She felt lightheaded and woozy. The words on the paper in front of her were starting to swim, a swirling jumble of ink. But the photo stared up at her in perfectly clarity, Mitchum's face mocking her with a laughing smile. She was pretty sure she was going to be sick. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not here; not today. It was supposed to tomorrow when she was safely ensconced in Stars Hollow, where you had to go out of your way to find a newspaper other than the Stars Hollow Gazette.
She wasn't even sure she was going to read the article. She was going to just stay inside her mother's house ignoring her phone and emails and pretending nothing was happening. After a few days, when the initial fervor had died down, then she would venture out; first into her small town where people would talk, but would be supportive, then, once she'd dipped her toe in a bit, eventually back to the city to deal with the real fall out. That was the plan; it was a good plan. And now it was ruined
She looked up, her eyes tracking around the room. A few people were brazenly staring, others were huddled together whispering and shooting her glances with a surprising lack of stealth for a group of reporters.
"Hey." She startled at the sound of a voice behind her, turning to face whoever it was.
"Umm, hi," she managed to croak out.
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry about, well…" he nodded at the paper she still held in her hands.
"Thanks."
"People can be jerks." He pointed his eyes towards the groups of gossipers. "But mostly they're just curious. A room full of reporters might not be your best audience right now."
"Right." She couldn't seem to come up with more than one-word answers at the moment. She had no idea what to say, her brain was frozen; like a computer browser with eight open tabs and you really wanted to close that top one but that little circle just kept going around and around and the page just stayed there, blotting out everything behind it.
"We could get out of here, go grab a cup of coffee or something; take your mind off it."
She blinked, confused by the offer, her mind unable to process any new information. She did want to get out of there, but she didn't think going for coffee with a colleague she barely knew was the answer.
"Thanks, but umm…I think I just want to be alone."
"Right, I get that. Completely understand." He started to step away as Rory's eyes were drawn back to the paper in her hands. "Just one question…" Her eyes snapped back up at the sound of his voice again.
"Hmm?"
"Would you go out with me if I changed my name to Huntzberger?" he raised his eyebrows pointedly. "Because apparently that's what it takes to get in your pants." He laughed mercilessly and Rory felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She just stood there, immobile as he turned and walked away still laughing.
It took her a moment to regain her bearings. She needed to get out of there, away from the prying eyes and judgmental smirks. Her feet started moving, taking her away from the main floor towards the stairwell and up, until, without even having thought about where she was headed, she found herself in the empty office her and Logan had always met in. The door clicked shut behind her and, tossing the paper on the floor, she dug through her purse for the flip phone she had inside.
It rang a few times and when the person on the other end answered, their voice was partially drowned out by the loud commotion going on in the background.
"What the hell, Jackson?" she yelled into the phone.
"Rory? Hold on." Her foot tapped, full of nervous, angry energy. How could he have done this to her? How could he not have at least warned her? She heard the background noise fade and the sound of a door clicking shut.
"You still there?" he asked.
"Still here," she replied snappily.
"God, Rory, I am so sorry. My editor decided to push the print up because of the arrest. There were too many questions being asked about what went down and he was afraid something would slip and we'd get scooped." The words were just buzzing in Rory's ear now, a nonsensical drone.
"Arrest?" It was the last word said that had any meaning to her, but she had no idea what that meaning was.
"You didn't know?"
"What arrest?" Things wouldn't have happened that quickly, right? It had only been a few days since she'd given the police that letter and statement. She'd assumed there would be more questions, an investigation. She didn't think anything would happen so soon. Was she going to have to go testify or something? Be in the same room as him? She wasn't ready for that; she needed more time.
"Mitchum showed up at Honor's late Monday night after I called him for comment. They arrested him for violating the restraining orders."
The impending panic attack subsided at the explanation and her shoulders slumped in relief. It wasn't about her; not yet. She still had some time to prepare. She could focus on just trying to get through the fallout of the article; dealing with the stares and the snide comments. Just handling that was going to test the limits of her sanity; it already was. If she had to face Mitchum directly, she didn't know what she'd do. Fortunately, it seemed like she wasn't going to have to…yet.
