Part 3

Her movements in the kitchen were stilted. Veronica had never been as conscious of herself as she was at that moment—not even when all eyes were intent on her back during her ostracism in Neptune High or when she walked down the red carpet of a film premiere under the jealous gaze of women who wanted to be in her shoes. She had never been shy. If she had been she would not have survived the occupation she chose. Yet tonight she felt Logan's eyes on her as if his gaze was a tangible thing. Her jerky movements even caused a fork to fall on the floor.

Even the slight clatter it made on the tile startled her, and she immediately bent down without thought, hitting her forehead on the counter in the process. It was more the shock rather than the pain that caused her to stumble. For one horrific second as she tittered in her crouched position, she imagined falling flat on her ass in front of Logan Echolls. That was an interesting image of herself for him to come back to.

She caught herself before continuing the thought, because there was no comeback in this case. Logan was here because of an accident—one that she was too old and too smart to have happen to her, but happened nonetheless.

Right in that split second before she sprawled on the floor, arms surrounded her and drew her safely within.

Warm arms.

Familiar arms.

Longed for, loving arms.

Within those arms, all the reasons they were no longer together could not matter. Who would remember whole weeks of drunkenness, of open hostility and isolation, of his frantic belief that he was his father's son and her witnessing how close to Aaron he could become? In his arms maybe she could stop her absolute need to know everything he was not ready to reveal.

She could fool herself too sometimes…

"Are you okay?" his voice rumbled in his chest. Since she was held against his body, she felt the vibration against her cheek. Veronica closed her eyes to relish that precise moment when everything seemed so much like the way it was after high school graduation when all was right between the two of them, right before the past that should not have mattered caught up with them and sent Logan to the fiery, semi-conscious world of incoherent inebriation. "Veronica, love, are you alright?"

It was the endearment that snapped her out of the illusion. Logan used many endearments playfully, but that exact one he only used once, at the time he sat beside her in the hospital while waiting for her father to come out of surgery and she was a complete wreck, and he promised her that no matter what happened he would take care of her. It was a sickeningly weak moment but she did not protest, simply allowed her body to melt into his because he seemed so much stronger that time, so much more dependable. When her eyes opened it was to see him looking down at her face, which had been lost in a dream. "Yeah," she mumbled. "Just feeling really stupid."

He helped her up and checked the counter behind her. Staring at his back, Veronica could sigh in relief that it seemed her little trip to fantasy land was forgotten. When he turned back around, he held two plates of the pasta that had been in her takeout box.

"You'll need more nutrition than this," he started. "Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow to see what I can cook." Logan placed one plate in front of her and one in his setting. "I've always been better in the kitchen than you."

It was true. Veronica wouldn't bother denying it. Still, whatever she felt about the concept of Logan in her kitchen wearing the frilly apron that she had been given by Connor as an April Fool's joke, she knew she had to put a stop to it. "Logan, you can't—"

"I know you adore my steak," he continued.

Then again, Veronica thought, what could it possibly hurt?

Veronica gave him a small smile and brought up a forkful of pasta to her mouth and realized that they had forgotten drinks. Before she could act, Logan had already stood up and motioned that she would get them. She heard the refrigerator door open and shut, then recognized the sound that made her freeze on those last weeks of their relationship. It was the sound of a can popping open. Veronica pushed away from the table and ran to the kitchen. Her heart in her throat, she prepared for all her hope to be dashed. Maybe it was too much temptation to send an alcohol to where all the alcohol was.

There was Logan with two cans of cold beer in his hands, standing over the sink and pouring the contents down the drain. She sagged against the doorframe in relief. She was loving this brief moment of her old Logan to lose him again the way she slowly did at the end. Veronica had not been ready to let go.

She might have sighed to loudly, or he just noticed the presence behind him. Logan turned around and for an instant Veronica saw the stark longing in his eyes, that tense jaw and the throat that worked furiously to moisten what was suddenly too dry. Then Logan cracked a grin that did not quite reach his eyes. He shrugged. "We gotta make sure you don't get tempted and give birth to a drunk kid."

She did not grin back. Instead sincerely, so that he would recognize what his action meant to her, she nodded and said, "Thank you, Logan."

He tossed the cans into the trash and waved her thanks away. Then, he pulled two more cans out of the plastic ring and popped them open, pouring out the contents once more. Veronica went up to stand beside him close enough that she felt the tremors racking his arm as he poured the contents of each can away. When the trembling started to get too much, she took the last two cans away from him and poured the contents down herself.

Veronica laid her hand on Logan's arm. "Come on. Have dinner with me first, Logan. It's been too long."

He released a long held tremulous breath, then picked up a bottle of orange juice. "I'm hungry."

The two of them sat back down to dinner and ate. She could not ask a question. She had learned more than enough about him tonight.

iVeronica knocked on the door. In response, she heard a loud noise against the door. Logan had thrown a shoe. It was his most vocal way of telling her to leave. Instead of leaving, she used her key to open the door a crack.

"Logan." She almost backed away at the stench of old clothes and tequila.

