Chapter 2 - Saturday
"Pass me the impact driver," Josh points. I pick it up, press the button a few times to hear the vvvrrrr vvvrrrr sound of the drill, you know, just to check it's working, and pass it to him.
He grins and shakes his head.
"Hey, at least I knew what it was," I offer, hands up.
It was no secret, I was not the handiest of men. Look at my upbringing, I barely had to butter bread myself, certainly being schooled by Daddy on home handiwork was never going to be on our weekend to-do list. But I was trying, I could pass nails, I could hammer stuff, Josh seems to find me particularly helpful at holding things steady for him.
I never professed to be handy, I was here for brute force and good looks alone.
"Hold this," he gestures with his head while I take the cornice, line it up with the marks on the wall, holding it steady for him while he secures it in place.
I'd met Josh a few years into training at the Kingsville Naval Air Station in Texas. We had six months to get acquainted, sharing dorms and spending eight hours a day folding our bodies into the cockpit of a T-45C Goshawk. Running consecutive training drills and perfecting our arresting hook landings before we were trusted with landings on a carrier. When we finally finished our training and I landed my rubber on the flight deck floating in the Atlantic for the first time, he was there. It was a good feeling.
Six more deployments together and he was like a brother, a good-natured, annoying, pain-in-the-ass brother. The kind that I willingly help on a Saturday morning doing home renovations that I'm highly unqualified for.
"All this work," he mumbles with a screw in between his lips, "and we're going to have to leave."
"What?"
"Leiha's pregnant," he whispers to me.
"Wow, that's awesome, congratulations!"
"It's another girl," he smirks and rolls his eyes, but I can tell, he's delighted at the thought. He already had two lovely little girls to come home to after every tour, I'm sure another would complete the package.
"It means, of course, that we're going to have to move. We can't sleep two kids and a baby in the same room together, we need something bigger."
"Shit man, you've done all this amazing work, the place looks incredible," I say, meaning it wholeheartedly. Josh and Leiha had renovated every inch of this home back to its former glory. It was a classic Californian bungalow built in the 1920s painted pale grey with white accents. The polished oak floors, a stunning kitchen, a stone fireplace and a large outdoor deck.
It had such a feel of home.
"Don't want to buy it, do you?" he asks as he watches me looking around.
I shake my head and laugh it off, but my mind starts to wander. I could imagine enjoying a cold beer on the deck, cooking breakfast in the kitchen, lounging on the couch in front of the fire. Of course, these imaginings all include doing these things with a certain petite blonde. Somehow she seems to complete this fantasy. What's a home without someone in it to love, someone who loves you?
Clearly, I was firmly ensconced in a fantasy of my own making.
"Hey! Wake up!" Josh yells at me, he puts on his battle voice which is deeper and more clipped and it works to stir me from my errant thoughts.
I glance at my watch. "Shit, I've got to go, the wedding is in a few hours." I put down the tools and wipe my hands on a rag.
"Ahh yes, don't want to leave your hot wedding date waiting," Josh winks, chuckling.
"It's not a date, we had separate invitations, we're driving there in separate cars," I explain, like that somehow negates his teasing.
It's not a date. I remind myself, a little nervous at the thought.
"So, then you're staying in separate hotel rooms?" he asks.
I sigh, he's got me there, "No, but..."
He interrupts me, "Yeah, yeah, say what you want. I know what you want Lieutenant Echolls," he goads me knowingly.
I start backing out of the room. "Catch you later," I scurry down the hallway, saying quick goodbyes to Leiha and the girls. Escaping before he has a chance to make any more references to the feelings he knows I have. You can't spend months and months together with someone and not have them know your deepest darkest secrets and desires…. Or maybe you could?
Hopping into my car I do a mental checklist in my head:
Home. Shower. Collect Suit. Drive. Veronica.
The last item on my list made me drive just a little faster than usual.
Five minutes out from the Winery, I am blasting my music, singing out loud, excited for the night ahead. I am running at least fifteen minutes late which I was sure I would soon be scolded for. Of course, I don't really care, Veronica's cute when she's mad.
