Disclaimer: If I owned Veronica Mars, it would be all about Logan. Which goes to say that I don't.
Spoilers: Up to the end of season 2
Rating: T for angst and mild language
Summary: I thought that Logan didn't get enough say in season 2, so here is Logan's POV for the season 2 finale.
This turned out way longer than I expected. Sorry if longness bothers you!
My Friend Jack Daniels
Life isn't fair.
If there's anything that almost nineteen years on this earth have taught me, it is that there is no happy ending for us. Love doesn't prevail, life doesn't go on, and the good guy doesn't win.
Life is like this: You get wasted and sleep with someone you don't even like, only to have the girl of your dreams show up the next morning, talking about some forgotten thing you said last night where you confessed your love for her. She storms out crying when she realizes that you truly don't remember your words. Like I said: Love doesn't prevail.
You proceed to drink yourself into a stupor and find yourself in an alcohol induced haze, pacing back and forth on a bridge railing, contemplating the suicide that you haven't considered in almost a year. You turn around only because you have run out of Jack Daniels and need some more. Like I said: Life doesn't go on.
You think you have hit rock bottom, but there is still a murder trial to attend. And so you clean yourself up and don your most dashing suit to appeal to the court. Your father tells you not to testify, says he will win, but you don't listen. Who would listen to him anyway? You look right at him as you make your accusations, and the gesture is returned as the verdict is read: Cleared of all charges. You sit, in shock as he smiles for the camera. But the worst part is her face: she looks like she might cry, and all you want to do is hold her and cry with her. But she'll never feel the way you do. Like I said: The bad guy wins.
*******
Keep it together, keep it together, Logan. Just keep it together. The words become a vigil in my head. It's all I can do not to jump onto the podium where he's standing and literally rip that fake smile right off his face with my bare hands. I'm a violent person by nature (wonder where I got that from?), but this is so far beyond anything I've ever felt in my life.
I've felt a lot of emotions for him, and I hated him more all the time as I got older. The first time he hit me, I was only scared. The first time he gave me a visible scar, I was angry. The longer he hit me, the more I came to realize that he wasn't my father.
He was my worst enemy and my worst nightmare for so many years, but the rage boiling under my skin right now is so much more powerful than those emotions. That face, the chiselled jaw, the sweeping blonde hair. The face that America fell in love with, one that terrified me for so long, now seems laughably breakable.
Keep it together. Come on, Logan. But I realize I could end this right now. It's an irrational thought, but then again, Logan Echolls has never been known for his rationality.
My hands clench into fists. I stop breathing without realizing it, the rage of over eighteen years of scars, lies and threats pounding in my veins. The voice of reason is growing fainter and fainter in my head as I prepare to... I don't exactly know... I can't just stand here...
And then I catch sight of her and my violent fantasies dissolve into fantasies of a completely different kind. It doesn't really help my train of thought, but it brings me back to reality as I watch her. Her soft blonde hair, her blue eyes, those plump red lips, the feel of them against mine, the silk of her skin against my fingertips.
And I can breathe again as I watch her. Veronica's brow is pulled down in fury, her eyes are stormy and her jaw is set. I can't seem to help thinking about how beautiful she is.
But if I get any more carried away in my fantasies about her I'm going to need some more whiskey, and so I turn my attention back to the microphones that crowd the spot where Aaron Echolls stands, lying through his dazzling white teeth.
"Mr. Echolls, how do you feel about your acquittal?"
Aaron arranges his face into a sombre expression that I can see right through. "I-I feel relieved to have my name cleared of this, this...horrible crime," he gushes, to the clapping and cheering of hundreds of fans.
Veronica scowls, looking lost. Well, at least we can agree on one thing. Her father squeezes her close and they walk away, leaving me with nothing left but the violent fantasies in the back of my mind. His nose crunching under my fist. His blood on my hands as he begs for forgiveness and is repaid for what he did to Lilly. To Veronica. To mom. To me.
Unable to bear it any longer, I spin around and push through the crowd to the parking lot, part of me sorry that I didn't take the chance to break his face in.
*******
I swear, if I didn't have a yellow car, life would be different. Yellow is a good colour for part time alcoholics who like Jack Daniels. If I had a dark blue car, for instance, I would never be able to find it after stumbling into the parking lot after a night at the pub. So it's good that in the blur of colours I see through the haze that clouds my mind, I can distinguish the bright yellow of my faithful Xterra.
I fit the key into the lock, having broken my keyless entry pad when I was trying to simultaneously unlock my SUV and not get kidnapped by a gang of bloodthirsty PCHers. I pull myself through the doorframe and slam it shut. I don't bother with the difficulty of my seatbelt. Tonight is one of the nights where I hope I will crash and go flying through the windshield.
Which is what I do. Well, not so much the flying through the windshield part, but as I back out of my spot not so gracefully, I hear the crunch of metal against metal, and then I feel it. Sort of.
I shout a word I usually reserved for people like the Sheriff and struggle to get out of the car to assess the damage. I'd hit a traffic light post and left the back of my Xterra curved around it.
"Hm," I slur to myself. "Maybe I shouldn't be driving after all." I pull out my phone and consider the people on my speed dial. One is Dick, but there's no way he's not wasted at this time of night. Two is Hannah (I really need to delete her), Three is Veronica (It won't be the first time she's picked me up drunk in the middle of the night), but then I remember she hates me, so that's out of the question. Four is Wallace (from when we did that project together. No way he'd come). So that left Five. Who was five? I hit it and pressed send.
"Hello?" comes a familiar male voice.
"Weevil?" I can't help it. I giggle.
"Echolls? It's three in the morning and I'm graduating today-" Right. Graduation. "-This had better be good if you ever want to be able to open your mouth again."
"Dude, why the hell are you on my speed dial?"
"Aw, you know. We're so close. Like family." He doesn't sound so impressed with me, and I giggle again. "Are you drunk, Echolls?" he asks.
"Funny story," I tell him, adding effect by laughing. "My car is a traffic light pretzel right now, and I'm stranded."
"Yeah, 'cause I'm laughing so hard right now," he says flatly. "What are you saying, pretty boy?"
"Well, like I said, I'm stranded-"
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he sighs.
"Hey you're the one on my speed dial," I remind him.
He deliberates. "If I hang up and you miss graduation, I'll have to spend the summer with you while I take extra classes and you graduate. If I pick you up, I never have to see you again."
He is silent for a long time. Finally, he sighs again.
"Where are you?"
*******
"You tell anyone about this, you die," Weevil promises as I, beginning to feel very sick, open the door of his green Impala and stumble out onto the sidewalk. I slam the door and give him a little salute, offering no thanks. He drives away.