"He's in jail?" She perked up at the thought. At least there was some good news in this terrible day.
"He was arraigned yesterday afternoon and released."
"Oh." Her relief waned but not completely. To say that Mitchum had bouts of impulsivity and anger management issues would be an understatement. But the truth was, for as intense and violent as those moments could be, Mitchum was a pro at reigning those impulses in when people were watching. And right now, the whole word was watching. The police were watching. Sure, the thought of him being behind bars was comforting, but even out on bail, he was still completely shackled by the prying eyes of the public. "Well, that's still good," she nodded numbly.
"Is it?" he asked earnestly. She could tell he felt bad about blind siding her. "I mean, I wanted to tell you, but I didn't even know myself until this morning. I sent in my draft last night, but I had no idea it was gonna make the layout for today. I mean, switching a front page above the fold headline at the last minute…Anyway, things have been insane all morning, and I guess I just assumed Logan had at least told you about the arrest."
Logan. The mention of his name sent her mind into a whole new emotional tailspin. Jackson had assumed Logan would have called her. He hadn't. He hadn't called her at all since that night he told her he'd read the letter from Mitchum. Since the night he told her he wanted to be happy…with her. That was nearly two weeks ago. She'd convinced herself that it was because it was just too risky to reach out. They were so close to finishing this; they couldn't take any chances. But if Mitchum had been arrested Monday night, that was a whole day and a half where that excuse didn't hold up anymore. 36 hours where the fear of Mitchum finding out what they were up to was a moot point. A day and two nights where he could have picked up the phone at any point and called her.
But he hadn't. She knew it wasn't entirely fair of her to be mad at him for that. He had enough of his own stuff going on; she couldn't expect him to drop it all for her. She wasn't looking for a savior…she'd told him that a hundred times. They each needed to save themselves. And that was what he was doing; taking care of himself, his family….
So, he didn't call? He didn't even think to give her a head's up? So what? It didn't mean he was having second thoughts about her…about them. It didn't mean he was lying when he said he didn't care what the public would think about them. And why did she care anyway? Was she just clinging to the idea of a relationship? Was she really even ready for a relationship? Maybe it was better not to jump into anything.
So why did the mere thought of him send her heart into a pitter-patter? Why was she more sad that she hadn't heard his voice than she was mad that he hadn't bothered to warn her? Why did she long just to see his smile?
"Rory?" Apparently her thoughts had gotten away from her.
"Oh," she shook her head. "Sorry. No, I didn't know."
"Are you okay?"
"Did you speak to him?"
"What?"
"Logan," she reiterated. "He told you about the arrest?"
"Umm, he told Finn; Finn told me."
"Right." She nodded her head mechanically.
"Rory? Are you sure you're alright?" he asked again. "Are you somewhere safe? With friends? Family?"
"I'm at the office."
"Crap." She could hear the regret in his voice.
"I wanted to finish up some last-minute stuff before heading to Connecticut to be with my Mom before the article came out."
"I am sooooooo sorry," he repeated.
"Hey!" Another voice cut across the phone line. "There you are. What are you doing in here? Anderson Cooper's people are on the phone, they want you to go on 360 tonight."
"It's okay," she told him. She couldn't quite figure out this strange mix of emotional turmoil and numbness she was experiencing. But whatever it was, she didn't have the energy to be mad at him. It was clear he didn't know. "Go."
"You're sure? You're okay?"
She nodded her head before realizing he couldn't see it. "Yeah. I'll be okay." She wasn't sure that was true, but maybe if she convinced Jackson she could convince herself. For as screwed up as everything was right now, she was no victim…not this time. These were the consequences of the choices she'd made…consequences she'd chosen to accept. She might be regretting it at this moment, but she had to believe that wouldn't always be the case. But for now, she just needed to get out of here. She just needed to drop one thing off to her editor, then she'd grab a cab back to the apartment and get her stuff to head to Stars Hollow.