The Bluetooth cuts out the music and I answer the phone, certain it's Veronica calling to berate me.
"Ms. Mars, have you got your panties in a twist?" I ask her.
"Lieutenant Echolls?" the voice, which most definitely is not Veronica, is deep and harsh.
I would laugh, if I wasn't so sure about what was about to follow those words.
"Yes Sir."
"Commander Scarff here. Advising orders to deploy from North Island, Thursday morning at 0700 hours."
"Yes Sir."
"I'll make contact again on Monday with further information."
"Yes Sir."
He hangs up and the music automatically comes back on. I reach for the volume and turn it down, suddenly no longer in the mood to sing along.
Fuck.
I'd been home for three months now, three months of bliss. Three months of lunches, surfing, tv, takeout, laughter. Three months of her, sitting beside me on the couch each night.
A knot twists in my stomach, pulling hard, making a tourniquet around my insides.
"Fuck!" I yell and punch the steering wheel a few times for good measure.
There is nothing I can do. I resolve to keep this information to myself until tomorrow, no need to dampen the wedding atmosphere.
I see the sign for the hotel, indicate and steer inside, parking myself next to Veronica's car. Taking three deep breaths, my cheeks muscle upwards as I practice my smile, practice my guise that everything is normal. I check it in the rear vision mirror, it seems passable.
It's showtime.
The ceremony is as wedding ceremonies tend to be, long, uncomfortable affairs that draw out into milling around the gardens in your finest attire with a smile plastered on your face. We'd made it through without any major incidents. No murders. Check. No runaway-brides. Check. There were a few moments where it seemed like Veronica might make herself a runaway guest, so I did what I could to calm her. A platonic arm pat here, a reassuring glance there.
I look her in the eye, "I know you hate weddings. Repeat after me. Open. Bar."
"Open. Bar." She repeats carefully.
"Good girl."
I was more than happy to be moved into the reception venue, with a beautiful blonde by my side wearing an incredibly distracting emerald green dress. This dress had a side split that can only be described as dangerous. For me, anyway. Said blonde, however, was busy lamenting our assigned seating at the spinster table as she referred to it so kindly, and loudly, in earshot of our tablemates.
We make introductions and small talk with our fellow 'spinsters' while dinner starts being served. I have been placed next to a middle-aged woman named Rebecca who seems to have taken an immediate liking to me. While I attempt to make amicable conversation she repeatedly adjusts her breasts further and further towards me to the point I wouldn't be surprised if one jumped directly out of her dress and her nipple grazed my arm.
Veronica is seated next to a wannabe bodybuilder, Brett, who she tolerates begrudgingly while catching my eyes to give me death stares in between a fast disappearing flute of champagne. I motion the waitress to refill my glass as I attempt to catch up.
Even with the possibility of a nip slip before me, I could sense Veronica's unease beside me. Carefully, I slip my hand beneath the white linen tablecloth and place it reassuringly on her thigh. Soft and warm beneath my fingers, by some temporary insanity I'd forgotten about the split in her dress. At no point had I considered that actual skin would be involved, thigh skin no less!
Jesus Fucking Christ.
I whip my hand as fast as I can back to my lap, which is fortuitous because it can now cover my growing thigh-related erection.
Veronica gives me a look that can only be described as what the actual fuck?
We went to considerable efforts not to touch. Since establishing the friendzone, it had somehow developed as an unspoken rule. It gave us boundaries and I really needed boundaries. So, going from nothing to a clothless deliberate touch was borderline pornographic.
Rebecca turns to us and asks, "Have you two known each other long?" I am eternally grateful to her for the distraction.
"Too long," Veronica replies, mouth full, seconds after a forkful of dinner entered her lips.
"We went to school together," I try to explain.
"Did you ever date?" Rebecca asks, innocently enough.
If only she knew how loaded that question was.
We both nod. "In high school, and a bit in college."
