Logan POV
Light filters through the window as I lay in an unfamiliar bed, trying to orient myself to my surroundings. When I left Veronica and Mike, I decided to walk back to the hotel, trying to work through everything that I had learned. A part of me was excited to work on a case with Veronica again, but a much larger part of me worried over her safety and what it meant that there was some asshole out there trying to use Gorya's threat against us. I dreamed of being able to see her again for so long, but this seems like a price too high to pay if it means she's in danger.
I run through possible suspects the entire way back, purposefully avoiding thinking about Veronica herself. That way lay madness and despair.
By the time I got back to the hotel, I was so physically and emotionally exhausted my body just gave out on me. Sleep claimed me as soon as my head hit the pillow. Waking up, it takes me a minute to remember where I am and why. I let the events of yesterday wash over me again as I lay staring at the stained ceiling. This time though, I allow myself the luxury of thinking of Veronica directly.
I'm elated, but also deeply saddened by the whole situation. Close enough to touch her after nine years, but separated by an invisible wall. This all feels temporary, a brief truce before I'm shut out, game over, game, set, match. Absolutely no chance for a fucking home run.
Fuck, where the hell are all these sports metaphors coming from?
I chalk it up to watching that terrible movie with Jon Hamm on the flight over, Million Dollar Arm. One more point against commercial flights: terrible movie choices.
Still, it all fits. Knowing Veronica, she'll let me in just long enough to figure out what this new threat is, and then she'll be sending me on my way without even a thank you. She'll go back to living her life here in New York and I'll...well, I'll go back to surviving. I'll continue to try to fill the Veronica shaped hole in my soul with women who mean less than nothing to me. At least I have flying, although even that comes with an expiration date. The Navy won't let me just keep flying fighter jets for the rest of my life.
This is fucking torture. I'm not sure how I'm going to make it through the next few days. To see her, be that close to her, but know that I can't have her, can't touch her, is like knives slowly peeling away layers of my skin.
She's every bit as beautiful and engaging as she was when I last saw her, even more so if that is even possible. A part of me was afraid that I had built her up in my mind, made our relationship and her pull on me into something that it never was. I have been known to be a bit of a romantic, and I always wondered if I had romanticized her. The one who got away; my own feelings of inadequacy making her into something more than she was. But an hour in her presence and I know it wasn't just my imagination.
Last night was like being on a roller coaster, up one second and down, my stomach in my throat, the next. Veronica is the light to my dark, the yin to my yang, the other half of my soul. It was all I could do to not touch her. My entire body ached with the need to feel her skin against mine, to taste her again. My mouth fills with saliva, a Pavlovian reaction to the thought of Veronica's taste, sweet almost like honey, but with a hint of tartness. It's ambrosia, I would gladly die for one more taste.
I've managed all this time by not allowing myself to dwell on the memories of the past. Only in my most melancholy moments have I indulged in fantasies of her in my bed. It's enabled me to function to some degree, to avoid calling out her name in bed with another woman, but with her image so fresh in my mind, I can't help the desire to wallow, even if I know its a dream that will go unfulfilled and I'll be back to trying to force the memories back into their box once again.
Fuck it. I've been good for so long.
I catalogue all the differences between Veronica at 19 versus Veronica at 27. Her golden hair is longer now, and it's straighter than she wore it in college. There are a few minute lines around her eyes that weren't there before and I can only hope that they are from laughter and not sadness. Her body, I pause in my recollection, feeling my body respond to the image of Veronica now. Heat engulfs me and my cock, already at half mast with my morning arousal, hardens immediately.
Her body is curvier, more lush. My breath comes in pants as I imagine this new body naked, the fuller breasts still tipped with the sweetest dark pink nipples I've ever seen. As my hand slips below the sheet covering me, taking my hard cock in hand slowly stroking, I imagine her firm, flat belly flowing down to gently swelling hips, a blank canvas where blonde curls used to hide the most beautiful pussy I've ever seen. In my mind, I run my hands from her dainty feet, smoothing over slim calves finally arriving at her milky thighs. Toned muscles ripple and flex while I gently spread them seeking her wet, dripping center. Leaning down, I take one of those pert nipples between my teeth, biting gently before soothing the sting with my tongue. My memory supplies the soundtrack of her moans, gasps, and that little growl she makes right before she comes. My entire body tightens and shudders as I come harder than I have in years.