She took a deep, steadying breath and let herself out of the room, heading back down the stairs to the floor that housed Skribe Media. She exited the stairwell and immediately second guessed her decision, choosing instead, to duck into a nearby bathroom. It was going to take a lot more deep breathing to face that room again. Maybe she could overdose on oxygen and pass out…then everyone would be more focused on her medical needs than her past relationship with her powerful, abusive ex—right?
She collapsed back against the wall, closing her eyes, but the moment of makeshift peace was interrupted by the sound of the toilet flushing. She bolted up to attention as the door to the stall opened and a woman who looked to be about in her mid-thirties appeared.
"Sorry," Rory blurted out. She wasn't sure what she was apologizing for, it just was automatic. Probably some sort of trauma response she didn't have the capacity to dissect just then. Maybe when things calmed down she should look into therapy.
"For what?" the girl asked, looking slightly amused but also sympathetic.
"I didn't know anyone was in here. I just needed a second."
The woman's eyebrows raised knowingly. "If I were you, I'd need a lot more than a second. I'm impressed you're here at all right now."
"It wasn't supposed to come out until tomorrow," Rory explained.
"Oh." She scrunched up her nose in a gesture of acknowledged pain. "That sucks."
"Yeah." The two women stood awkwardly, shuffling their feet and avoiding eye contact.
"I should…" Rory pointed to the door behind her.
The woman scrunched her face up again. "I don't know if you really want to do that," she admitted. "It's kind of a…hostile environment for you at the moment."
"I have to give these notes to Roni." She gestured to her messenger bag.
"I could give them to her for you," she offered.
"You'd do that?"
The woman nodded. "I'm Deirdre, by the way."
"Rory," Rory introduced herself.
"Yeah, I uh…I kind of know."
"Right," Rory nodded her head. She opened her bag and reached in. "Thanks for doing this for me."
"It's no problem."
Rory started to hand the notes over but stopped. Could she trust this woman? She'd admitted it herself; it was a hostile environment out there. Why would Deirdre be any different? How did Rory know she didn't have some weird misplaced jealousy, blaming Rory for trying to sleep her way up in the field? Though if that had been Rory's intent, it sure had backfired. There wasn't anything to be jealous of anymore. Yet she couldn't help but know she'd still get judged for it.
"I promise," Dierdre crossed her heart. "I'll take them to her."
Rory hesitated a moment more before handing it over. "Thanks." She repeated.
"No…thank you."
Rory's eyes squinted in confusion. "For what?"
"For…standing up to him; to…them." She cast her gaze away, fiddling with her hands anxiously. "For doing , you know, what…other…women," she shrugged helplessly, "couldn't."
Rory understood. She understood far too well. "I had support," she admitted. "He tried to take that from me, but somehow it found me anyway. If it weren't for that…I didn't do it on my own, you know. I don't know how anyone could do it on their own."
"Well," Dierdre admitted. "Because of you, and those other women, because you came forward…now a lot more women won't have to do it alone. So…thank you."
Rory nodded, feeling a spark of something she couldn't quite describe, deep in her gut. But if she had to name it, she'd say it felt a little like…hope.
"What if we just…ran the car off the road a little?" Rory suggested as they coasted down the Interstate in Lorelai's beige Jeep. "Not like, off a bridge or anything, just into a small ditch…a rut even. Just something big enough so we'd need to wait for a tow truck. One that conveniently takes three hours to get here so that we miss all of dinner but make it home in time for Hard Core Pawn."
"Believe me, Kid, I have contemplated many a fake car accident just to get out of dinner with your grandparents. But at some point, you are going to have to face them. The news is out; it's everywhere. You had an affair with your boss who they were friends with. So, your options are—face them and get it over with or get a fake name and some plastic surgery and assume a new identity. Now, should you choose to go with option B, just know that I will support you one hundred percent. In fact, Luke and I will go with you. Sure, I'll never be able to see my parents again, but that is just the kind of sacrifice I would make for you, my one and only offspring."