I dream of her that night.
I dream of her every night, but more this night than ever before, because she's leaving for Stanford and I only just made it into Hearst, and I'll never see her again. A thousand images over and over in my head. That first kiss at the Camelot, making out in the bathroom, in my car, on my couch. Breaking down in her arms after mom jumped, after Aaron was arrested. A hundred touches, kisses, whispered words, and it is all over, all my fault...
Trapped in my torturous dreams, I sleep well.
*******
When I was in junior high, I pictured my graduation day to be a lot different. I would wake up in the mansion. Mom would lay off the pills for the big day, and maybe I would get spared a cigarette burn if I managed to get a diploma. The maid would make me a special breakfast, and I would go to the school with mom and Aaron, both there to watch me. They would stand in the bleachers and be proud when my name was called. They would let me go out and Lilly would give me a good time in congratulations.
Instead, I wake up in the penthouse of the Neptune Grand, hung over and alone. I don't have a special breakfast, and as I put on my suit, I examine the white scars on my back and chest. I drive alone in a rented car. No one will be there to watch me. No one will congratulate me.
*******
"Logan Echolls!" My name is called and I feel a wonderful relief as I walk across the stage to collect my diploma.
It's over. I zone out while the F, G, H I, J, K, and L's are called, coming to briefly to clap for Wallace. Then the M's are called, and my brain goes into hyper drive.
I notice several things at once. Veronica stands up and shakes her hair, Sheriff Lamb enters the gym, and Eli Navarro casts a wary glance at him. Lamb strides down the aisle to where Weevil sits. Weevil pretends not to notice.
"Eli Navarro. You are under arrest in connection with the murder of Eduardo Orozco," Lamb says. Right. That kid I blew up.
"No man," Weevil says, grimacing up at Lamb.
"You have the right-" Lamb continues, unfazed.
"You're not gonna do this," Weevil says. "Not here."
"- to remain silent. Anything you say may be-"
"Just gve me ten minutes, okay?" he pleads.
"-used as evidence in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one-"
Weevil stands, gets right in Lamb's face and yells, "Just let me graduate!"
Lamb is monotone. "-one may be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"
Weevil is begging. "Please. Don't do this, man"
Lamb ignores him. "Cuff him. Let's get him out of here." The deputy goes to cuff Weevil, but he jerks away. "Hey, hey. You want to do this the hard way?" Lamb strokes his gun holster, acting as though he would like nothing better than for Weevil to put up a fight. He glances at his grandmother, who will die without ever seeing him graduate, and then allows the deputy to escort him out of the gym. I glance at the woman in the corner, holding two small children, and feel a sudden surge of pity, but then Clemmons calls a name that makes me forget all about Weevil Navarro.
"Veronica Mars!" I stand in my seat and clap and shout for her as she stares, stunned at her thunderous applause. We make eye contact for the briefest moment, and I smile tentatively at her. She returns it. She accepts her diploma, still confused, and gives Mr. Clemmons that sexy pout look that makes me melt, before disappearing from the stage for the final time.
*******
I look for Veronica after the ceremony ends, but it's a vain attempt, as there are so many green caps and gowns around. So I head back to the Neptune Grand to get ready for the after party, hosted at the hotel.
I collect my mail from the front desk and as I turn around I get a shock of the old fear as I see Aaron. Then all my fear is replaced with hate. I look back down at the letter in my hand so that the sight of his face doesn't bring back the violent fantasies of the day before.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, using years of honed skill to keep my voice calm.
"Well, I need a place to stay," he tells me jauntily, and I hate him so much it hurts. "How are the suites?"
He is incredible, I'll give him that much. He screws around with my girlfriend, murders her, tries to murder my other girlfriend, and gets away with it all. Not to mention the years of abuse he guiltlessly bestowed on me. I grab some candies from the bowl on the reception desk before heading to the elevator.
"Well, probably an improvement over your previous digs," I tell him, pretending that the candy wrapper between my teeth is really his finger. "It might be a little weird though. I don't think any of the other guests killed anyone."
He doesn't respond, but keeps pace with me as we head to the elevator. He pushes the button. "You know, you should really make more of an effort to be civil to me now, Logan." His tone is conversational.
"Why?" I say, throwing the wrapper to the floor with as much force as I can muster in a failed attempt to vent my anger. "Because you beat a murder rap and suddenly you're my father again?" Sarcasm has always been a strong point of mine.
"No, Logan," he says. "I never stopped being your father and I never will." A hint of the old threat creeps into his voice as he reminds me, "But I got the purse strings back."
Sometimes I can't even believe him. He smiles at me as he pats my shoulder. "You're my dependent again, son."
I hate him so much that my mind gives over to my violent fantasies. I could do it. I could do it right here. I could end it.
The lift doors open and I miss my chance a second time.
"Going down?" he asks conversationally.
"No," I spit. "Up."
And just being the unnameable son of a bitch that he is, he gives me a little wave as the lift doors close.
*******
In my book, that encounter is a good enough excuse to start on the Jack Daniels as soon as possible, but I do have a party to go to, and so I leave that friendly bottle alone and instead head for the six pack in my fridge. I down two before there is a knock at my door. I open it to reveal on Dick Casablancas, already drunk.
"Dude, get down here! The party's starting," he slurs.
I sigh. "Alright, man. I'll be down in a minute." Satisfied, Dick leaves.
I don't really want to go down. What if Veronica is there? What if I get drunk again and confess my feelings for her and screw it up all over again.
What if she isn't there? What if she leaves for Stanford without ever saying goodbye to me? I know how much she hates goodbyes.
I'm gonna need some more beers.
*******
I've always been the party guy. The pounding music, the throbbing, close packed bodies, the smell of alcohol and sweat in the air. It's always been really appealing to me. And so I have little to no problem getting into this one. I drink, I talk, I dance, I get drunk.
Mostly I look for Veronica. Where is she? I decide that I will have to go find her, but before I can begin to look, I get pulled aside by a group of drunk people.
"Hey, Echolls," one of them says, drunk and unimpressed. "We hear you called some PCHer the other night to pick you up after you crashed your car. That true?"
Uh-oh. Weevil said I would die if anyone found out, and if I know anything about Weevil, it's that he usually keeps his threatening promises. Then I remember that Weevil is in a cell wearing an orange jumpsuit right now, so I am able to laugh a bit drunkenly and say, "No way! No way, that's stupid, man, I wouldn't do that-"
But then a hand grabs my arm and pulls me away. I turn to see who my saviour is. Veronica. The moment I see her, all the tension that has built up since the encounter with Aaron just vanishes, and I am suddenly feeling much drunker in her presence.