Fuck.
My phone vibrates and I roll over to grab it, my breath still uneven, heart pounding as I come down from my high.
Unknown Caller.
"Hello?"
"Morning playmaker, are we still on for breakfast?" Mike's far too cheery voice assails me through the line.
"Playmaker?" Confusion infusing the weird nickname he's given me. Is he calling me a player? What did Veronica tell him about me exactly? What does he know? I take a deep steadying breath before my paranoia gets out of control.
"I'll tell you at breakfast." The thought of having breakfast with this guy makes me slightly nauseous. Even if he and Veronica aren't together, he still clearly is a very important part of her life, and he enjoys a closeness with her I can't help but envy.
He did offer me hope last night, though. I push my jealousy deep down.
"Why not? I've done crazier things in my life." Flip, casual, not at all like I'm boiling over with questions and a burning need for answers. This guy can give me insight into Veronica. I am not passing up this opportunity.
Mike and I make a plan to meet in the lobby of this shitty hotel in thirty minutes, giving me just enough time to grab a shower and get dressed, but not enough time to talk myself out of meeting him. Mike didn't mention Veronica, and I couldn't bring myself to ask if she was still staying with him or if she went home with Piz. The thought of them going home together, a home that they share, leaves me with a pit of vipers swirling around my gut. I'm sure I won't be able to eat a thing.
Grabbing my room key and wallet, I head downstairs. I take the stairs, ignoring the elevator, telling myself that it's for the exercise and not because of any deep-seated elevator related trauma. Mike is waiting in the lobby, looking casual in a pair of jeans and a blue checked button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, leafing through brochures for New York attractions in the rack by the check-in desk. I'm struck again by how handsome he is. It's a little surprising that he and Veronica have never been together.
He's definitely her type aesthetically. Tall, dark hair. I realize that my assumption about her type is based solely on the fact that she dated me and Duncan. I really have no idea what her type is these days other than not me. My mind whispers Piz, but I shut that fucker down right away. Even if they have been together for the past nine years, live together, whatever the fuck, I refuse to believe that he is what she really wants.
Mike looks up from the brochure in his hand as I walk towards him, a huge grin splitting his face. The way his eyes rove up and down my figure, I feel oddly cheapened, like I'm a steak that he can't wait to consume. It's not an entirely unfamiliar feeling though usually when I'm on the receiving end, it's a woman licking her lips suggestively.
Like a bolt of lighting striking, everything comes into clarity. His phrasing last night when he said Veronica wasn't his type. I just thought he was an idiot because Veronica is the most stunning woman I've ever seen and if this guy couldn't see it, he didn't deserve her.
I really can't stop myself from blurting, "Are you gay?"
Mike's laughter is warm, without any rancor. "So not as self-involved as Pixie-chick. You might be an easier project than she was."
My confusion must show on my face because he just laughs harder before slapping me on the back lightly.
"Don't worry, I'll explain everything, but only once we eat. I had to slip out of the house this morning before she was awake so I couldn't risk making coffee and I am in dire need of some caffeine." He leads us out of the hotel, turning in the direction of his house.
I restrain myself from asking questions despite the thousands clamoring for attention in my head, choosing instead to enjoy the walk and take in the changes in the city as we traverse neighborhoods. Last night I was so distracted by my thoughts, I didn't even pay attention to where I was. As we walk starting where the hotel is, the neighborhood is downtrodden but as we move a few blocks, posh hotels and apartment buildings intermix with stately brownstones like Mike's place, speaking of money and wealth.
After about twenty minutes of walking in silence, Mike points to a cafe across the street. I shrug, not really caring where we eat. While I visited New York frequently with my parents as a child, I really only saw a small portion of it. Aaron Echolls only went to the types of places where it would be a boost to his career to be seen. Quaint cafes on side streets certainly weren't his style.
As we are seated at an outdoor table, Mike fixes me with a concerned gaze. "Are you always this quiet?"