Rory sighed, ignoring her mother's bit. This wasn't the first time she'd suggested fake identities as a way to avoid her parents. But the truth was, Rory didn't want to avoid her grandparents forever. She loved them. Which is precisely why this was so hard. Facing the conspicuous stares of strangers and the hushed whispers of acquaintances was one thing. Although even that she had been able to avoid so far by staying firmly ensconced in her old childhood bedroom for the last two days. But these were her grandparents. What they thought mattered. She wanted them to be proud of her. And she knew she had let them down. Not only had she gotten herself into a dangerous, unhealthy, and –let's face it—embarrassing relationship, but she'd put them right in the middle. Mitchum was part of their social circle. Would he become the pariah? Or would they? Would her grandparent's friends blame her for tarnishing the reputation of an important and highly regarded man within their group? And would they take that out on Richard and Emily? This was the kind of scandal that could ruin their lives almost as much as it ruined hers. She didn't want to be responsible for that. And at the very least, she should have given them a head's up and not let them read about it in the paper.
"They must be so disappointed," Rory groaned, giving her mother an expectant glance to see if she could read her face. She had, after all, been the one playing defense for her for the last couple days and intercepting all their calls.
"A little," Lorelai shrugged matter-of-factly. "I mean, let's face it, they're not hard to disappoint. A few weeks ago, Mom was up in arms because I bought 'curtains' for my bedroom instead of 'window treatments.' Because didn't you know that curtains were ridiculous in front of an air conditioner? And of course there was the fact that I even have an a/c unit instead of central air. Then again, I'm me, and you're, well…you."
"What's that mean?"
Rory saw her mother roll her eyes without taking them off the road in front of her. "It means you, my darling, are their precious angel. You can do no wrong. And if you do do wrong it's probably my fault. And I'm not just saying that to be self-deprecating; I have heard the phrase 'how could you let this happen' too many times to count these past few day." And now Rory officially could add 'feeling guilty over putting her mother in the middle' to the list of ways she was feeling crappy at the moment. "Anyway, the point is, they're a little disappointed, but they will get over it. Because they love you. And because you're hurting. And if there is one thing they can't stand, it's seeing you hurt."
Rory slumped in her seat. She knew deep down her mother had a point; they would stick by her. They could lash out cruelly when hurt and embarrassed, especially her Grandmother, but in the end, they stuck by you. Even for as much as her mother complained about her Grandparent's and how they treated her, when she'd gotten pregnant at 16, they'd stood by her…in their own way. It was Lorelai who chose to walk away, and Rory understood why she did…she appreciated it, even. But her Grandparent's weren't the monsters her mother made them out to be. They were just people stuck in their ways. So, Rory might have to swallow her pride for a bit, but in the end, this would all be forgiven and they would find a way to move on. She really believed that. Still, it didn't stop her from fretting as they neared her grandparent's opulent home. Her mother pulled through the gates and parked on the driveway. "Ready, Kid?" she asked.
"No." Rory replied truthfully.
"Ready as you're ever going to be?" Lorelai clarified.
She gnawed on her lip, her fingers drumming nervously on her thighs. She supposed that was one way to put it. She could sit in this car all night, but it was never going to get any easier. If she wanted this over with, then she needed to get it over with. She took a deep breath and nodded her head. "Okay. Yeah, let's go."
She opened the car door and got out, heading up to the entryway. She stopped and stared helplessly at the door. No matter how much her brain told her arm to lift itself up and her finger to press the doorbell, she stood immobile. Lorelai gave her a pitying look before placing one hand on her shoulder and letting the other hand do the dirty work of ringing the bell.
A few moments passed and Rory could feel her chest tightening, the pressure building up in her throat. She was starting to spiral. If they didn't open the door soon, there was going to be a full-on panic attack. Luckily, the door did swing open, and they were greeted by the sight of a maid. Even by the standards of her grandmother's usual maids, this one looked particularly edgy; Rory felt a kindred connection with her for a moment, but the moment was broken by the sound of a breaking glass.
"Richard!" she heard her grandmother's aghast voice extoll.
"I'm going to kill him."
Rory gave Lorelai a wide-eyed look as they slowly and quietly started tiptoeing towards the sitting room.
"Yes, you've mentioned that once or twice," Emily reminded him. "But they're going to be here any minute. You need to calm down."