"Hey! Have you seen Beaver and Mac?" she yells.
"Yeah, they were here earlier." I find myself unable to speak without slurring while she's there. A strobe light dances across her face and it is only when I see her in the light that I realize something is wrong. Her face is tight, her hair is mussed and her makeup is smudged. "What's wrong?" I demand, sobering up fast.
She is tentative, maybe wondering if she can trust me. "I think Beaver-"
She stops short and I look around. Dick is there, oblivious to the heavy mood. He seems to catch on when I glare at him.
"What?"
"Where's your brother?" Veronica asks, and only someone who knew her as well as me would be able to detect the underlying panic in her voice. Which goes to say that Dick does not.
"I think he took Ghost World up to his room. They're probably up there making love,"he supplies unhelpfully. "Or playing Dungeons and Dragons." He deliberates. "Or both, at the same time."
Veronica seems to find some help in his answer and hurries off. I want to go with her, make sure she stays safe, but I know her too well to think she'd appreciate the gesture.
"They're both, like, twelfth level dorks," Dick calls after her. "I'm just saying!" He adds when she continues to walk away.
Call me self-centred, but her lack of interest in me takes the life out of the party before I'm even truly drunk. So I head up to my room to do some deep contemplating on my aloneness, in other words, to wallow in self-pity some more. I slowly mount the stairs, not wanting to get caught in an awkward conversation in the elevator, and as I pass through a hall, I hear some people having a good time in one of the rooms. I sincerely hope that Aaron isn't in there.
No. I can't think of him. Every time I do, that boiling rage bubbles up inside me so that it's all I can do not to scream. The thought of him, of everything he did, stays with me though, and so I immediately walk to my refrigerator to find something that will numb my rage. I consider the contents: beer, some white wine, and some champagne left over from Alternaprom.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I flip it open and read the message.
Meet me on the roof now.
There is no call-back number. I look up toward the ceiling.
*******
The roof is dark and quiet. There is no sound, save the faint thrum of traffic so far below. I begin to walk around to the back of the roof. That's when I hear it.
"-Aaron Echolls is staying here. What do you want to bet I can't get him convicted for the death of this teenage girl?"
I pick up the pace and round the corner. That voice sounded so much like... yet it couldn't be-
Beaver.
In a millisecond, I analyse the scene before me. Beaver stands, holding a gun, pointing it down to the ground at... Veronica. I don't even have time to think.
"No!" I scream.
Beaver swings around and in that second, I see how changed he is. His face is twisted with agony and rage and he stands with the air of someone convinced he has a duty.
He shoots.
I am too slow, but he doesn't have good aim. His shot ricochets off a metal grill next to my head, giving me time to throw myself behind a raised part of roof. I hear his footsteps and dare a glance above my protected spot. He fires another shot at my head, and I duck just in time. My blood pounds with adrenaline and rage. I prepare to tackle him, to use any means possible to stop him from hurting my Veronica.
Turns out she doesn't need much help. She jumps onto his back and I think; Not her, not Veronica. She reaches for the gun, trying to wrench it from his grasp. He pushes her off and I take my chance, running at him from the other side. He loses hold of the gun and it slides away. We grapple furiously on the ground until he gets a hand free.
Shock as I have never known before starts in my fingertips and extends all the way through my body. I cry out in pain.
Where the hell did he get a taser? I am stunned and paralysed. He starts to rise over me and I think: This is it. It's all over.
A single shot rings out through the night. Panic rushes through me and adrenaline allows me to get moving. I scramble to my feet and spin around. Not her, not Veronica. Please, no.
She stands, tears pouring down her face, so beautifully devastated that all I want to do it touch her, comfort her, kiss her tears away forever. Only I can't, because there is a gun in her hand and it is pointed at me. Beaver freezes in shock next to me.
"Logan, move away from him," she orders in a voice that is mostly steady but beginning to tremble with tears. Oh, god, I've got to get to her. I can't let her do this.
"Veronica, don't," I say, still slightly shocked.
"He killed my father!" She erupts, and all the pain she has been holding back for so long bursts into her voice and I suddenly feel like crying along with her. Her words register only dimly in my mind. Keith Mars? Dead? But I can't let her become a killer. I've got to touch her, to hold her, to tell her everything will be okay.
Even though I know it won't.
I take a tentative step, praying that she won't shoot. "Give me the gun, Veronica," I say in what I hope is a gentle voice.
"He killed everyone on the bus!" she sobs. I continue to move toward her, but shock registers in me. Beaver Casablancas, a murderer?
"He raped me!"
That one hits home. I freeze and look back at Beaver, standing there, looking all tortured, and I suddenly want to kill him, to make him suffer. But if I don't act now, Veronica will, and my Veronica can't kill. So I tell her.
"You're not a killer Veronica. Give me the gun."
All her resolve is gone now, and she is truly lost as she sobs. Her gun hand droops and mine is almost on it. She breathes in raggedly and her throat catches on a sob. I feel like I'll start crying soon if I can't touch her.
"You're not a killer, Veronica." My voice is shaking now. "Give me the gun."
She gives in. The gun drops in her hand like a dead weight and I pull it from her with unnecessary force, hating the way the cruel metal looks against her pale skin. Her touch soothes me, and I pull her gently into my arms. She is so distraught that she doesn't object. She sobs into my chest and I bury my face in her mouth-wateringly scented hair. Her tears soak my sweatshirt and I close my eyes, rocking her.
My subconscious registers that something isn't right. Okay, a lot of things aren't right, but something is missing from this particular picture. I look over to Beaver just in time to see him hoisting himself over the railing. And even though he killed a bus load of kids, even though he raped Veronica and murdered her father, even though all I want to do is hurt him right now, instinct takes over and suddenly he is my friend again.
"Beaver, don't!" I yell, stepping away from Veronica and preparing to use any means possible to stop him.
And then I realize my life's biggest mistake.
"My name is Cassidy!" He screams passionately, and years of torture and pain, of being the overlooked one, the one who never mattered is all evident in his voice now. And even though I know it's no use, that I screwed it all up by using the nickname he always hated, I try again.
"Cassidy, don't!"
"Why not?" he asks me calmly, his passion gone, and then everything is reality again and of course I can't think of a reason why not. There is silence. Veronica sobs quietly behind me.
"That's what I thought," he says, and then, with the ghost of the emptiest, most mirthless smile I have ever seen, in one, understated movement, Cassidy Casablancas steps backward off the roof of the Neptune Grand, landing for a final time on the road below where his oblivious brother parties.
