26.
Veronica Mars 11:41 AM
Be there in a bit. In the meantime, I'd love a latte from that fancy coffee shop by your hotel.
Veronica Mars 11:43 AM
The kind with the crunchy toffee pieces and caramel drizzle, please.
Logan Echolls 11:47 AM
Whipped cream?
Veronica Mars 11:51 AM
You really need to ask? I thought you knew me.
Duncan sprawls on the couch, watching Saved By the Bell reruns. The suite reeks of burnt popcorn, and a bowl of unpopped kernels sits on the ottoman. "Hey. Logan ran out for some coffee, but he should be right back. Take a seat." He smiles and pats the space next to him.
I ignore his invitation, crossing my arms over my chest. "Tell me why Kendall was in your room 'for a while.'"
His body goes rigid, and he plays it off with an eye-roll. "Come on, Veronica. Logan starts shit. You should know that by now."
I don't budge. "You said she wanted your help with something?"
His eyes frost over, and all signals indicate he's about to shift into shut-down mode. "Nothing happened. Why are you doing this?"
"Nothing? What could you possibly assist Kendall with that Logan can't? Calculus? Latin?"
"Fine. You want the truth?" His voice raises and his chin does this belligerent thing that drives me nuts. "I came out of the shower and found Kendall naked in my bed, but I didn't touch her, Veronica. I swear to God. I asked her to leave. It just seemed pointless to tell you."
"Were you tempted?"
His gaze drops.
"I guess that answers my question."
"You're disappointed."
I stare at the TV, where Screech proves himself incapable of walking and stalking Lisa at the same time. The inevitable tumble occurs, and the laugh-track rumbles.
"Veronica, there isn't a man alive who wouldn't be tempted by Kendall. She's gorgeous and sexy and experienced, but actions count, not thoughts."
Wow. Could he twist the knife any harder?
I laugh, hard and bitter. "You think that's why I'm disappointed?"
Nice job, Veronica. That thought was supposed to stay on the inside.
"Well?" He prompts.
Dammit.
I exhale. "Honestly? I guess a part of me hoped you did cheat."
Duncan fumbles for the remote and hits the red power button. The room goes silent, and for the first time in months, he gives me his undivided attention. "How can you say something like that?"
"Because it would put me on the moral high ground. No guilt up there."
He stands, putting his hands on my shoulders. "What do you have to feel guilty about? What did you do?"
"For not being in love with you." I stare at the floor. "And for not wanting to be in this relationship anymore."
"You're breaking up with me?" Duncan's voice rises, incredulous.
I twist out of his grasp, scanning the room for breakables. I can't let this escalate like my last breakup.
He reacts to my anxiety by switching to his calm-the-irrational-female voice. "Babe, you don't have to do this today. Why don't you take some time to be sure this is what you want. I'll still be here."
"You think I'm doing this on a whim?"
"Well, it is kinda out of nowhere. We haven't been fighting or anything."
"Why would we? I've rationalized everything away."
It's true. I ignored my instincts - every niggling doubt, every moment of discontent - while allowing Duncan to convince me our problems were all in my head.
Predisposed to view him as a good and noble person, I hand-waved away every incident, and judged his motives as honorable.
It's not the relationship, its me. The unease I'm experiencing is my troublemaker side, still chafing at being Normal. That restlessness is my guilt over having lingering feelings for Logan.
My emails to Wallace provided clarity. Viewing them as if I were an outside party, they painted a picture of a girl shifting the narrative to relieve a boy of culpability. A girl who doesn't feel entitled to her own anger - possibly because the boy is employing subtle gaslighting techniques against her. It's one big rationalization after another.
And isn't that a clear sign I'm on the wrong path?
"You won't even notice my absence. We're barely a couple anymore," I say.
"How can you do this to me? To us?" He whines. "After everything we've been through?"
"We've been through?" I repeat, my tone caustic. "What have we been through, Duncan? My memory must be faulty, because all I recall is you leaving me to face everything alone. Losing Lilly. Becoming the school pariah." I clench my jaw. "The loss of my virginity."
He flinches, begins to speak, and I cut him off.
"As for what you said before, you're wrong. Thoughts do count. You've been emotionally unfaithful for months. We both know Meg would be your first choice, and I can't be her. I can't even be who I used to be."