"Calm down? Calm down?" Richard roared. "He put his…his hands on her. He took advantage or her. He was supposed to be our friend. We welcomed him into our home. Invited him to our Christmas parties!"
"Oh God!" Emily gulped.
"What?" Richard asked.
"Do you think…do you think anything happened…here? During the Christmas party?"
Richard was quiet again for a moment and then, Rory heard something slam. "I'll kill him!" he repeated.
Lorelai cleared her throat. Richard looked up, his entire demeanor changing instantly. "Rory!" he greeted jovially. "You're here. Come in, come in." Richard waived Rory in from his spot near the drink cart.
"Okay, and I'll just stay here in the foyer. No need to invite me in too." Lorelai added as her parents fawned all over Rory.
"Will you just sit down," Emily scolded with a roll of her eyes.
"I don't know," Lorelai pondered. "Rory got two enthusiastic 'come ins' and I got one disgruntled 'just sit down.' I'm not sure I'm feeling the love."
"For goodness sake, Lorelai. Not everything is about you."
"Well, sure, but if Dad's going to go to jail for murder soon, I thought it might be nice to have a little more camaraderie at our last family dinner."
Richard sent her a glare and Lorelai finally shut her mouth. He turned back to Rory. "Martini?" he asked.
"Umm…okay." Rory answered warily. Besides the fact that she usually drank club soda at her grandparent's even after she turned 21, she was also unnerved by their doting behavior, especially considering how angry they had been when she'd walked in.
Then again, she probably shouldn't have been that surprised. The people in Rory's life had always had a habit of assuming she could do no wrong. Whenever she made a mistake, or screwed up, it was never her fault. She was just some sweet, meek, little girl victimized by a big bad wolf. It was no wonder that she'd eventually let herself fall into exactly that kind of situation.
The thing was, she didn't know if she should be annoyed or relieved. The whole point of coming forward was to not be a victim anymore. And here her grandparents were, treating her like one. But then again, they weren't wrong. Mitchum had taken advantage of her. She had been a victim. And while she'd prefer to focus on the here and now, and how she was going to move forward, she supposed this reaction was better than the shaming and hostility she knew awaited her in the public eye.
Richard poured the drinks and everyone took their seats. Awkward silence filled the room. "So," Emily tried to break it, but there was nothing to follow the 'so' with. What could she possibly ask? 'How have you been?' 'How's work?' 'Are you seeing anyone?'
Another uncomfortable minute passed and finally Richard piped in. "Read anything good, lately?" he queried.
"Well, I uh, I was trying to read the Brothers Karamazov, but my brain hasn't really been in the right place for dense Russian literature these days."
"Right, of course," he acknowledged. "Dostoevsky is an endeavor under the best of circumstance, and I'm sure you've been busy with that new job of yours."
"Yes," Emily replied with the amount of awe one would normally reserve for hearing her granddaughter was taking part in a NASA exploration of Mars. "An online newspaper. What an interesting concept."
"Indeed, technology is moving so fast these days," Richard piped in. "It's smart of you to stay on top of it. You're on the cutting edge of journalism." Funny how for months they'd been pestering Rory about her "choice" to leave the Voice and go work at Skribe. They had made their disdain of the whole idea very well known. And now, suddenly, it was 'interesting,' and 'smart.'
"And who knows," Emily added. "One day these online papers may even replace real ones completely."
Richard gave a hearty chuckle. "Well, I don't know about that. But I do think there's something to it. And you're getting in on the ground floor. Very smart."
Rory looked at them like they had suddenly sprouted horns and an ugly mole. "Last time I talked to you, you said it was risky, and ridiculous. You were adamant I apply for jobs at a…" She held her middle and index fingers up and curled them into air quotes, "real paper."
"Well, we've done some research and realized what an up-and-coming industry this is."
Rory found herself becoming unexpectedly irate. Maybe this was better than disappointment and rejection, but it was still awful. She didn't need to be coddled and lied to. She didn't need to be infantilized. She'd had enough of that in her relationship with Mitchum. "No you didn't." she scoffed.
