs burning. It's the same feeling again, and looking at Jackson, Logan stops fighting, lets himself drown.
Jackson pounds his spoon on his tray and laughs.
375 Days Clean
"I'm here for the King," Logan says with a sneer, hands deep in his pockets, collar to his jacket popped.
Veronica laughs, pushes the door open. "His Majesty awaits."
Logan does an exaggerated side step as he brushes past her, hitting the door with his shoulder, and Veronica turns her head slightly and grins at him. Logan catches his breath and looks away, because it's been a long time since she smiled at him like that.
"Got your credentials?" she asks lightly, following him into the kitchen.
Logan makes a dramatic gesture of slamming the embossed envelope on the table. "I don't need no stinking credentials," he says, to cover up for the hurt she caused by asking for them. She did it every weekend, though, and Logan wonders how fucking long it's gonna take before she either stops asking or he stops caring.
Veronica picks up the envelope, opens it quickly and quirks an eyebrow at the contents. She looks up Logan. "Negative again on your UA. How long has it been?"
Logan has found one of Jackson's toys, fiddles with it idly. "How long has what been?"
"Your sobriety."
He shrugs. For some reason it'd been easier for him not to focus on Day what the fuck ever, just try to ignore the cravings. Take steps to institute a selective blindness with the people he works with. "I dunno. A while."
Veronica taps the letter against her lips as she stares at him. Logan looks up at her and is immediately caught. He remembers the night she'd shown up at his door after his one failed attempt at breaking up, the way she had looked at him. It's the same look, but not, and the reason comes waddling in as Jackson beelines for his father, babbling.
He's nearly two but thinks he's bigger than the world, and in Logan's opinion he is the world. Little arms wrap around Logan's legs and Jackson rubs his face over the denim, smearing snot and drool, and Logan chuckles. He looks up and Veronica is staring at her son like her heart's been torn out, and it's the shadow of what happened in the back of the limo again, stretching over the three of them.
Logan ducks down to grab Jackson, doesn't want to look at the finality in Veronica's gaze. Them together can't happen, it doesn't fit in to what Veronica's idea of justice is, wouldn't work out with her view of right and wrong. He has hope, though, he always has that faint glimmer of forever, of happily ever after. Some part of him thinks they deserve it, and them deserving it includes the King. But only when both of them agree, wordlessly, that penance had been done.
So he swings Jackson up into his arms, looks Veronica full in the face and says, "You should come with us today. Hitting the beach. Whaddya say?" For the first time in a while he doesn't bother to guard the look on his face, a look that says Fix it and Help me and Make it better.
For a long moment they look at each other, Jackson swinging his legs impatiently until his father gently puts a hand on his knee.
Veronica's gaze flicks to the movement, to Logan's hand on Jackson's pudgy knee and something goes over her face but she turns to hide it. "Okay," she says, and leaves to gather beach going attire, leaves Logan shaking with the force of her affirmation.
He sets Jackson on the edge of the table, pulls up a chubby foot and ties laces that will be undone in a matter of minutes. Counts the days he and Veronica had been apart, how far apart they had been even when she was in his lap in the back of the limo. Apart but still working their way back together, just the same when they were together and working their way apart.
Veronica calls to Logan, tells him not to forget Jackson's bag on the table, and Logan swings the King up into his arms. The King starts his song, a long rhythm of "Da, da, da, dad, dad, dadeeeeeee," as the door shuts behind them.