"No." I cross my arms across my chest, leaning back in my chair as I stare back at him, face impassive. I don't know what he wants. The only reason I'm doing this is because he knows Veronica and might be able to help me understand the woman she is now.
"You can relax, I don't bite," He smiles coyly. "Unless you ask very nicely."
I smirk. It's odd as I realize that I like him. I know nothing about him, but he seems familiar, like an old friend. I let my arms drop, my one hand sits sedately in my lap while the other fidgets with the silverware. I look down at the table, avoiding his eyes. "Why did you ask me to breakfast?"
Why did you give me hope, whose side are you on, what do you know?
Before he can answer, the waiter comes by to take our order. Mike orders a cheese and bacon omelette, a side of bacon, and coffee. His order makes me think of Veronica and a small smile forms before I slip back on the impassive mask. Not really hungry, I copy his order and add a glass of orange juice to it.
With the waiter gone, Mike's attention returns to me. His pensive face shows an internal debate, but finally he nods. "You want it straight, no games." I shrug. "I'm going to tell you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."
"Are you a lawyer too?"
"God, no. I'm a therapist." He shakes his head and chuckles. At my glare, he quickly continues, "I'm not Pixie-chick's therapist. No doctor-patient confidentiality. I really am just her friend. We met at Stanford when she was studying psychology. You know her undergrad is in psychology right?" I shake my head, not trusting my voice. "Well, it is. We were in a class together."
His eyes have a faraway look, as if he's remembering that time. I wish I could see what he's seeing.
"She was ... " he pauses, eyes glancing up at the sky as he searches for the right words to describe her. I can think of a million adjectives, but I stay silent. He shakes his head. "Broken. I've never seen a person more closed off. Everything about her was a giant warning sign telling people to stay away. There was anger, but also sadness. My heart broke watching her in class. It was clear that despite her armor, the subject matter was tearing her up inside."
His face is sad, remembering a girl who had shut down. I understood why she felt like she needed to. Hadn't I seen that armor growing thicker, the walls pushing me out until I felt it was necessary to break it off before I was crushed under the weight of them?
"What class?" My voice breaks, my own armor slipping at the idea of Veronica in pain.
"Overview of Childhood Trauma." His tone says the title should explain it all, and it does. I can only imagine the types of things the class discussed. Topics that I still struggle to talk about, even with years of therapy behind me. "Yeah, that look, that haunted by ghosts only you can see, that's the look she had in her eyes that day. I know that look, I've lived it. I was lucky, and I managed to come out the other side still able to feel, but her, I could see her future that day. Alone, miserable, the light in her eyes completely gone. She was such a force, but she was dying inside. I couldn't stand to see it."
I stare at him in awe. This stranger who truly saw her and stepped in to save her from herself. It was a feat I tried many times only to be shoved back. I should be jealous, but all I feel is gratitude because the woman I met last night wasn't a shell, shut down emotionally. She was still tough and held her armor close, but I could see that light Mike spoke of, her innate goodness. It was that light that I fell in love with, that I'm still in love with.
"I kind of stalked her after that." He shrugs, sheepish. "It started as a project, a way to help someone in need, but it turned out to save me too. She's an amazing person."
"Yeah." My voice is quiet, my mind still picturing Veronica meeting and befriending the man before me. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I love her." Jealousy flares before I remind myself that his love is not like mine. He has no desire to touch her. If he notices, he ignores it. "She's better, but she's still denying herself. I am tired of watching her lie to herself and everyone else. She's living her life for others' expectations and if it doesn't stop soon, I'm afraid she'll start to shut down again. This relationship with Piz is a manifestation of her delusions."
I glare at the table at the mention of Piz.
Our food arrives before anything else can be said. I think about what he's said as I eat. Veronica is living a lie. I don't know if that's true, but the part about her trying to live up to others' expectations rather than doing what she wants rings true to me. Wasn't that part of the problem with our relationship? Her father didn't like me, he thought I was the bad boy trying to lead his daughter astray. As close as Veronica and Keith are, it didn't seem strange to me she was constantly trying to change me, control Keith's perception of me. Even when she let us near one another, she had to control the entire conversation as if she thought I would fail some critical test. It left me feeling like a disappointment and failure.