"That was a long time ago. It feels like centuries ago." Veronica rambles, because another of our rules is to never ever talk about the relationship that once was.
I grin at her, "Yeah Veronica, centuries," and roll my eyes.
"He's more of an annoying older brother figure to me now."
Is she saying this to annoy me in that cute pain-in-the-ass banter way, or does she genuinely think it?
"OLDER brother, really?"
"Yeah," she points her fork at me, "you are technically older than me."
"Three months!" I'm suddenly itching for a battle with her. Of course, our tablemates look on at us curiously.
"Exactly! Anyway, he acts like my older brother most of the time, so I think it fits."
I decide that some gentle stirring is in order, "Brett," I ask "Tell me, do you work out?" I stare her directly in the eyes. A challenge.
Unfortunately for me, it backfires, and I have to feign interest in Brett's intense bodybuilding and bulking regime. It was tiring, to say the least. When he finally finishes, I feel Veronica's leg nudge against mine and I nudge her back, just a little bit harder.
This is a dangerous game, don't be a fucking idiot Echolls, stop touching her!
"Well," I turn to Brett, "You're sitting in the right place because Veronica just loves ripped guys."
She splutters a mouthful of champagne out and glares at me. If looks could kill, I'd be in a puddle of blood, stabbed with a silver wedding knife right about now.
An evil smirk crosses her lips, "Hey Logan, why don't you tell Rebecca about the two murder charges you beat. That's a good story."
I freeze mid-fork-into-mouth. She casually tips her champagne flute at me.
She's so cute when she's evil.
"Don't forget, my Dad is a convicted murderer too!" I add dryly, looking at Veronica deadpan. Two can play at this game.
She shakes her head at me and the guests within earshot shuffle uncomfortably in their seats.
Rebecca looks mildly horrified, but not quite horrified as I'd hoped. Stilted table chatter resumes around us. Rebecca's hand reaches under the table mid-conversation and her fingers graze against my leg. I fear that mentions of my not-so life of crime have encouraged her. Suddenly leg touching is not quite so appealing.
Veronica leans towards me and whispers "Maybe you should have left that little nugget of information for the second date?"
I shrug, "You know me, I like to lay all my cards on the table nice and early."
Speeches finished, Shae calls to all the single ladies to come to the floor, it's time to catch the bouquet. Rebecca springs up gleefully while Veronica, I'm certain, wants to crawl under the table or insert a fork directly into her eye. It's unspoken. I won't press her to go there. She will not go there. I question the need to continue the tradition of singling out unattached females to fight-it-out publicly for the so-called prize of impending marriage. An ecstatic older lady catches it and I feel Veronica breathe a sigh of relief that the horror of horrors is over.
The DJ resumes and Rebecca reappears beside me at the table, "Care to dance?" she asks a little too casually.
How the hell do I get out of this one? Sorry can't dance with my prosthetic Leg? My line-dancing troupe says I need to stay off my feet until the next competition?
I shuffle in my seat, "Oh, sorry I'm not much of a dancer."
I notice Veronica turn her head away.
Rebecca pauses for a moment before replying "No worries. I'll go join the girls," and she disappears onto the dance floor.
Veronica looks at me and pointedly raises her eyebrows, I raise mine back.
"Smooth," she mouths.
"The smoothest."
Shae drags a reluctant Veronica to the dance floor, surrounded by a gaggle of ladies, doing some kind of jig in a circle. I watch her visibly relax as the songs continue. Her hair has come a little loose and blonde strands are starting to trickle down the back of her neck, her lipstick is long gone, along with her shoes. The beaming smile confirms for me that right now, she is more beautiful than she has been all night.
As she dances, her thigh keeps making delightful appearances through the split of her dress.
In, out.
In, out.
In, out.
I know how that thigh feels and the memory of it causes my fingers to twitch at my sides.
I'm hypnotized, and I stand, my legs suddenly moving separate to my body, transporting me over to her. I can't let tonight end without dancing with her. I would never forgive myself.
Shae watches me approach with a smirk and taps Veronica on the shoulder to alert her to my presence.