Tears well up in my eyes. I can do nothing but stare in horror at the place my friend just disappeared from. I hear sobbing behind me, and suddenly Veronica is in my arms again. I groan as I enfold her in my arms and tears spill over for so many different reasons. For Veronica, for Lilly, for mom, for myself, for Bea- Cassidy. We stand like that for a few moments, but then Veronica gasps slightly into my shirt.
"Mac?"
She pulls out of my arms and starts to hurry toward the door. She keeps my hand in hers as she runs, and I hope it means she wants me there.
We take the elevator to the lobby, and in the silence I can hear her breathing raggedly with just barely contained sobs. I pull her against my chest again, unable to bear her hurting like this, desperate to give her some small comfort. She leans into me and closes her eyes, trying to breathe evenly. I hold her close.
Then the doors open onto the lobby and the moment is over. She runs to the reception desk, my hand still in hers. The lady at the desk looks slightly alarmed at Veronica's appearance. Her makeup is smudged, her hair is tangled and her clothes are rumpled. I glare at the reception lady. Veronica is beautiful.
"Hi, I need to get into Cassidy Casablancas' room," Veronica says, her voice steady.
"I'm sorry," says the lady. "We don't allow that. I could ring the room if you'd like."
"There's a do not disturb on the room," says Veronica. "Please." Her sobs are barely restrained, and whether or not she is acting, the girl has talent.
The lady is alarmed. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," Veronica says desperately. "And someone could get hurt unless you let me into that room!"
The lady takes in Veronica's dishevelled appearance and seems to come to a decision. She picks up the phone on her desk. "Roger. I have a young lady here who needs a favour. Yes. Thank you."
Roger is a small blond man with glasses and an overbite. But when he appears, Veronica and I both breathe a sigh of relief. Veronica is more contained in the elevator this time, no doubt due to Roger's presence. But I can see her anxiety, so I dare myself and put my hand on the small of her back. She looks at me and exhales. I want to reach out to her even more, to hold her; to make no one ever hurts her again. She seems to appreciate this small gesture, though.
The lift doors open and the moment is gone once again. Roger leads us down the hall and fits his key card into the room.
It is dark inside. The room seems empty and the bed sheets are gone. "Mac?" Veronica calls out, and I can hear the fear in her voice as she steps inside.
I see the dark shape huddled at the side of the bed and open my mouth, but Veronica gets there before me. She gasps in relief and crouches down next to Mac. I see the girl properly in the light and feel a surge of anger at Bea- Cassidy for doing this to her. She is wrapped in what looks like a shower curtain. Her makeup is smudged and she looks distraught and terrified.
"He took my clothes," Mac moans. Veronica covers her mouth with her hand. "He took everything. Why?"
Veronica leans in to hug her, still in tears herself. Mac begins to sob into Veronica's shoulder and I feel like I'm interrupting something private. I can hear Veronica whispering words of comfort into her friend's hair, and I am brought back to the time in this same hotel that she held me while I broke down, while she whispered comforting words to me. Which really proves what an amazing person Veronica is, since she hated me at the time.
Veronica holds Mac for a long time, until her sobs have quieted down. Then she turns to me and sniffs slightly. "Can I have your sweater, Logan?" I hand it to her without a moment's hesitation and she wraps it around Mac's shoulders.
"We should get her home." I suggest. She nods.
"Hey, Mac," she says softly. "We're gonna call your parents, okay?"
Mac groans. "Please, don't. Can you just take me home?"
Veronica and I exchange a glance. "Sure we can," I supply.
We leave through the back door, not wanting to witness the scene of red flashing lights, sombre police men, drunk people sobbing, and one blond young man, tears pouring down his face, staring in disbelief, grappling desperately at his brother's mangled body.
The party is over.
*******
Mac sobs in my backseat the whole way to her house. Veronica holds her and soothes her, and I want more than anything to hold and soothe her. How she can ever manage to keep it together in times like this, I will never know. But she remains stoic the entire way, even after Mac dozes off in her arms.
"What was the address again?" I ask quietly so as not to wake the sleeping girl behind me.
"501," she reminds me, just as I come up to the house. I pull up in front and cut the engine. Veronica gently shakes Mac awake. She looks up and her eyes are slightly calmer than before. She begins to pull off my hoody.
"Keep it," I tell her, holding up my hand in protest. She gives me a watery smile but can't seem to muster up any words. Veronica walks to the door with her and makes sure she gets inside safely. My eyes never leave her. After tonight, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to let her out of my sight again. She climbs back into the car but doesn't look at me.
"Where to?" I ask, not sure if I should anticipate her bursting into tears anytime soon. I hear her take a ragged breath and she turns to me. Her face is desperate, hopeless, and she reaches her arms out to me.
I take her into my arms for the third time this night, and this time is by far the most painful. She has no one left to be worried about except herself, and so she lets go and sobs like I have never heard her sob before, pure anguish evident in her voice.
I can't stand to see her hurt this way. I pull her across the seat and into my lap as though she weighs next to nothing. She settles onto my lap and clutches the front of my shirt, staining it with her tears. I hold her to me with as much force as I can muster, stroking her hair and rubbing her back. Every sob is physical agony to me, every ragged gasp she breathes stolen from my lungs.
I'm not sure how long we sit like that, how long she cries into my shirt, how long she fulfills my dream and tortures my mind all at the same time, but eventually she pulls back and looks at me. She is a mess. Her hair is matted, her mascara is all over her face (and my shirt), and her skin is red and patchy from crying. And yet I can't seem to help myself from thinking about how appallingly beautiful she is.
"Take me home," she whimpers.
"Veronica," I say, frowning at her and brushing a lock of golden hair out of her eyes. "Don't you think we should go to the police station? You were almost killed... the bus crash... the plane..."
"Please, take me home," she breathes, tears spilling over her eyes again at the mention of tonight's events.
"Okay," I whisper, unable to refuse her when she's this upset. "Tomorrow." She nods.
I pull her close to me briefly, then gently remove her from my lap and into the passenger seat, hating myself from separating us even one foot apart. She gasps as I move her and clutches my shirt.
"Shhhh," I soothe, and I duck in to kiss her forehead, closing my eyes and savouring the feel of my lips on her. She takes a deep breath and does up her seatbelt. My lips tingle with the feel of her skin. I start the car and then take her hand across the seat. She grasps it like a lifeline.
I know the way to her house. I could probably find it from anywhere in the world, no joke. I could find Veronica anywhere she was, no matter how far. I pull into her parking space and turn off the car. She makes no attempt to move, she simply stares at the building, horrified. She can't face the apartment alone, and she knows it.