Keith always seemed to like her other boyfriends more. The so called nice guys. I was the guy who was most likely to be arrested, to get into a fight. I wasn't nearly good enough for his precious daughter. I can see how Piz would fit into the role of the parentally approved boyfriend. Nice, sweet, drama free Piz. A father's wet dream. Whereas I was his worst nightmare.
Mike pauses in his consumption of his omelette and takes in my pensive face. "Look, I'm not going to betray her secrets or tell you anything that shouldn't come from her. I really just wanted to explain my relationship with her and get to know you a little bit. She's talked about you. You are special to her."
He leaves it hanging there, a spider watching his prey. I don't know how I'm supposed to respond, but I can feel my defensiveness taking over.
"I wouldn't know since she hasn't even called in almost nine years."
"Ah, yes, the playmaker." He chuckles softly.
"What the fuck does that mean?" Heat rushes to my face as I flush, caught between anger and embarrassment.
"Pixie-chick always said you were a psychotic jackass. Playmaker sounds better. It means the same thing." His smile is unrepentant, open like he's inviting me to join the joke. I take a deep breath, relaxing the grip on my fork when I notice my knuckles turning white. "Logan, really, I'm not here to mess with you. I don't know what the future holds, but I think it was fate that brought you back together now. I don't know what is going on in your life, but she's been struggling. Even if it's just closure that you both obviously need, I'm glad you're here. She's brighter when you're near."
I nod, my throat tightening at the thought of closing the door on Veronica. If it's what she needs, I'll do it. I'll go back to my life and leave hers. I love her enough for that.
Mike changes the subject and before I know it, I'm telling stories about my training in the Navy. He certainly has a way about him that puts you at ease. He's funny and thoughtful, and I find myself really liking him.
"We should probably head to my place. Pixie-chick is probably awake by now. If we don't get there soon, she'll come searching. I don't think she's going to feel very comfortable letting you out of her sight until we resolve this mess." He orders a coffee to go, doctoring it with some cream and sugar.
"The feeling is mutual." I pay the check, waving Mike's card off when he tries to pay. "So is Piz there too?"
Mike's smile is triumphant. "No, he went home a little after you left last night."
"Not a fan of the boyfriend?" Standing up, I try for casual, but my tone is a tad too eager. Mike shakes his head vehemently.
"Absolutely not. He's an ass." The smile that lights up my face at his admission feels strange, and I realize I haven't had much reason to smile lately. "I don't know why she started dating him again, let alone agreed to share an apartment with him."
"They haven't been dating all this time?" Relief courses through me as he shakes his head again. Eyes narrowing as I latch onto his other statement about them sharing an apartment. "They must be pretty serious though if they're living together."
"Roommates mainly. The dating thing is relatively new. I offered to let her stay at my house, but she thought it was too much like charity since I'm not there most of the time these days." That sounds like Veronica. She was never comfortable taking anything she hadn't earned herself, even if it would make her life easier. "Speaking of the house, you should stay. I have plenty of room and that place Keith put you is a dump." Sensing my reluctance, he throws out the clincher. "She's going to be staying there and it'll be easier if we're all in one place while we figure out who's after you both."
How can I resist an opportunity to be close to her, to ensure her protection instead of relying on others?
"Thanks. I really appreciate that."
We arrive in front of his house, and I pause. I'm going to see her again. I feel like I have to keep reminding myself that this isn't a dream. Of course, it's not all rainbows and fairy tales. I'm only here because someone's after us, again. I need to maintain a distance or else I won't be able to handle it when she tells me goodbye. I mentally shake myself and walk up the steps behind Mike. I can do this. We'll figure this out and I'll head home. This time with her is a gift, but I'm not going to delude myself that it means more than it does.
Veronica comes out of the kitchen, her hair sleep tousled and sexy. She's wearing a cherry red tank top and sleep shorts with fire hydrants on them. I swallow hard, taking in her bare legs and the hint of midriff showing.
Fuck, this is going to be torture.