Duncan's anger deflates like pricked balloon. "Maybe it's for the best," he says, collapsing back on the couch.
I sigh, relieved by the deescalation. "I'm glad we're in agreement."
"Meg is pregnant."
"She's WHAT?"
I'm horrified at first, imagining some shadowy figure molesting her comatose body, then it sinks in why this is relevant to our breakup.
The baby is Duncan's.
"But you two never slept together."
"I never said that. You just assumed it."
"And you never corrected me. You let me believe I was your only." My vision clouds, and there's a pounding in my ears. "How did this even happen?"
"I guess she was pregnant when the bus crashed."
I turn my ire on him. "And you kept that from me?"
"I only found out a few days ago."
"I repeat: you kept that from me? I should've been the first person you talked to."
He lifts his eyes, defiant. "What does it matter now? You dumped me, remember?"
I have more to say - A LOT more - but the suite's door opens.
Logan walks in, carrying two cups and wearing a leather racing jacket that makes him look downright edible.
He stops, staring at me and Duncan. "Is something wrong?"
"Nope, everything's peachy." I say, rushing towards the door. "Come on. Let's get this over with."
-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-
27.
He's going to die.
He's going to end up as some stupid chalk outline on a cracked sidewalk, a jumbled collection of roses and stuffed animals from hangers-on who think they know him.
They don't know him at all - only his public persona. They don't care about him. They don't love him.
I love him.
I love him so much I would rip my heart from my chest if I thought it could make it go away.
His death would create a gaping, cavernous, wound in my soul, where words never spoken careen against truths unacknowledged, slicing me apart from the inside out.
This is why I ended things last summer - this aching, terrifying, sense of certainty that he'll wind up dead - as well as his lack of comprehension of how that would affect me. Destroy me.
He's my heart.
And he's my kryptonite. Eventually, he'll be my downfall.
Logan touches me and, despite all attempts at remaining calm, I can no longer hold back the tears. I'm sobbing, my body trembles all over, and my heart is about to explode.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs. "You're gonna be okay."
I shake off his hand. Does he really think he can fix this with a pat on the back?
"A GUN LOGAN? A GUN? WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH A GUN?"
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28.
In hindsight, I could've handled the situation better.
I'm not ungrateful. He's alive. I'm alive. And my face won't inspire bad renditions of They're Magically Delicious every time I approach.
Chalk it up to the fear. My utter helplessness in the face of Liam Fitzpatrick's overwhelming strength took me back to August. Shotgun blasts and raining glass. Blood and broken ribs. The shouts and jeers of Neptune's citizens.
It's a setback, and I can't say it doesn't make me question my decision. Do I really want to be swept up in the maelstrom that is Logan's life?
My instincts say this is different, though.
Last summer - filled with self-righteous rage - Logan sought out danger, running with his pack and inciting mayhem across Neptune. He'd been lashing out at the world; hurting people and enjoying it. I wasn't sure he'd survive to start senior year.
These days, his former fury has fizzled into resignation. He doesn't go out looking for trouble. He rarely leaves the suite, to be honest. His destructive tendencies have become self-directed. Still a problem, but typical Logan, nevertheless. He shows up at school every day, and seems to be passing his classes, despite his lack of any supervision.
He's still not out of danger, and the gun needs to go, but I'm relieved that some part him still values living enough to care about defending himself.
My resolve to help him hasn't wavered. I'm still committed to getting him out of this mess.
I need to tell him that. After my meltdown in the car, I wouldn't be surprised if he's given up on me.
Veronica Mars 3:21 PM
I'm still angry, but I guess I'm glad we're both still alive.
Logan Echolls 3:32 PM
That must have been painful to admit. You're welcome.
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29.
Between classes, catching sight of a familiar long neck and razor-precise hairline weaving through the hall, I smile and pick up my pace. Something about the way his snug tee-shirt outlines his shoulder blades makes my insides warm.
"Colleen, wait up," he calls out, right before I reach him.
A serious-looking, dark-eyed brunette pauses and smiles as if surprised by his attention. "Hi, Logan." She's approximately my height and wears a JV cheerleading uniform.
"Hey." He touches her arm. "That girl Hannah you hang around with? What can you tell me about her?"