"Excuse me?" Emily replied, appalled at the idea that her sweet granddaughter could talk back to her like that.
"You're not saying these things because you've suddenly realized what an amazing career opportunity this is for me. You're saying it because now you know that it's the only job I could get after Mitchum had me black-balled from every major print outlet on the East Coast. You don't want me to feel bad about the fact that he destroyed my career. As though talking up my floundering journalistic prospects can somehow make up for all the other ways he ruined my life."
"Rory," Richard said calmly, trying to de-escalate his increasingly agitated granddaughter. But she wasn't having any of it.
"No," she said, standing up emphatically. "No, we're going to talk about this."
"You've been ignoring our calls for days, now you want to talk about it?"
Rory spun to face her grandmother. "Yes. Now I want to talk about it. Because this is my experience, my trauma, and I get to decide when and how much I want to say about it."
"There's nothing to say," Richard assured her. A part of her knew he meant that kindly. That he was telling her that they weren't mad at her, they weren't disappointed. That it was all forgotten. But it wasn't. It could never be forgotten. She was going to have to live with this for the rest of her life. And they were too. This was scandal that would always be associated with their name—just like her mother getting pregnant as a teenager.
"Yes," she insisted, "There is. I screwed up, okay? I know I screwed up and I'm sorry."
"Hey," Lorelai interjected. "You did not screw up. This is not your fault. It's his. He screwed up."
Rory scoffed. "No, he didn't. He didn't screw up. He knew exactly what he was doing. And he succeeded. He played me like a fiddle, and I fell for it. How stupid can I be?"
"You, my dear girl," Richard said, standing up to meet his granddaughter where she was, "are anything but stupid. You are the smartest person I know. You are smart and kind, and loving, and strong."
She heard the words her grandfather was saying but they felt all wrong. Like they weren't meant for her. Like they belonged to someone else. Someone else who looked like her, and sounded like her, and dressed like her, but who wasn't…not anymore. They belonged to the person she used to be. But Mitchum had taken that from her. He'd taken everything from her. And all he'd left behind was an empty shell. "No," she sniffled. "No, I'm not. I'm not any of those things. I'm nothing. He won."
Richard took another step closer. "If he won," he pointed out, placing a strong, supportive hand on her shoulder, "then why is he the one being skewered in the press? Why is he the one being stripped of his title by the board of his own company? Why is he the one facing jail time? I'll tell you why. It's because he messed with the wrong girl. He messed with a Gilmore. And you, Rory, you may be down right, now, but he's the one who's out."
Rory felt a wave of relief wash over her body, starting from her center and radiating outward like someone had flicked on a light switch and drowned out the darkness. The only problem was, the darkness had been there for so long she wasn't even sure what to do with the light. It was overwhelming, engulfing her in emotions she wasn't quite sure how to process. She knew a few words couldn't fix everything, couldn't restore her broken self-esteem and repair her trauma. But there was something about her grandfather's speech that felt…hopeful. She was down, but she wasn't out. He was. And for the first time since deciding to go on record, she contemplated the possibility that she was more than just a casualty, taking the enemy down with her; the possibility that maybe after all this, there was an actual future for her, a life. A chance at happiness; whatever that may look like, could still be out there for her.
And so, as the relief flooded over her, washing away the torrent of adrenaline and cortisol that had kept her moving forward for months, she felt the tears burst forth as she threw herself into her grandfather's arms and sobbed.
It was Sunday evening as Rory ascended the stairs to her and Paris' apartment. After her breakdown at her grandparent's she knew that she needed to get back to her life. Hiding for a few days was fine, she needed to give herself room to process. But her life wasn't over. Maybe it wasn't the life she'd envisioned for herself at this point in time, maybe she was starting over in a lot of ways, but starting over didn't mean she was out of the game. It was just a setback. A huge one, but still…And the best way to get over a setback was to start moving forward again. So that's what she would do. She would face the challenges that lay before her one by one. Sure, her coworkers might gossip and judge her, but at least she had a job. And sure, Logan still hadn't called her like she'd hoped he would, but there was nothing wrong with being single; she had her family and her friends. And true, she had received more than a few sideways glances on the train ride back to the city, but soon she'd be home in her own apartment, away from the prying eyes.