He sat in the dark, behind the desk where they worked on their papers. In front of him lay two bottles of tequila, both empty. "Leave me the fuck alone, Veronica. Can't you do that?"

"I want you to tell me what's wrong, Logan."

"It's none of your business."

Veronica knelt down on the floor beside him. "It is. It's my business if you're going to be like this."

He bent low, breathing the stench of his breath on her face. "Leave it," he rasped.

She shook her head. "This is about Trina, isn't it, Logan?" He did not answer. "It is!" she concluded. After the sentence had been passed on his father, Logan had asked Veronica to help her track down his sister. To his heartbreak they tracked Trina down to New Mexico, living in a rundown apartment, sporting a bruised eye and nursing sore ribs.

"Give me some privacy, Veronica," he pleaded. "I'll tell you when I'm ready."

Despite their differences, Logan knew Trina was his only family left. He had asked her to leave, told her over and over she did not deserve to have an abusive boyfriend. To which his sister had responded that she was in love—probably the way Lynn had been with Aaron.

Veronica let out an exasperated breath and stood, kissing Logan on the forehead and leaving the room. It was not as if she was going to let it go at that. She dialed the number of the investigator who had helped her track down Trina.

And learned about Logan's remaining family member having been found in the bathtub soaked in water turned red with her blood, her slashed wrists hanging by the edges of her tub.

That was when it happened, so fast it was like hurricane that tore through their lives and destroyed everything.

Logan stalked in, eyes blazing, stinking of tequila and snatching her phone from her. He threw it against the wall with such violence pieces of it burst in all directions, one cutting her chin. "What did I tell you?" he yelled into her face. "What did I ask from you, Veronica!"

"Logan, I needed to know," she cried back. "And I'm so sorry."

"No!" he screamed.

Veronica stifled a cry of pain.

Suddenly, the fury drained out of his eyes and his gaze fell to his other hand, which was gripping her wrist so tightly he could see the white mottled imprint of the pressure outlining his fingers. Logan dropped Veronica's wrist. Veronica caught the injured limb and started massaging it to get the circulation flowing. When she looked up at Logan, it was to see the look of icy horror on his face.

"I'm sorry," he choked out in a whisper. "God, I hurt you," he continued, as if only then realizing it. "I'm so sorry."

It was then that he backed away and vanished into his room. The next day, all of his clothes were gone. On the bed, it was the same. His last words to her, as if that night had been all they had shared through the years. His last memento was a card on the pillow with the message: "I'm sorry."/i

"Do you eat enough vegetables?"

Veronica blinked away the memory, but the heavy feeling in her heart brought by the reminder of the morning following his departure remained. "I eat all the vegetables they mix with the fried rice that the Chinese restaurant downstairs delivers."

He frowned, the curve of his eyebrows clearly indicating that was far from enough. "Never mind," he decided. "When I start cooking tomorrow, you're going to eat enough."

She tried to breathe through the pain, because Logan was obviously here. He wasn't going to run off. And he wasn't going to drink himself to such oblivion that he would turn into the man he had turned to on that night she wished she could just forget.

Veronica shook her head. It was hell.

She was fine now. She was back on earth.

Was she really going to walk down the golden pathway back to hell, even if it was lined with the crispiest vegetables in the world?

"Logan, I don't really think it's appropriate for you to come back here cooking for me. Connor—"

His eyes narrowed. "You're not marrying Connor, Veronica."

She huffed at the determined answer. "I've been engaged to him far longer than we're been together at any one time!"

"Is that really going to be your argument?" he parried. "You're pregnant with my baby."

"I'm Connor's fiancé," she argued. "What makes you think this is yours?" Never mind that she had told him straight out just that afternoon.

"Oh no you don't," he warned. "You're not giving my kid Connor's last name."

She smiled grimly. "As if anything you want me to do ever mattered to me, right?" she baited him.

"Just when I thought maybe we could make this happen," he said softly, by the glint in his eye already reminded that she could not do something as simple as give him some time to himself, "you remind me what kind of bitch you are."

With that, Logan stood up and picked up his bag. Veronica stood as well, stiffly reaching for Logan's plate. This was it. She had pushed him away. She turned around and closed her eyes against the threatening tears, but only managed to make them fall down her cheeks. None of her dreams were going to come true. Veronica was going to raise the baby alone. She just had to learn to forget about any residual feelings she had for the man who left her without so much as a goodbye years ago.

She heard the creak of when the front door opened. Veronica prepared for the slam that would mark the last time she would see Logan.

"Leave the plates on the sink and go to bed," Logan commanded from the door. "I'll have a housekeeper here early in the morning to clean that up. If you're not letting me cook for you, you're going to damn well eat what she serves you. Make sure you're here at one in the afternoon and I'll have another book reviewed for you," he told her coldly, then closed the door firmly behind him.

Despite the coldness, the words made her knees weak with relief.

He wasn't gonna leave.

Veronica walked towards the kitchen and placed the dishes aside to wait for Logan's housekeeper. Then, she brushed her teeth and washed her face. Picking up the book that was marked with green and orange post its, she made her way to the bedroom.

Tbc