A Ghost From Someone Else's Past
She watches him; he's got a walk that some would call a swagger.
Gambit. She knows his names even though they've never met before. Sunglasses cover his face, but his lips curve when he notices her. He doesn't seem to be more than thirty, thirty-five tops. She knows because she has a few memories of him, ones not her own.
"Excuse me, cher."He's got stubble on his face, and an accent that reminds her of whiskey and sultry southern heat and the bayou. It makes her home sick. He holds the door open for her, letting her pass through first.
They both hail for a cab, but only one shows up, and he insist they must share, because after all it's too cold to be left just standing there in the snow. She knew she should refuse, if not out of some odd kind of loyalty for Logan, then simply because he makes her miss things she was better off forgetting. But that Louisiana drawl is the closest connection to home she's had in too long, even if she's from Mississippi.
His stop is first, and she refuses to watch him walk away.
There is something she's never told Logan, something she didn't ever want to explain. The only times they'd touched were from necessity, and only to save her. She knew she had no right to the things he couldn't remember, and she wonders if Logan would forgive her for not telling him. Or be angry because she could remember his past, and he couldn't?
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