She falls in beside him, rolling her eyes. "I have more than one friend named Hannah."
"You know who I mean. Tall, skinny, blonde." He holds out a hand around eye-height. "Legs up to the sky. Is she dating anyone?"
My chest tightens and I fall back, not wanting to hear the rest.
What? Did you think you could just hit the reset button and go back?
-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦-
30.
"Help me, Mars Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope." Logan taps my locker with the side of his hand and walks away.
Mars Wan Kenobi? You can't think of any...cuter...Star Wars characters?
We joke and we banter, but under the bravado he's scared shitless. I console myself sometimes by imagining Logan running the show in prison. By never underestimating his ability to turn a situation to his advantage.
But we both know which outcome is more probable. Between his pretty face, his Hollywood lineage, and his arrogance, he would be an instant target. He wouldn't take it lying down, either, he would come back harder. Hard enough to end up dead.
The very thought of what prison could do to him almost causes my lunch to come back up. Hannah-Something or not, I NEED to clear his name.
I slam my locker and turn, coming face to face with the malignant glare of my favorite PCHer.
But first, I need to keep Weevil from killing him.
I promised my father I would ask around at school about Marcos Oliveres. Did he have any enemies? Secrets? Dad suspects the harassment against the Oliveres family is motivated by personal reasons rather than financial.
I ferret out more information than I ever wanted to know.
"Michelle! Why ain't ya picking up, you big loser?" Rhonda Lambert's voice echoes from beyond the grave, as I let myself into our apartment.
Dad sits at the kitchen counter, rewinding and replaying the message, as he's prone to doing since losing the election.
I still regret not sending the voicemail to the local news when I had the chance. He'd been noble not to use the bus tragedy to secure votes, but his opponent hadn't played by the same rules. Dad had been in the lead until Lamb's announcement that the driver, Ed Doyle never would've been hired by the school district, had a young Deputy Mars charged him with DUI back in 1989.
This recording could've cleared dad's name, proving the bus crash was a murder attempt, not driver error.
Wouldn't the ends have justified the means?
"Something smells delicious," I say, by way of greeting.
Dad glances up and presses stop. "Hey honey. Can I get you some beef stew?"
"As hungry as I am, you might as well just hand me the pot and a big spoon."
He grins. "Bowl of stew, it is."
"I'll be right back." I hang my bag and hoodie in my bedroom and check my email.
I do a double-take seeing Wallace's name in my inbox. Giddiness fills me, and - just as quickly - evaporates. This isn't a reconciliation. He's asking for more time to think.
I miss him so much it hurts.
Back in the kitchen, dad presents me with a bowl, a spoon, a thick slice of bread and the butter dish.
I don't have the heart to tell him I've lost my appetite. I angle my chin at the machine.
"Why are you listening to that?"
"I don't know." He sighs. "There's...something...just out of reach I'm missing."
"You're investigating the bus crash," I say.
"Somebody has to. Despite Woody Goodman's assurances, Lamb certainly isn't doing anything about it."
I slather butter on my bread, careful not to rip it. "I'm surprised Rhonda Lambert had cell reception at the time of the crash. Nobody else at the site did. Except for Sacks, of course."
Dad leans forward, interest piqued. "That could be important to the investigation. You wouldn't happen to know what phone carriers the other students use, would you?"
"Duncan is with Verizon. My Sidekick is T-Mobile. I'm not sure what everyone else has."
"No, that's a good start," Dad says. "I can work with this."
"So we agree the killer set off the explosives with a cell, then?"
"No evidence either way, but if I had to guess? I'd say it was detonated by mobile phone. By someone close enough to know exactly when to make the call."
Steam rises from my bowl, and I blow on it. "Like somebody inside the limo."
Dad gives me a slow nod.
"By nature, bombs are premeditated. Which means whoever detonated it knew in advance we'd be riding behind in a limo." Cold fingers tiptoe down my spine. "I didn't think Dick had it in him. I fell for the dumb surfer act."
"Dick Casablancas?"
"He's the one who arranged the limousine. He said the bus smelled like ass."
Dad's eyes widen as if he's having an A-ha moment. "The dead rat!"
"A snitch or a rodent?"