"You ready?" I ask reaching for her hair with my free hand.
"Don't leave me," she whispers, looking more lost than I have ever seen her.
I squeeze her hand in reassurance, then get out and walk around the car to open her door for her. She shivers as she steps into the night air, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders. She leans into me and I guide her up the steps and to her door.
She fumbles for her key but her shaking hands can't fit it into the lock. I take the key from her gently and unlock the door. Then I step back, waiting for her to open it in her own time. She gulps and stares at the door, then takes a deep breath, steeling herself, before taking my hand and opening it.
The initial shock of seeing the apartment exactly how she left it stops her short. I know the feeling. It must be the same feeling I got after driving home from the Neptune Grand that one night and realizing that I would never see mom there again. It's a horrible, gutwrenching feeling. Of course, I numbed it completely by breaking into dad's liquor cabinet and drinking it dry. Somehow that doesn't seem like a very Veronica way to deal with something. Probably for the better.
In an attempt to give her strength, I wrap my arms around her once again (what a lucky man I am tonight), and hold her to me. She seems determined not to break down again, but also unable to move. So I guide her gently to the couch and sit her down next to me, keeping an arm around her. I cup her chin in my hand and pull her gaze gently up to meet mine. Her lower lip trembles, and she looks so incredibly lost that it's all I can do not to break down and cry for her.
"It's gonna be okay," I lie, because nothing will ever be okay again and she can't deal with that fact right now.
Her face crumples as she calls my bluff, and I expect the Veronica I know to push me away, to build up the walls that are always around her, to shout at me in denial of her own pain. But this isn't the Veronica I know. This is an eighteen year old girl who has always found a way to hide everything, only to have all her defences ripped away in one night. And that is really why she is lost. Because she has no armour left, and the thought of being unprotected and by herself scares her.
This new Veronica leans into my chest again (still damp from the last time), and sobs quietly for a long time. Seeing her in so much pain is too much for me to take. I let a few tears of my own leak into her hair. When she is finally quiet, she seems half-asleep. I pick her up gently in my arms, and even that moment's separation causes her to gasp and clutch my shirt convulsively.
"No," she moans.
"Do you want to stay here?" I murmur into her hair. She nods. "Okay."
Her fingers relax on my chest. I gently bring her up onto my lap and she sighs and relaxes back so that she's lying horizontally across my lap. One of my hands is behind her back, rubbing in small circles. Her breathing is far from even, and it snags and catches in her throat every now and then, but less and less often as she finally drifts into sleep.
She doesn't sleep well. Her brow is scrunched up, and she must be having a nightmare, but I can't wake her.
"Daddy," she whimpers in her sleep.
"Shhhh..." I tell her, stroking her hair back with my free hand. "I'm here. You're safe." Liar. But she seems to calm down after that.
I watch her as she sleeps for a long time, but slowly I become aware of how tired I am. Today has been one of the most exhausting days of my life, and that's saying a lot. It seems like so long ago that Weevil picked me up from that bar, but it has been less than twenty-four hours. Everything that happened between then and now makes it all blur together. Graduation, Weevil's arrest, Cassidy jumping, Mac, Veronica breaking down... Now that I think about it, getting drunk probably didn't help either.
I decide that Veronica probably won't find me attractive if she wakes up on my lap while I drool on her. So I pick up her sleeping form, careful not to bounce her around and wake her up, and carry her easily to her room. I lower her gently to her bed and pull a blanket up around her. Moving her brings her out of the deep sleep she was in. She is not fully conscious yet, but when I try to leave, her fingers tighten on my shirt and she moans. I stroke her hair gently and after a moment, she is fast asleep again.
I want to stay with her, to lie down next to her and hold her under the blanket, but I'm not sure she's forgiven me enough to be so intimate. So I gently disengage her hold on me, and she thankfully stays asleep this time. I swiftly lean in and press my lips lightly to her forehead before leaving the room.
I stretch out on the couch, prepared to go to Veronica the moment I hear her call, and suddenly experience the feeling of lead in my limbs. I am being literally dragged down by exhaustion. My eyelids slide shut.
Veronica will find me if she needs me, I console myself. But she doesn't need anyone in the first place.
And with this uneasy thought in my mind, I drift off to sleep.
*******
I wake up early. Too early. It's not even light yet and I haven't gotten enough sleep, leaving me confused and disoriented. Once I remember why I'm on Veronica's couch, I run to her bedroom to check on her. She is still deeply asleep, and I resist the urge to wake her just so that I can hold her again.
I have to find something to do. I can't leave the apartment in case by some chance, Veronica decides that she actually needs me here. Besides, I never got the full story of why Cassidy did what he did, and why Keith is dead. Maybe, if she's feeling any better, I can get her to tell me.
I catch sight of the various pots and pans hanging from a rack over the sink, and a sudden idea strikes me.
*******
The eight-year-old boy wakes up early. He knows that it's dad's birthday, and he knows that if he does everything just right it might spare him a lot of pain. He pads down the hall to the big kitchen, where his mother waits, smiling for once.
"We're going to make pancakes this morning," she says. The boy finds this a bit strange, since she could just get the maid to do it, but the idea of baking with mom excites him.
She guides him carefully through each step. Preparing the flour and sugar, cracking the eggs, mixing all the ingredients together. Then doling the batter onto the frying pan. He laughs as she tries to flip a pancake and it sails across the room and splatters on the wall.
By the end, they are both covered in flour and batter, laughing uncontrollably. She pulls him close for a moment and sighs.
Then dad comes in and they both freeze, awaiting his reaction to the batter stained kitchen. The boy anticipates the cigar inching closer to his flesh, cruel leather lashing out across his back.
Dad surveys the room and his jaw tightens. Then his eyes come to rest on the platter of steaming pancakes. After a moment, he smiles.
"Let's eat!"
*******
I expertly flip a perfectly browned pancake over in the small pan I am using. I never forgot how to make pancakes after that day.
Pancakes= Happy Aaron.
That was my rule as an eight-year-old. When I got older, I realized how ridiculous that theory was. The year after that, on his next birthday, I made him pancakes, but accidentally spilled some batter onto his collectors bobble head sitting on the counter. That day, I received the worst beating I had ever gotten up to that point. So much for kids being wise.
My muse is interrupted as I hear a gasp from Veronica's room.
"Dad?!"