Only, as she exited the stairwell and turned the corner to her apartment, there was one set of staring eyes still to contend with. She wanted to be mad. She wanted to be resentful. She hadn't heard from him in almost three weeks. But despite the scowl she plastered on her face as she glared suspiciously at the man sitting cross legged on the floor in front of her apartment, a designer leather jacket—one of the last remaining vestiges of his former life—balled up behind his head as a pillow, she couldn't be all that angry. It felt like someone had opened a bottle of champagne inside of her, the bubbles fizzing up through her abdomen, into her chest and tickling her heart. He was here.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, keeping her voice stern and unyielding despite the excitement inside of her.
"Steph told me you were coming back tonight."
"I could have told you that if you would have called," she pointed out.
He stretched out his legs, pulling himself to standing, his leg buckling slightly, indicating that he'd been sitting there long enough for his foot to fall asleep. She wondered if Paris was at the library or if she just hadn't let him into the apartment. "Can we go inside?" he asked, shaking the blood back into his limb.
She shrugged, feigning indifference as she walked past him, pulling her keys out of her bag and opening the door. She didn't invite him in, but she left the door open. She'd never been able to fully shut the door on him, even when she knew there was no hope for them.
Logan followed her in, softly shutting the door behind him and hanging his rumpled coat on the coat rack. They appeared to be alone. "How are you?" he asked.
"I'm…here," she admitted as she rolled her suitcase into a corner out of the way and turned to face him. It was the best she could offer. She was here. Here in New York. Here in her apartment. She was present in the reality that was her current existence. She was showing up. It was a start. But she wasn't fine, she wasn't okay, and she certainly wasn't good. Although if truth be told, she was a little better now that he was here.
"I'm glad," he told her. "I missed you."
She blinked at him in confusion. "You missed me?" It wasn't exactly as though he'd gone out of his way to initiate any kind of contact.
"Of course I did."
"Why didn't you call?"
He shrugged. "You didn't call either."
"I…" the shame immediately washed over her, a deep pit of guilt building in her stomach and making her nauseous. She hadn't called either. She should have called. His father was arrested...humiliated. His family name was tarnished. And he'd let it be tarnished—for her. He'd given up everything for her. The least she could have done was give him a call. She was terrible. She didn't deserve him.
He took a step closer to her, his brown eyes soft and pensive, his head cocked to the side as he sized her up. "I wasn't accusing," he told her. "I didn't mean…you don't owe me anything." How did he do that? It was like he was reading her mind. Her lip quivered slightly and he reached a hand up to caress her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed and she instinctively turned her head into his caress. "I just meant…I didn't know if I should. I thought…I thought maybe I should give you some space."
The statement somehow felt completely wrong and completely right at the same time. Space. It wasn't what she was conditioned to expect. Overbearing, controlling, jealous; that was how someone showed they cared…wasn't it? But here Logan was, giving her space out of kindness and compassion. Thinking about what she needed instead of forcing it upon her. It felt unnerving, yet at the same time, freeing. She supposed freedom was always unnerving in a way…because there was a certain amount of responsibility that came with it. Was she ready for that? Was she truly ready to take care of herself? Was she ready to be in charge of her own life? Her own career? To make her own mistakes…and to own them? It was terrifying….to not have someone there to tell her what to do, to give her rules and structure, to tell her what would make her happy. "I'm not used to space," she admitted.
"I know. But you were at your family's. I know how much they mean to you. And how he…he kept you from them. I don't want to do that. I didn't want to interrupt your time with them. You deserve to have all your people."
He still had his hand on her face and his body was so close to hers. Her heart was thudding in her chest. From anticipation or fear, she wasn't sure. Probably both. He smelled so good, and he was saying all the right things. Her head knew they were right. She'd needed that time with her family. She'd needed the safety of home with her mother. She'd needed the unwavering support and faith of her grandparents. She'd needed to be with people who saw her the way she used to be…before. But a part of her still felt like there was something wrong. Like if he didn't fight for all her time and attention, if he could live three weeks without her, if he didn't want all of her…then did he really want her? But the look in his eyes… "And are you one of those people?" she asked, her voice a husky whisper.