He shakes his head. "In the bus wreckage. Someone duct taped a rat carcass to the underside of one of the seats."
"That's...repulsive. What do you think it meant?"
"It was intended to stink. If Dick hadn't arranged for alternate transportation, somebody else would've."
"But why the limo," I ask, taking a tentative bite of stew. "Why not just conveniently miss the bus and drive behind?"
Dad shrugs. "Whoever did it wanted to separate the haves from the have-not's. The intended victim was somebody who remained on the bus."
For the first time since learning of Aaron's connection to Curly Moran, something deep within me unclenches. I wasn't the target. Nobody could've predicted I'd ride in a different vehicle from Duncan.
I'm not responsible for the deaths of all those people.
"Somebody like Marcos Oliveres?" I ask.
"Could be. Were you able to learn anything about him?"
I relay to Dad how - while living out his Pump Up The Volume fantasies as Cap'n Crunk on the "Ahoy Mateys" radio show - Marcos not only ridiculed half the student body, but insinuated nasty secrets people might be desperate to protect.
Maybe even desperate enough to send a bus over a cliff.
-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦-
30.
Several more days pass before I'm able to free up time for Logan's case.
I print out the "About" Page for "Camp SelfQuest" - the program-the-gay-away summer camp the Oliveres family sent Marcos to. Dropping it on dad's desk, I text Logan on my way out.
Veronica Mars 6:11 AM
I have a shift at Java until 10:00 PM. Let's get together afterwards and talk about your case.
Logan Echolls 6:14 AM
You want to meet at the Penthouse?
Veronica Mars 6:17 AM
Will Duncan be there?
Logan Echolls 6:21 AM
You'd know better than I would. Actually, he'll only distract you. I'll meet you at Java, instead.
Great, Duncan. Leave it to me to find a casual, offhand way to mention the breakup.
Veronica Mars 6:25 AM
See you then. You're treating me to a latte and strawberry cheesecake for this, rich boy.
Logan Echolls 6:28 AM
As long as I can get your employee discount. See ya at 10:00.
Logan doesn't arrive at 10:00 PM. He doesn't arrive at all. I call his phone, I call the room phone, I even call Duncan's phone, but nobody answers. I drive over to the Grand and pound on the suite's door. Same result.
If he's shacked up with Kendall somewhere, I'm going to...
Except...I can't stop picturing Weevil's calculating stare after he saw Logan at my locker. I call his phone too, but it sends me to voicemail.
Taking a seat on an ultra-modern lobby chair, I swallow my pride and dial Dick.
He answers on the third ring. "Yo! Ronnie. This better be good. I'm in the middle of a game."
"I'm looking for Logan."
"Logan has his own phone."
Loud exhale. "I'm aware of that. I've been calling him for twenty minutes and he isn't answering."
Dick makes a little fake gasp. "That doesn't tell you something? Like maybe he's done being led around by the dick. Go bother your own boyfriend."
"This is important, Dick. He was supposed to meet me, but he never showed." I twist the index finger of my free hand around one of my belt loops until it hurts.
"Talk to Beav. My jiggly beach babes are waiting for daddy."
"Gross,"
Beaver comes on the line. "Hey, Veronica. He's talking about a volleyball video game by the way."
"Hi Cassidy. I kind of figured as much."
"You're looking for Logan?"
"Yeah. He's not at the Grand, and he's not answering his phone. I'm starting to get worried."
"He was here," Beaver says. "Out by the pool, but he left around nine. Said he had to meet somebody."
Dammit.
"We were supposed to meet at the Hut. Do you think he could've been..." I exhale. "...sidetracked...by Kendall on his way out?"
"Doubt it. She flipped him off and went inside when he showed up. I can check, though."
Muffled sounds of him moving through the house, a knock, and the squeak of a door opening.
"What do you want?" Kendall's voice asks.
"From you? Nothing," Beaver says. "Same as Logan."
The door closes, and another door opens. "His truck's not in the driveway, either. He's gone."
"Thanks for your help, Be-Cassidy. Would you mind calling around? Check if anybody else has seen him? I didn't like the way Weevil looked at him yesterday."
"Sure, Veronica. I'll get back to you if I hear anything."
I try Weevil's phone three more times, Logan's four times, and Duncan's once.