I put out my hand, "Dance?" Veronica smiles and takes it. Her hands are so small and warm in my own.
"I thought you didn't dance?" she asks in that knowing voice.
I only dance with you.
I don't answer her and place my arms around her lower back, pulling her into me. This is the most physical contact we've had in 10 years.
Bodies.
Flush.
Together.
Fitting perfectly, easily.
I listen to the music, it's Phil Collins 'Groovy Kind of Love ' and it seems particularly apt.
"So…" I finally speak, "I'm being deployed again on Thursday. I just got the call on the way here. I wasn't going to tell you tonight. But I felt like I should." I tell her before really thinking about it. I do it for purely selfish reasons, I want to see if she's upset, if she cares as much as I do. When she's this close she can't perform her usual evasion tactics, she needs to be here, to react, in front of me.
"Oh, for how long?" she asks, her voice tinged with sadness and her shoulders suddenly slumped.
I shrug. Suddenly not wanting to talk about this anymore. Mad at myself for ruining what should be a happy night for her. Because of course, I got my answer in her eyes.
She's devastated.
I don't last too long on the dancefloor, when ABBA comes on and Shae gets that crazy look in her eye the gaggle of girls reforms and I take my leave.
I take a stroll outside for a while, enjoying the quiet and the cold air on my face. Suddenly intensely sad that I'm leaving all this behind in a matter of days.
When I return I steer clear of our seats and my spinster table admirer who winks at me from across the room.
I scan the crowd for faces, well, only one face really. I can't find her. I do a lap of the room, the guests slowly growing weary from a long day of smiles and joviality. Suit jackets hang limp on the back of chairs, ties have been loosened and perfect wedding hair has dropped in the humidity.
I finally find her in the hallway, outside the bathrooms. She's sitting on the cream carpet, chatting to a waitress who hands her a band-aid. She gives me a half-wave, the waitress smiles at me and wanders away.
Veronica is nursing her foot and rubs at her toe with a wet cloth, it has a few tiny red drops of blood on it. She has a glass of champagne on the floor beside her and I reach out, take the glass and have a sip.
"Dance floor injury?" I gesture to her foot.
She nods "Wallace's aunt's stilettos and my toe did not make friends."
"The dangers of barefoot grooving."
Veronica waggles her finger at me, "You should have stayed for the conga!"
I grimace, "You couldn't handle my conga."
She nods, like she agrees wholeheartedly.
Peeling off the cloth she groans drunkenly, "It hurts!"
"I get that but you're going to bleed on the very expensive carpet."
She inspects it, touches it gingerly. "Ugh, I'm dying. It will be how I die. My eulogy will read Veronica Mars. Dead at 31. While escaping from the Spinster Table, she dared to groove too close to a stiletto and paid the ultimate price." She reaches over, takes the champagne flute back, her fingers grazing mine and casually drinks.
There is something about sharing a glass...
"Good to see you're not exaggerating." I take the band-aid from her and start unwrapping it.
She pulls off the wet cloth, displaying her wound. "Will I live doctor?" she shuffles around when I try to look at it.
The toe has the world's smallest cut on it, without a doubt even a bandaid would be overkill. Drunk Veronica is most definitely a hypochondriac.
"Probably, but I fear I must prescribe regular sponge baths. Of which, I humbly volunteer my services."
She chuckles but won't look at me. I'm just so happy to see her smile.
Crouching down, I sit on the floor beside her, lift her foot onto my lap, wrapping the bandage around it, gently pushing at the strip to adhere to her perfect little toe.
"It's your fault, you left me unsupervised. I danced," she leans close to me, slurring slightly whispering, "I had fun."
I shake my head at her, "Your secret is safe with me," I whisper back, close.
Too close.
"Pinky swear?" Veronica holds out her pinky to me. We lock them together and something passes between those pinkies. I don't know what it is, but it's setting off alarm bells in my ears.
She breaks the pact and holds her index finger up, "You better. I know how to kill you and never get caught."
