Cara: Thanks!
Snoob: I'm so glad! I couldn't write it if there wasn't any drama.
Blix: I was hoping no one would figure out it was him.
Kellie: I'm letting the readers decide if they want it to be a sequel or not because it works either way.
Vegeta: I love those kinds of stories, too.
Cassandra: I know what you mean. His past is so intriguing.
Wapps: Thanks so much! And my computer hates me, too. Lol.
L.Harma: I wish I could have written faster. Thanks for the review!
NOTE: There are a million reasons why I haven't updated anything these last couple of weeks. All I can say is: I'm terribly sorry for the delay.
RATING: Part TWO of this chapter is rated for sexuality.
Chapter Seven
Forgiving Not
Part One
Logan squinted against the glare of the midday sun, twirling his Cuban cigar in his mouth, sucking in the tobacco harshly. Despite being lost in thought, he didn't flinch when a pair of tiny hands clutched handfuls of his jacket and tugged. Logan peered down into the innocent face of his son and grumbled, "What?"
Charlie paused, seemingly pondering something before breaking into a toothy grin. "Daddy, I wan' to swing, pwease."
Logan groaned, stubbing out his cigar on the brick wall. He scooped Charlie up into his left arm and trotted down the patio's steps, causing squeals of delight from the toddler. He headed towards the lonesome tire swing hung from the weeping willow tree near the edge of the garden. Scott – in a rare display of affection – had made the swing for Charlie on his second birthday.
Charlie tapped Logan on the shoulder and then pointed with his chubby finger at a bird teetering on the gently swaying tire. "Look, Daddy, a birdie. Tweet, tweet. Tweet, tweet. Mommy say I may have one."
Logan shoed the blue jay away and then plopped Charlie onto the swing. "She said that, eh?" Thanks, Marie, for consulting with me first, he thought sarcastically, pushing the swing. "And when would you be getting this bird?"
"When I's eighteen," Charlie replied proudly, still not fully comprehending time. "That's in like five days."
Logan chuckled. "Try fifteen years, bub."
Charlie's face scrunched up, his lower lip trembling. Logan eyed him strangely, confused. "What's wrong, buddy?"
Charlie released a powerful sneeze and then shook his head. "Nothin'."
"Bless you." Thank God you weren't about to cry.
"Hey, there you two are," a sweet voice rung out.
"Mommy," Charlie shrieked happily, he tried climbing off the swing, but his father stopped him by wrapping his large arms around him, pulling him off the tire. Charlie, held by his dad, stretched his arms out towards his mother. "Mommy."
Rogue laughed, taking her little boy from Logan. "Hey there, baby. What have you been up to, uh? Was Daddy pushing you high?"
"Yes."
"How high?"
"High as the sky."
"Wow. Did you see any birds up there?"
"No. But I did see one."
Rogue, puzzled, nodded. "That's great, sweetie."
"He meant he saw one on the swing," Logan clarified. He cleared his throat and – growing uneasy – reached into his jacket and pulled out another cigar.
"Logan," Rogue scolded, bouncing Charlie on her hip, indicating the small child.
"Oh, right." Even after three years he slipped up. Old habits die-hard. Logan ruffled his son's hair. "I'll see you later, buddy."
Charlie pouted. He could never seem to play with both his parents at the same time. "Where you go?"
Somewhere to smoke. "Uh…got stuff to do, kid. Grown-up stuff. Go with your mom, maybe you can charm her into making you a grilled cheese sandwich."
"Oh, thanks Logan," Rogue said playfully. "Make me fix him his lunch. Why didn't you feed him?"
"He wanted to swing," he replied, his eyes never meeting her face. He didn't want to see the bruise that tarnished her beautiful complexion.
"You always get all the fun," Rogue teased, knowing her attempt at deflecting the tension would be pointless. She bit her lower lip, shifting her weight and hoisting Charlie higher. "So…uh…do you want something to eat," she asked her husband.
"No."
"Logan," she glanced around, her heart swelling with tears. "I…maybe we should talk about this."
Logan stared at their son, sensing that the young child was picking up on their moods. Their poor boy: always caught up in his parents' turmoil. If only Logan could touch him, really touch him – no barriers between them, just his rough skin against Charlie's baby soft skin. One day, Logan thought gruffly. Rogue learned how to control her power. Charlie will, too.
"Logan?"
"Later, Marie. We'll talk later." Logan turned and marched off.
Part Two
Logan crept into their bedroom, wincing as his boots thudded against the wood floor. He stepped more lightly, slowly making his way toward the bed. Logan felt a weight settle on his heart at the sight of his wife sleeping peacefully, curled up on his side and clinging to his pillow. He quietly removed his clothes, leaving on his boxers. He used to sleep in his jeans, but Rogue had complained saying she didn't like running her bare legs against his jeans. How could he have argued?
Logan gingerly slid under the covers, scooting Rogue over just enough for him to fit comfortably. She muttered in her sleep, her arm draping diagonally over his chest, dangerously close to his groin. Her right leg was bent, her knee resting across his upper thigh. He winced in pleasure when she shifted, her leg sliding further up, right over his groin.
How long had it been? The last few weeks they had been caught up with exhausting missions; Charlie coming down with a terrible case of the flu; Rogue starting her period…God, it had been close to three weeks since they'd last had sex; and all the bent up frustration he'd been feeling turned into a sexual craving.
Yet, with the way things had been since he'd attacked her the other night…
He gently pulled her leg away from him. Rogue jerked, her hand sliding down to cup him. Logan groaned, struggling to keep from bucking his hips. He choked back a groan as her fingers wrapped around him and squeezed. What the hell was she dreaming about?
"Logan," she murmured, yanking on him.
He gulped. Dear Lord, he'd give her anything, agree to anything if only…
"Logan," she breathed sultry, rubbing him harder. "Where have you been?"
"You're awake," he said, surprised.
"Yes, sugar," she giggled. "Thanks for pointing out the obvious." She raised her head up off the pillows. "You've been avoiding me all day. I thought we were going to talk."
"I…uh…we," he stuttered. How was he supposed to speak with her touching him like that?
"I don't want you blaming yourself." She trailed kisses down his jaw. "It wasn't your fault. You were trapped in some sort of nightmare." She licked his pulsing jugular vein. "You didn't even know your name was Logan." She rolled on top of him, pressing her body against his. "Do you forgive yourself?"
"This is wicked of you, Marie," Logan scolded.
She shrugged. "Whatever it takes." Then she grew serious, gazing into his liquid brown eyes. "I love you, Logan. I've loved you since the day you saved my life on the Statue of Liberty. And I'm not about to let you drown in guilt over something you had no control over."
"But, Marie, I could've killed you! Look at your face, baby, it's…"
She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Shh." She thrust her hips against him once, twice…"Do" – thrust – "you" – thrust – "forgive" – thrust – "yourself?" She drew back, hovering above him.
"Yes," he growled, gripping her butt and slamming her hips back down upon him. He knew it was wrong to lie to her, but he was too aroused to care.
End Chapter Seven