I could camp out in the Grand's lobby, but unless Logan inexplicably decided to avoid me, it's useless.
No, I need to take action. I call my dad. "How well does your cell phone tracker work at locating phones?"
"Honey?" he says. "If you're hoping to track down that boyfriend of yours, you should take some time to consider whether it's worth violating his privacy."
"I'm not looking for Duncan, dad." I know exactly where to find him. "I need to locate someone else."
"Have you activated the GPS on 'somebody else's' phone?" Dad asks. "Otherwise it won't work."
Damn. Why hadn't I thought of that? As much trouble as Logan gets in...
"So there's no other way?"
"I wouldn't say that..." Dad says. "What's this really about, Veronica?"
I brace myself. "It's Logan, Dad."
"Logan..." He exhales the name in that way he always does.
"I'm helping him out. He's being framed." I don't dare mention the Fitzpatrick connection. "He left the Casablancas house at nine to meet me at the Hut, and then just disappeared. He's not at The Grand and he's not answering his cell."
"Honey. It's Logan. You know he's not the most..."
"Dad. Something's wrong. I can feel it in my bones."
"Okay. I'm staking out the Oliveres house, but text me Logan's number, and I'll make a few phone calls. See if we can get a location on it."
"Thank you."
I should go back to The Hut. Maybe Logan was just running late and his cell battery died. He could be sitting there right now sighing dramatically over my absence.
I drive to the Casablancas house first, peeking through the gates for any glimpses of of the X-Terra. Nothing. Not that Cassidy has any reason to lie.
There are three potential routes between here and The Hut. The scenic route meanders several minutes out of the way. He would only pick that direction if he wanted to prolong alone-time with some lucky girl. The second choice travels through the shopping district. Being forced to stop at red lights every two blocks would make him crawl out of his skin. I choose the third route, driving slowly and scanning the side of the road for his truck.
On Adams, my eyes drift to The Ould Sod (where my mom once passed out on a bar stool) almost causing me to miss the flash of yellow on my left. I catch it in my periphery, and turn around at the intersection.
The XTerra is parked in a dark parking lot next to the One Hour Photo. No Logan. A red light flickers on the passenger's seat, and my flashlight confirms what I suspected.
His phone.
When will he ever learn not to leave it sitting in his car?
I call my father back.
"Hey sweetheart, I haven't heard back from my contact yet."
"Doesn't matter. I found Logan's cell. And his truck. No sign of him." I shine the light in the backseat. Nothing suspicious.
"Where are you at?"
"Over on Adams in a small lot."
"Landmarks?" he prompts.
"One Hour Photo. Closed for the night. Nothing on the other side. Across the street, The Ould Sod, a comic book store - also closed - and The Corner Market stand in a row."
"Hmmm..." Dad says. "That bar is pretty good about checking ID's, but if he has a good enough fake..."
"I wouldn't know." He does. I made it for him.
"Right..." Dad chuckles. "I'm sure he's fine, Veronica. Probably stopped off for a drink and lost track of the time."
"Possible but, if I remember, that bar caters to an older - and less moneyed - clientele. This wouldn't be his scene. Not to mention, he wants to clear his name as much as I do."
I round the back of his truck, aim the flashlight into the cargo area. Empty. "Nothing suspicious inside the car."
"That's a good sign."
I turn and my foot strikes something. There's a tinny clunk, and the sound of something rolling.
Crouching, I shine my light under the vehicle.
The can of Pepsi rolls to the tire and stops. A medium-sized brown paper bag lays on its side, precisely folded over twice.
"I think I found something," I say. "I'll call you back."
My fears are confirmed. The contents of the bag include Logan's favorite brand of gum, a shiny red apple, and box of Live Large condoms.
Wait. He didn't think...?
No, of course he didn't, they're for someone else. Kendall. Or that Hannah girl he's into. Did he make plans for after our meeting?
Is it that large?
How can the size of Logan' s penis possibly matter at a time like this, Veronica?
Right. Focus.
I jog across the street. A bell rings on the door of The Corner Market, but the heavyset bearded man behind the register doesn't glance up.
"Excuse me," I set the bag down on counter.
"No refunds," the man says, monotone.
"That's not what this is," I say. "I'm looking for somebody. The person who made these purchases."