I sigh, "We talked about this Veronica. No plotting murders at weddings."
"But it's my favorite place to plot murders," she pouts, "Fine, I'll save it for work. Plenty of good candidates there."
"Good girl." I kiss my index finger and press it quickly to the bandaid. Veronica looks at me from under those long eyelashes, her gaze is questioning and I feel like the longing in my own eyes is mirrored in hers. Maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm not?
Abort Logan.
Abort!
I break the look and smile as casually as possible. You know, just kissing boo-boos on the hallway floor, no big deal.
I need to get out of this position, it's not smart or safe. I reach out my hand to help her off the ground, "Can you walk?"
She grins cheekily, "No."
"Liar," I reply and heave her to a full standing position where she walks with only the slightest limp.
I leave her to go and seek out a bartender, intent to swipe another bottle of champagne before the night ends because I think I really need it.
As the circle forms to say goodbye to the happy couple Veronica and I stand, both swaying slightly, awaiting our turn.
Finally, Wallace makes his way over.
"Hey! Johnny and June!" He smiles at us and wraps Veronica in a hug.
It was the first time I'd crossed his path the whole day. You rarely get to spend any actual time with the bride and groom, which happens when they're trying to divide their time between a hundred or so of their nearest and dearest. Wallace and I seemed to have come to some kind of truce over the years. Not that I ever had anything against him personally, but it was historically clear that I didn't make an appearance on his BFF list. Not surprising considering I acted like a human stampede over Veronica's life for quite some time.
He was Veronica's best friend for years, then he found a girl, got engaged, and passed the proverbial torch to me. So there was a mutual respect there, an unspoken connection. Two guys, who both understood what it was to be ruled by a stubborn, headstrong, dry, beautiful, tiny blonde girl.
I shake his hand and offer my congratulations, and he gives me the smile that says it's all you now buddy.
Geez, no pressure.
"You look like you had fun," he points to Veronica's barefooted, band-aided toe.
She shakes her head, "Me, never."
"Good, wouldn't want you to have enjoyed yourself," she leans forward and hugs him again, tightly, like maybe she can drag him back into singledom.
"Have an awesome honeymoon," she punches his arm sadly and playfully.
"Make sure you drink until the absolute end, it's all paid for."
Veronica salutes, drunkenly, "Yes, Sir!"
Wallace has more guests waiting, he has to move on, his eyes glance towards them.
"Have a good night you two, don't do anything I wouldn't do," he chuckles and winks at Veronica, and they exchange a very pointed conspiratorial look.
Hmm, interesting.
We stroll back to the hotel in the moonlight. I can't stop my thoughts from racing.
I'm leaving in four days. 96 hours left, even less if you count the time Veronica has to spend at work this week. Maybe four hours each night, at best, an hour for each lunch break visit, that's about 20 hours left together. I'm baffled by the math I can do in my head after so much champagne, but more baffled by the hard figures, the hard reality before me.
I feel myself walking a little slower, suddenly intent on prolonging this as much as I can.
We find ourselves back at the hotel, standing at the door I shuffle around in my pocket for the key.
Hopefully, I've lost it.
Nope, it's here. Damn. I unlock the door, which takes a few attempts as the key mixed with alcohol makes it appear like the door has grown a second lock.
Finally inside, the hotel room is strangely warm and we stand for a moment by the door. I'm not sure what I'm expecting here, and it appears neither does she. Awkwardness explodes in little grenades around us.
Yep, I knew it, room sharing is a definite no-no for the future.
Maybe I should offer to unzip her dress? I imagine the feel of the zip in between my fingers, slowly pulling it down, each inch I drag it revealing more and more of her creamy skin. I wonder if she has a bra under there? I doubt it.
I'm suddenly steadfast that I am not going to offer any of my semi-professional undressing assistance, even if it is one of my greatest talents.
"Well, I'm going to go and get changed in the bathroom, I don't want to offend your delicate sensibilities," I stutter and rush ungracefully into the bathroom, as far away from zips as possible.