"I could be." He replied. She could feel his breath on her face but still, he didn't make a move. "I want to be. If you want me to. But if you don't, I understand."
If she wanted him to be? Was he really questioning that? "Why would you think…?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Because you're not ready for a relationship?" he suggested. "Or because I…" he trailed off, pulling his hand back and turning away slightly.
"Because you what?" she asked, her brow furrowing questioningly.
"Because I…" he took a shaky breath in. "Because I…I remind you of him."
"What?"
He closed his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed uncomfortably. "I mean, I have his nose, his name, his…I don't know," he shook his head as though trying to banish the demons that resided within it. "It's just, what if I…if I'm capable of…" He stopped, taking another breath. "I'm just saying, I would understand if you had reservations."
"Logan, no!" Now it was her turn to close the gap, grabbing his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. "That's ridiculous," she told him. "You are nothing like him. You could never be like him. You are everything that is kind, and good, and caring. You are nothing like him. For starters, he never would have worried about if he was good for me. He never would have cared what I wanted. He would have told me what I wanted—and it would have been what he wanted. You could never be that kind of person."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"I don't want you to hurt me either. But…" she shrugged her shoulders, "You're going to. If we do this, you're going to hurt me. And I'm going to hurt you. But not on purpose. He did it on purpose, Logan. He hurt me on purpose to control me. Would you ever do that?"
"No!" he replied empathically. "Of course not."
"Good." She nodded. "Because I'm pretty broken."
"I think I am too," he admitted.
"Yeah," she smiled sanguinely reaching up to brush back a lock of his disheveled hair. "But at least we know it now, right? I mean, there was a time we didn't even know how screwed up we were. I remember when we first met…all that cocky bravado you had."
He smiled back. "Your self-righteous indignation."
She chuckled slightly. "It was all a cover, wasn't it?" They didn't need to cover anymore. They didn't need to pretend to each other, or to themselves that everything was good. Everything was a mess. They were a mess. There was something kind of beautiful in that, she supposed. A beautiful mess.
"I think you know the real me better than anyone I've ever met. Maybe better than I know myself," he admitted.
She was pretty sure it was reciprocal. He was staring down at her, his eyes intense and penetrating. She was sure he could see parts of her she had yet to even imagine. She couldn't stand it anymore. She tilted her head up and closed the gap between them; she was done talking.
His hands gripped at the material of her shirt, pulling her body closer as they stumbled backward into a wall. Her arms went around his neck as she arched further into the kiss, and then her hand dropped back down, trailing over his warm, solid chest. Their mouths separated momentarily, but their bodies remained molded together, their foreheads resting against one another.
"Do you want me to go?"
She answered him with another kiss, this one even more fervent. His hand caressed up and down her side, sending shivers through her body. But still, he pulled back.
"Rory, do you want me to go?"
She bit her lip and took his hand. "No," she shook her head as she started walking backwards in the direction of her bedroom. "Do you want to go?"
"No." he shook his head, following her willingly.
They didn't say anymore; they didn't need to. Everything wasn't magically fixed. This wasn't happily ever after. This thing they were doing wasn't going to be easy. They knew that. But for the night, at least, they could finally forget about everything else and just be happy together.
AN: Well, there you have it folx. We've made it to the end-well, except for the epilogue. I hope I did it justice. And I hope you've enjoyed this ride as much as I have. I know so many of you were wary of even giving this story a chance and I so appreciate every one of you who did. It means a lot to me that you trusted me enough to get past the idea of Rory and Mitchum being together in the beginning. And that you trusted me to find a way to get these two kids together, even though it seemed impossible, and quite honestly, more than a little ooky. Please let me know if you feel I succeeded in that endeavor.
Like I said, I do still have an epilogue coming for you all, and maybe one other little surprise. Then I'm going to try to focus on Missing Pages a little before rolling out my new story idea-and yes, it will of course be a Rogan. So you wont be getting rid of me that easily. Happy holidays.