I open the bag wide, and the cashier glances inside and shrugs. "Sorry. I don't pay much attention to what people buy."
"Damn."
Do I have a photo of him?
Of course I do. We dated for an entire summer. I flip through the photos on my Sidekick, selecting my favorite. "Do you recognize this guy?"
The cashier leans in, squints, and a smile inches across his face. "I saw him. He came in around 9:25."
"Are you sure? That's kind of specific."
"Yeah, I'm sure, because Victor's shift ended at 9:30, and he laughed at your friend's ugly jacket and shell necklace." He lifts up a hand. "Sorry. His words. Not mine."
"S'okay. His fashion sense could use some work. What did the jacket look like?"
"Lightweight. Dark green with a bright orange zipper area. Brown stripe around..." He trails off, using his hands to demonstrate the location.
"Right. I know the jacket. Not even his ugliest," I share a pained smile with the guy.
"You're not like a jealous girlfriend or something, are you?"
"Or something. Look, his truck is parked in the lot across the street and I found this bag on the ground. I think he's in trouble and I'm just trying to find him."
"Did you call the police?"
"I'm hoping to avoid that. The Sheriff's Department can be pretty incompetent." But come to think of it... "Actually, maybe they picked him up for something. Did you hear any sirens?"
"No, sorry. I would've seen the lights, though. They bounce off the reflectors like disco balls." He points at the curved mirrors in the back corners of the store.
"Did he talk to anyone while he was in here? Make any phone calls?"
"He wasn't here long. Came in, headed straight to the gum section, grabbed the soda and the apple and rang out."
"And the condoms?"
The man gestures at a spinner rack on his right. "Seemed like an impulse buy."
"You're pretty observant for someone who never pays attention."
He shrugs and his wide smile reminds her a bit of Leo. "Unlike Victor, I thought the guy was hot."
It's a sign of how afraid I am, that I skip the usual quip.
I wave goodbye, and rush to the door.
"Good luck," the guys calls out.
As I exit the cool air conditioned store into the warm night air, a bout of dizziness comes over me and I have to press my numb fingers into the bricks. My heartbeat races.
Dammit. You're no good to Logan if you can't get a grip on yourself, Veronica.
I replay my mental timeline.
Logan takes off from the Casablancas house and comes straight here. Suffering from gum withdrawal, he probably stops on impulse. After leaving the store, he crosses to his truck with his purchases, where he is either abducted, arrested, or leaves on his own.
I'll check the bar in a moment, but even if he suddenly developed a thirst his Pepsi couldn't quench, why would he leave the bag under his vehicle instead of inside?
A woman's voice answers at the Sheriff's Department. Not Inga. "Logan Echolls?" she repeats. "That's E-C-H-O-L-L-S?"
"What did Logan do now?" somebody asks in the background.
Lamb's voice comes on the line. "This is Sheriff Don Lamb. Has Logan Echolls committed a crime?"
I exhale hard. "You tell me. I'm calling to check if he's been picked up for anything. He's missing."
"Awww, did Logan stand you up for a date, honey?" Lamb coos. "Take my advice and move on to another boy. One that isn't homicidal."
"This is Veronica Mars," I switch to a no-bullshit tone. "At 9:25, Logan Echolls exited the Corner Market over on Adams. He crossed the road to his truck, and then vanished leaving his bag of purchases on the ground. Nobody's heard from him since. I'm calling to find out if he's in lockup, for whatever reason."
"No Veronica, we haven't nabbed him for anything today, but the night's still young."
"This is serious, Lamb! You know half the town wants him dead for what they think he did to Felix Toombs."
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"Find him."
Lamb clears his throat. "9:25 was what? An hour and a half ago? Have a relative call back when he's been missing for twenty-four hours."
"He's a minor."
"An emancipated minor. Now if you'll excuse me, Veronica, I have real crimes to solve."
The line goes dead and I want to scream.
The 24-hour rule is a myth, but who do you report the sheriff to?
The hospital's main switchboard is still in my phone's Contacts from last Spring, but my phone rings before I can dial.
Unknown caller.
"Hello?"
"Veronica...? I didn't know who else to call."
"Logan! Where are you?" My voice quavers, not quite concealing my panic.