In the bathroom, I change out of my suit. Unbuttoning my shirt, I will my fingers to slow down. I stop and rest against the vanity, taking three deep breaths and staring back at the closed bathroom door.
Behind that door, Veronica is slipping out of that dress. I imagine the emerald green fabric in a pile on the floor and run my fingers through my hair, steadying myself, reminding myself.
Veronica is just my friend.
Just a friend.
A friend who I'm in love with, again.
A friend who is waiting behind that door, getting ready for bed. She thinks of me as a brother, she said it herself. But on the floor when our pinkies locked, for the briefest of moments, her eyes told me a different story. I saw something there, hidden, and it scared me. It terrified me because it gave me a second to consider that maybe, she felt it too.
I stare at myself in the mirror. Pull yourself together, Logan!
I shake it off, take the little glasses out of their paper wrapping and fill them with water. Certain that it would be enough time for her to change, I slowly re-enter the room and deposit the glasses on the side table.
She lays on the bed on her back, eyes squeezed closed. I turn off the light and climb into the tiny bed. Only a two-foot gap separates us in the small motel room. I lay on my back, hand resting behind my head. The room warps a little, the Champagne still bubbling through my veins.
"Did you get Rebecca's number?" She asks, clearly still awake.
"No," I answer. There was not one moment I considered even asking for it. "Did you get Brett's?" I tease, knowing that there was no way Veronica would be interested in someone like that.
We laugh and I turn on my side to face Veronica, staring at her in the darkness. I wish I could read her mind, explore her thoughts and wade through her silence.
"Veronica," I ask, "Do you really think of me as a brother now?" The alcohol is giving me the briefest moment of confidence to ask the question. I don't know why I needed to hear it, but a brother figure was the last thing I wanted Veronica to associate with me.
"No," she replies after a pause.
I let out a deep sigh of relief.
We say goodnight and Veronica's side of the room falls silent. But I can't seem to will my eyes closed, can't seem to find anything close to the desire to sleep.
All night I'd been desperately trying to extend these moments with her and now, knowing that my departure was imminent, everything was exacerbated. I toss and turn, pulling the tucked in sheets out, letting my legs fall out the side of the small bed.
While Veronica is silent beside me, I know she's still awake. I can almost hear her thinking.
Suddenly, she moves, her sheets pull back and I freeze. She's probably just going to the bathroom so I hold my breath, pretending to be asleep.
But she stops.
I can feel her presence next to my bed, see the faintest outline of her form above me. Without a thought, I pull back my sheets, shuffle to the side and she slips into my bed, pressing her body against mine, tucking herself into my open arm. Again, I try to hold my breath, to steady my heartbeat for a moment.
Holy fucking shit.
Once, lying on the king-size bed in the Neptune Grand suite, she lay head on my chest, enmeshed in the crook of my arm and referred to it as "my nook." So from that time, it was etched in my memory. It was, and would forever be, her nook. A few ladies had crossed its path over the years, but they were never permitted to linger there.
I certainly didn't just let anyone nook.
Veronica starts to slip over the edge of the bed so I place my leg over hers, cementing her to me.
Bare leg against bare leg.
I spent years with this woman, draped over her endlessly and yet, now, I'm rendered incapacitated by her leg touching mine. The smell of her shampoo lingers just inches from my face and I lean down slightly to breathe in the familiar scent.
I don't know why she's here. Is it comfort, or is it something more?
All my body wants is something more, to lean over and kiss her, to run my hands all over her bare skin. I stop myself from thinking those thoughts, I didn't need my body to respond and frighten her away. I want to keep her here, like this, with me.
We say goodnight again and I close my eyes. Her breathing starts to slow, along with mine. The warmth and the familiarity of this relaxes my entire body and I realize with content that it suddenly feels like a puzzle piece, long lost for years, finally found, slots effortlessly back into its place. The puzzle is complete.
I have never been so happy to be in a tiny hotel bed in my life.
As I drift into sleep, I can feel it, one of the friend zone walls is falling down and I don't even try to prop it back up.