My heart throbs with the pain of her expectancy and the fact that the sight of me will let her down. I turn to her as she enters the kitchen, and the terribly hopeful look on her face crumples. I move to wrap my arms around her. She recoils slightly from the reality of my touch, but does not resist. I know she resents me for being here in place of her dad, know that she resents herself for getting her hopes up.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, because I let her down by letting this be the reality of things. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I stroke her hair for a moment, and bury my face in it. Then the reality of my world is altered.
"Is that breakfast I smell?" comes a voice that fills me with an emotion I can't explain. Before I can loosen my grip on Veronica, she has wrenched herself from my grasp and thrown her arms around the neck of Keith Mars, still in his pyjamas and as far as I can tell, very much alive.
Veronica seems to think so, too. "You're alive!" she sobs. "I thought you were dead." She pulls back to look at her confused father but does not relinquish her hold on him. "I love you so much."
She never told me she loved me, I think, and hearing the words from her lips, not directed at me, fills me with realization all over again, as if Veronica's feelings for me have not been a question in my mind for the last year.
Keith is confused. Apparently nobody told him he was supposed to be dead. "Honey, what's wrong? I don't understand."
Tears fill her eyes again. "Woody's plane. Cassidy Casablancas blew it up."
Cassidy.
Gone. Dead. Or are the two words supposed to be in the opposite order? Not that it matters. Poor Cassidy. Poor Dick. Poor me. Poor everyone.
"Holy... I wasn't on the plane," he says, eyes wide with surprise.
Veronica's eyes are shining with tears of relief. I should feel glad that all her pain has been erased, that her world is right side up again. So why do I only feel pity for myself for the fact that I am alone in my grief once more?
My phone vibrates silently in my pocket, and I take it as a symbol to get out of there. I don't belong in this happy, loving picture of family. Once I'm out of the appartment, I pull my phone out of my jeans.
"Logan," I answer as I unlock my stupid rental car.
"Mr. Echolls, this is the Neptune city morgue calling," comes a female voice. "We need you to come down today and ID the body."
What?
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"You didn't hear?" the woman asks, and I can hear the surprise in her voice. I open my mouth to ask, an icy feeling settling in the pit of my stomach, but before I can get the words out, I hear the radio broadcast.
"-Hollywood's greatest stars, Aaron Echolls was found dead in his hotel suite at the Neptune Grand last night, shot twice in the head-"
My breath catches in my throat and the world freezes. The most peculiar feeling comes over me, a gutwrenching twist in my stomach, followed by a dry and tingly feel in my eyes. My ears have turned into long tunnels; everything is faraway and dim.
"Mr. Echolls?" the morgue lady asks.
I snap my phone shut, and the noise doesn't carry to my ears. As the initial schock passes, a feeling not unfamiliar to me in the past few years settles in.
And it is so wrong.
"-found by Kendall Casablancas in the hotel room. Casablancas, rumoured to have had an earlier love affair with Echolls' son, Logan, is now a suspect-"
I turn off the radio.
It's time for a little meeting with my friend Jack Daniels.
*******
Over the past several years, the Coronado Bridge has sort of become my place. I started coming here when I was thirteen, after Aaron made me bleed and mom was too stoned to do anything about it. I would take a bus across town and sit on the railing and think, looking out at the view.
The first time I came up here to jump was after Lilly died. Mom was out of it, Aaron was away filming, Duncan wouldn't come out of his room, and I hated Veronica. So I got drunk and came up here. I had never really considered the fact that I could jump until that night. But suddenly, I found myself thinking; I could end this right here. One step and all this would go away. Who knows? Maybe it doesn't even hurt.
The drunker I got, the more appealing that idea seemed. Then I swear I heard Lilly laughing at my ridiculous idea. I hated her taunting me, and my drunken mind couldn't stand the thought of her making fun of me in hell for all eternity. I got in my car and drove away. That was also the first time my drinking landed me in the hospital.
I came up here a few times after that. After Veronica proved that mom was really dead, after Veronica accused me of killing Lilly, after Veronica broke up with me, and finally, when the charges against Aaron were dropped. That was only a few days ago, yet it feels like weeks. My only friend and supporter through each and every one of my suicide ponderings has been the ever faithful Jack Daniels.
This time is no different.
The sky is darkening as I sit on the railing of the Coronado Bridge. I shake the bottle in my right hand to test how much mind-numbing liquid remains. To test how much time I have left to make up my mind.
My phone vibrates. I check half-heartedly, just to make sure it's not her. My heart sinks. It's the morgue again.
I take another swig of whiskey and, not for the first time, I picture him, dead on the cold metal table in the morgue. Either the image in my head or the gulp of burning liquid brings wetness to my eyes. Angry at what I know the answer is, I throw back my head and down the rest of the small bottle. I wait until the fire in my throat has become a comforting warmth before I stand up unsteadily on the railing and hurl the bottle as far off the edge as I can. Then I wipe my mouth and close my eyes, preparing to take a step.
With one step, I will take the Echolls family into my hands and bring a long line of abused, battered, beaten and torn drunks to a shuddering halt. I like the power I have. I can do whatever I want to my family now.
There's always Trina, the rational part of my brain reminds me. I sigh and raise my hands above my head in dive position.
My phone buzzes.
Instinct takes me over, and I am reaching for the phone, because I know that ringtone. Without any hesitition I flip it open. "Logan," I slur to her in greeting.
"You're drunk," she says. Her voice is a conviction, an accusation. There is no question in her tone.
"What's new, right?" I say in anticipation of her response.
"Hm," is all she says, and I wonder where the quip is. She seems distracted. "Well, you tend not to remember things I say to you when you're drunk-" ouch "-so I'll probably have to repeat this again the next time I see you, but... thanks. You left so fast I never even got to tell you that I appreciate you letting me get snot all over your shirt."
I don't respond. The tears are coming thick and fast now. She loves her father. She wanted hers to come back. It's reasonable, right?
So then why do I suddenly feel so alone now that Aaron is dead, even though it's completely unreasonable? Why do I suddenly want him to come back?
Veronica can hear my ragged breathing. "I... I heard what happened."
"Yeah," I say with a sniff. "What a sob story, huh? Two bullets to the head. Tragic."
She seems unsure. I hated him all my life, and now I'm crying because he orphaned me all of a sudden. She knows I never loved him, and she knows that if she says she's sorry I'll get angry. She doesn't know what to say.
Several cars drive by, and the waves below pick up volume. "Logan, where are you?" She sounds concerned.
"Having a drink," I tell her, not strictly telling the truth. I know she knows me well enough to understand what 'having a drink' means in my book.
"Tell me where you are, Logan," she demands, and I can hear the anxiety in her voice, confirming my knowledge. "I'm coming to get you."