"Um...don't know. In a ditch somewhere?"
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31.
Forty minutes later, I finally locate Logan on a dirt access road for a private airstrip. As he couldn't identify any landmarks, I had to wait while my dad's contact at the cell company triangulated the stolen phone's location.
I pull to a stop in front of him. "Wanna ride little boy? I've got candy."
He flashes a pained smile, drapes his jacket across the passenger seat, and climbs inside.
"Oh, should I have rented a luxury car on the way here? Is your privileged butt too sensitive to touch my seats?"
"A limo would have worked," he says, closing the door, but the sarcasm is half-hearted. "I'm dirty, so..." He gestures at the upholstery.
"Thanks for caring."
"Always." His seat-belt clicks into place and I drive away.
Minutes later, he catches me looking. "What?"
"Only you, Logan." I shake my head with and roll my eyes. "I once said nobody is ever actually 'lying in a ditch somewhere', and you just had to go and prove me wrong."
"That's my job. Keeping you humble." He speaks softly, an almost-smile grazing his lips. "So you mentioned candy?"
"I lied," I say. "Can I interest you in some gum instead?"
I hand Logan the paper bag and he peeks inside lifting an eyebrow. "Wow. It's like you anticipated my every need."
"Not every need Buddy, you're on your own with those condoms."
He laughs and makes an 'Aww shucks' gesture.
Logan doesn't mention picking up his car, and I don't offer. I drive straight to the Grand, following him up to the suite.
He glances around the living room. "Looks like Duncan isn't home."
"He's probably at Meg's bedside."
He walks through his bedroom to the bathroom, and seems surprised when I follow him in.
"Alright, show me."
He lifts his brow and I roll my eyes. "Show me what they did to you. Shirt off."
"Just...let me take a shower, first."
"I'm not budging until you tell me what they did."
"They didn't do anything. I'm fine."
"You're lying. I saw the tender way you sat. The way you walked. You're injured."
"Veronica..." he whines.
I cross my arms, making myself clear.
Logan exhales like the drama queen he is, and peels his brown shirt over his head. Abrasions cover his chest, sides, and back.
"Like hell they didn't do anything to you." My voice takes on a scary intensity and Logan's eyes widen. I open the medicine cabinet which, unsurprisingly, contains only toiletries. Not even a box of bandaids.
"This wasn't them. It's road rash. From rolling down the embankment."
"Okay. I'll grab some peroxide and ointment from Duncan's bathroom and we'll clean you up."
"Veronica..." He pleads, and I pause on my way out of the room. "You can wait until after I shower."
"But-"
He cuts me off, stares at the floor. "I wet my pants, okay? I'm humiliated, and I just want to get clean as fast as I can."
I grab him by the wrists, making him look at me. "What did they do to you? Don't you dare tell me 'nothing'."
He pulls his right hand free. "Um...they knocked me out and threw me in a van."
"Knocked out? Like unconscious?"
"That's the usual definition." He rubs the back of his head.
I reach out, running my fingers over the same spot - where a lump is already forming. My stomach turns and my jaw clenches. "Then what?"
He glances longingly at the shower.
"I'm sorry," I say, speaking more gently. "Take your shower. You can tell me the rest afterward."
I return to the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. My hands shake as I call my father.
"Is Logan okay?"
The shower starts up in the bathroom.
"Yeah. He's covered in abrasions from being tossed in a hole and they knocked him out cold. I'm just going to stay here tonight, in case he has a concussion."
"Veronica..." he warns.
"This isn't romantic, Dad. I'm concerned about Logan's health."
"Don't think I'm not aware your boyfriend lives in the same suite."
"Duncan isn't even here. I swear," I say, choosing my words so that I'm not actually lying. If he knew about the breakup, there's no way he would allow me to spend the night with Logan.
Dad gives a belabored sigh. "Okay. Sleep on the couch. Set the alarm on your phone, and wake him every two hours."
I take notes as he fills me in on signs to watch for - vomiting, seizures, slurred speech, numbness in his extremities - promising I'll take Logan to the hospital if he exhibits any of those symptoms.
"I might not be there when you get home in the morning. Ben Lincoln - my friend who helped us find Logan tonight - agreed to head out to the bus site with me tomorrow," he says.