And the conviction in her voice, the caring, the anger, all for me, makes me suddenly wonder if life's worth living another week or two. Just to test out how it'll be.
"The Coronado Bridge."
*******
I'm starting to feel nauseous as she pulls up to where I sit on the railing in her little LeBaron. I make no move to get up, still not convinced of my decision not to jump, but give her a little wave. She gets out of her car and comes toward me.
"Come on, Logan," she coaxes gently, like I am some lost puppy. It's only then that I realize how awful I must look. "I'm taking you home."
I shake my head.
She deliberates, then comes and sits right next to me on the railing, swinging her legs around to dangle off the edge, like she too is wondering if she should jump.
She leans her head onto my shoulder. "What are you doing up here, Logan?" she asks rhetorically. "I thought you were past this."
She takes my hand as I think about that. "I was," I say. "I am. But this time it was so..." I can't finish my sentence, but she seems to get the gist.
"I know how you feel," she tells me, and I snort.
"Veronica, you have no idea how I feel," I snap.
"Then help me understand," she says. "I want to help you. Please."
I sigh. "My father just died," I begin, referring to Aaron as something other than a movie star for the first time in who knows how long. "And I hated him all my life. I'm not supposed to cry over his dead body. I'm not supposed to miss him. But now that he's dead, I just feel so..." I grit my teeth and spit out the word. "Alone."
"Logan, that's okay," Veronica soothes. "It's okay if you loved him."
"I DIDN'T!" I explode at her. "HE WAS MY NIGHTMARE FOR NINETEEN GODDAMN YEARS, SO DON'T EVER TELL ME I LOVED HIM!"
She lifts her head off my shoulder, but doesn't flinch away, and I'm so angry at her for pretending to understand me that I stand up on the railing again. There is moisture in my eyes, on my cheeks and flowing from my nose. It'll all be over soon. I raise my arms high above my head, assuming dive position for the second time tonight. Then-
"Logan." Her voice is small, broken; as close to the sound of her voice when her dad died than I have ever heard. It makes me instinctively stop and turn. It's amazing, how the thought of her; the sound of her voice, can bring me back so easily from the brink of hell. It's worked twice tonight.
"Please don't," she begs.
"Why not?" I ask. It's a low blow and I know it, but I'm so angry at the world that I don't pass up the opportunity to be a jackass, even in a moment like this. She knows that that is exactly the question Cassidy asked me right before he jumped. Right before I helped his decision.
She gets it, as I predicted. Her breath catches and I can see ters glistening on her face. But when she speaks, her voice is steady, and maybe even a bit... angry? Annoyed?
"Because, Logan," she snaps. "You're being selfish." She says it with such conviction that I don't even think to doubt her.
"How so?"
"You've lost a lot of people, so I'd expect you to understand. You needed your mom and she died, and you needed Lilly and she died. I'm not trying to assume whether or not you needed your fa- Aaron, before he died-"
"Yeah," I interject, tears still flowing down my face. I sniff and laugh bitterly. "Because he was just full of fatherly love."
"Let me finish," she says. "You may or may not have needed them. Think about it, Logan. You told me yourself that after you mom died, you felt betrayed because she purposely left you here, right?"
I nod but can't meet her gaze.
"Well what about the people who need you?" she demands forcefully.
"That's the thing," I mumble, and the complete desolation of my answer washes over both of us. "Nobody needs me, and if I stay, I'll end up just like him."
And just like that, I voice my worst fear, one that has haunted me for years. She stares at me for a full five seconds, and I don't expect an answer. Still standing, I prepare to jump.
"I need you," she whispers, not meeting my gaze.
"Pardon?" I ask, so desolate that I'm sure I didn't hear her properly.
"I need you, Logan." A bit louder this time.
I can't process this. Nobody needs Logan Echolls, especially not Veronica. She doesn't need anybody. I stare at her as she brings her face up to meet my gaze. She takes my stillness as and invitation to explain.
"After what happened with Cassidy, I could have asked you to leave, and you would have."
"Without a doubt." There is no hesitation in my voice. If Veronica told me to jump right now, I'd do it with a smile and a salute.
"I could have gone to Wallace or Mac, but all the while, the thought of leaving you practically tore my heart out. I couldn't do it. You were the only one I needed there." She looks me straight in the eye. "I need you Logan Echolls, and I don't say it that often, so don't expect to hear it again, but it's the truth and that's all there is to it."
It takes ten seconds for my emotions to catch up with me, and then I'm sobbing like I haven't sobbed since mom died, and it makes me want to thow up, and I'm collapsing and falling and falling. And then her arms catch me and she holds me and I'm so drunk I can't see, but my world is right side up and I can't seem to stop crying nineteen years worth of tears.
"I love you," I manage to choke out.
She strokes my hair gently, and I know she won't say it back in words, but it's everywhere; in her hands, rubbing my back. In her lips in my hair. Disguised in different words, ones of comfort, masked and shy.
And I know what her answer is anyway.
*******
"Can you get inside okay?" she asks as she pulls up outside the Neptune Grand.
I nod and take a deep breath. "Yeah, I think I puked up all my innards back at the bridge, so you don't have to worry about liver damage."
She laughs and I can see the tearstains on her face. I can only imagine what mine must look like.
"Okay," she says, a smile still on her face. "Hey, can you take me to the airport at noon tomorrow? If you're not too hung over?"
"Sure," I say. "I have to pay a visit to the morgue in the morning, but I'll come get you after that. I think we should talk about some stuff."
"Definitely," she agrees. "You sure you want to go tomorrow? Maybe I could call Trina instead, and-"
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow," I sing, and my voice is sligtly hoarse.
She smiles.
"It's a joke," I explain. "I'm just like little orphan Annie now."
"I got that," she assures me.
I sigh and undo my seatbelt. "Goodnight, Veronica."
"Goodnight, Logan," she says.
I lean in and touch my lips to her forehead briefly. "And thanks," I say, for so many different reasons, some of which she will understand, and some of which I'm not so sure even I do.
But I'm pretty sure I'll have time to figure it out.
*******
When I wake up, I feel less hung over and more awake than I have in a long time. I take a long shower to wash away all the grit and dirt of the last few days. It feels like several lead weights have been lifted from my shoulders; like I can finally breathe again. I make pancakes for breakfast.
Then I catch a bus to the Coronado Bridge to pick up my rental car. I really need to get a new car, now that the Echolls fortune is officially mine. I then drive to the morgue entrance of the hospital, steeling myself for the sight that has haunted me for the last couple of days.
"Hello," the reception desk lady says. "May I help you?"
"Umm... I'm Logan Echolls..." I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to say.
She knows for me. "Yes, we've been waiting for your call. This is a bit unexpected, but it should only take a minute."
"Sorry," I say. "I was busy."
Yeah. Busy attempting suicide and breaking down in Veronica's arms.
She gives me a look like I shouldn't be to busy to come ID my oh-so-loving father's corpse. "That's fine," she says. "Dr. Everwood will be right with you."
Dr. Everwood is a tall, willowy woman who would have been beautiful if not for her glasses and severe ponytail. She smiles at me and says, "Hello Logan. Right this way."
She leads me down a white and sterile hall lined with white and sterile doors, all the way to almost the end of the hall, to a door marked with an E.
She unlocks it and we go inside. The room is... you guessed it. White and sterile. I'm getting more nervous with every passing moment. I've seen dead bodies before, but will this be different? Will I once again feel the emotions that I now know are natural, but I still don't want to feel? Dr. Everwood walks to a metal door in the wall and pulls out the long tray inside.
And there he is. Cold, dead, and finally gone. And I find that I have cried my last tears for him.
So I look at the doctor and I say, "That's him."
"Alright," she says, like before now she hadn't recognized Aaron Echolls' face. "We'll just have to get you to sign a few things, confirming that it is him."
"Why couldn't you ID it yourself?" I ask, not unkindly. "Every person in Neptune- no, Every person in California could have done it."
"It has to be immediate family," she explains. Then she leads me into her office and I have to sign paper after apaer that confirms the body as his, says that I will not sue the morgue for any reason, blah, blah, blah.
"We recieved a call from your sister yesterday," Dr. Everwood says. "She has made funeral arrangements. Maybe you should give her a call. She sounded pretty distraught."
I resist the urge to snort. Trina? Distraught? No, she's too much of a drama queen to have real emotions. Maybe I''' go to the funeral though. Veronica will encourage me. Say it would be healthy.
Veronica! It's quarter to twelve! I stand up and say, "I'll get in touch with her." Then I pick up my jacket and leave Aaron Echolls behind one last time.
*******
"So," I say, and she looks up from her desk and smiles at me. I grab her carry on bag and grin back. I jerk my head toward the door in a typical let's go signal. I pull the door open for her and she walks through it.
This is the moment. I've been thinking about it nonstop since she dropped me off last night. I even dreamed about it. I glance quickly toward Keith's office before dropping her bag and catching her in a kiss and spinning her along the wall. Triumph erupts into my chest as she kisses me back, and I'm lost to my senses. All I can feel is her lips on mine, so familiar and safe, and I try to convey as much emotion as I can in this kiss.
She pulls away but clings to me. "What are you doing?" she asks breathlessly, her eyes wide and full of questions. But my favourite smile is gracing her lips, so I don't lose confidence.
Her back is to the wall and I press her up against it. "I'm not gonna see you for a whole week," I explain. "That's like... a month."
She laughs at me, and it's such a beautiful laugh it's like music to my ears. "Yeah, but then I'll be back, and everything will be fine," she promises.
I lean in and kiss the silky skin of her neck, and then her cheek. "Mm, you say that but I don't know," I mumble, nuzzling her neck and savouring my victory.
"I know," she says in that Veronica-ish way of hers, where she's right and that's all ther is to it. "I can feel it."
"And you're never wrong?" I ask, like it's possible for me to doubt that fact.
Her hair brushes my cheek as she shakes her head.
"Yeah?" I tease.
She giggles and I lean in to kiss her smiling lips again, but our moment is interrupted by the hall light turning on.
"Ah, young love," says a voice that causes us both to whip our heads around. And as though the Mars Investigations hall light magically reveals people for what they really are, I suddenly see Kendall Casablancas in a new light.
No longer is she the beautiful older woman who made me weak-kneed whenever I saw her. No more is she my source of comfort on a lonely night. Now she's just a big time slut who was skanky enough to sleep with Aaron Echolls.
So while Veronica glares at her for interrupting the moment, I only smirk at how pathetic and sad she really is.
"No, no," she enthuses in a sarcastic voice. "Hold that position. Norman Rockwell wants to come in and paint you two." She thinks for a moment. "Did he pin on his pin or was he too shy?"
"Why are you here?" Veronica demands venomously, and the hate in her voice only makes me grin wider.
"Yeah, I didn't know you could come out during daylight hours," I tease, and it's Kendall's turn to glare.
She can't think of a comeback, and so she stalks past us to the doorway of Keith's office. "I have a business proposition for your father," she snaps at Veronica, answering her first question.
Veronica smiles slightly and says mockingly, "Okay, but I'm warning you, he doesn't carry much cash!"
We watch her go, and then I turn my attention back to Veronica.
"I'm serious, Logan," she says, looking it. "Everything's going to be fine."
And there is such conviction in her voice that I can't doubt her.
"I know."
*******
"If this is your idea of 'talking about some stuff,' you're socially retarded," Veronica tells me, breaking her lips from mine to resort back to our old banter.
"Hm." I consider. "My old car was a better makeout spot."
"I agree," she says, then pulls me back down onto the backseat. "This one's too small." She brings my lips down to hers, but breaks it off all too soon.
"I have to go," she groans. I do, too. "Are you going to be okay?" she asks seriously, studying my eyes to detect any lie.
"Yes," I say, because it's the truth.
She searches me for a moment, then her eyes light up. "For once you're sobe and not lying to me," she says. "At the same time."
"I'm gonna try and make it a habit," I promise her, laughing. She smiles at me, then pushes me off her and sits up. We sigh in unison and get out of the car. I open the trunk and get her stuff out.
"I can take it from here," she says. I drop her bags and cup her face gently in my hands, taking a stray lock of hair between my fingers and tucking it behind her ear. We look at the airport together. "I'll call you as soon as we land," she tells me.
I reluctantly release her face. "Okay," I say, and lean down to kiss her one more time, putting all my thanks into it. She pulls back smiling.
"I love you," I vow. She smiles wider, and I know she's not going to say it for now, but she touches her lips to mine, and I can feel her response in every cell of my body.
I love you, too.
"Bye, Logan."
I just smile as she walks away from me, thinking about how far we've come. And as she reaches the door of the terminal, she looks back and waves. I raise my hand in farewell and watch her go in the door.
I get back into my car and think for a long time. About Veronica, about Lilly, about Weevil, about mom, about Aaron... about Cassidy.
And I come to this conclusion: Maybe I'm right. Maybe there is no happy ending.
But that gives us all the more reason to live, love and laugh in the present.
Hm, I think as I drive away, feeling lighter than I have in a year. That is definitely tomorrow's inspirational message of the day.
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