"What are you doing out there?"
"He has a test kit - phones from every cell carrier used for validating software - and we're going to determine which ones get reception at that location."
"Pretty clever," I say. "I knew these smarts came from somewhere."
I say goodbye, and hang up.
Duncan's medicine cabinet isn't stocked, either. His laptop is unlocked though, so I Google "road rash", and make a list of needed supplies. Strangely enough, peroxide is a bad idea, as it can interfere with the healing process.
You learn something new every day.
I root through Logan's dresser, bypassing his pajama pants and grabbing the soft gray drawstring shorts he slept in during our occasional sleepovers last summer. Not for sentimental reasons or anything, they'll allow me to take care of any potential abrasions on his legs.
Cracking the door an inch, I reach inside, and set the shorts on the counter for him. "Logan?" I call out.
The shower door opens with a popping sound and the water gets louder. "Yes?" He sounds irritated.
"I'm running to the twenty-four hour pharmacy across the street, so take your time in there. And don't use antiseptic soap on your wounds."
"Okay, mom."
Due to my unfamiliarity with the products on the list, my shopping trip takes longer than expected.
The water turns off just as I return with my bags of supplies. I lay them out on Logan's nightstand, turn on both lamps, and rotate the dimmer on the overhead light to its brightest setting. Folding back his comforter and flat sheet, I spread out a thick bath towel from Duncan's room.
The door opens and Logan pauses, shielding his eyes. "How many little pests does it take to change every lightbulb in the damn suite?"
"If we're going to keep that pretty skin flawless, I need to see your injuries."
"I'm at your mercy, Florence Marsingale," Logan says, with a weak smile. He's wearing the gray shorts I set out for him, and he rubs at his wet hair with a small towel.
I hand him three Ibuprofen and a bottle of water and he dutifully swallows.
"Do you remember when you got your last Tetanus shot?"
"They gave me one in the hospital, after..."
After the last time the PCHers attacked you for a murder you didn't commit? After they kicked in your ribs?
I exhale hard. "Face down, to begin with." I point at his bed.
For once, he skips the sexual innuendo and lays gingerly on the towel, forearms bracing his face.
While his wounds aren't deep, the website mentioned irrigating the abrasions with Shur-clens, so I skip the cotton pads, squirting the liquid directly on his skin. He squirms and wiggles as the solution drips down his sides and into the towel.
"Tell me the rest?" I ask, to distract him. Also, because I'm nosy.
Logan groans. "You're going to make me relive this?"
"Unfortunately, yes." I pat him dry with a lint-free cloth, and set to work dabbing ointment on the more severe wounds.
"They tied me to a chair. Two of them. Both wearing masks."
"According to my dad, the phone you took belonged to Thumper Orozsco. Did you recognize the other guy?"
"Not a clue. One of Weevil's Merry Men."
I open the box of Tegaderm, rip one of the packets, and press the clear dressing on one of the scratches.
"What's that?" Logan asks.
"It'll keep the wound moist, which will aid in healing and prevent scarring." I cover the dressing with a gauze square and four strips of medical tape.
I repeat the process for each of the remaining scrapes on his back, and then check under the legs of his shorts.
"Trying to sneak a peek, Mars?"
"Please. You've mooned me a dozen times over the years." I say. "Not to mention, I tended to be a bit...grabby hands...when we dated."
"Wait, we dated?" Logan asks, deadpan. "You had me convinced I dreamed the entire thing."
"Logan..."
"Although..." he continues, "...I suppose for you, it was a nightmare."
"Not a nightmare at all. More like one of those surreal dreams where you're lost or off-course, and you can't even remember your intended destination. Now turn over."
He rolls over. "I can probably handle this side myself."
"Will you for once in your life let somebody do something for you?
He opens his mouth, closes it, and then gives me a silent nod.
I moisten a cotton pad, tilt his chin to the left and clean a small scratch on his jawline, not bothering with the dressing.
"What happened after you woke?"
"Um...They staged a mock trial. Interrogated me about Felix' murder while Weevs listened on the phone. I told them I didn't know anything."
"And they said, 'Oops. Our mistake. No hard feelings.' and just let you go?"
He's more injured on the front, the abrasions deeper and wider. The biggest wound, a diagonal slash beginning at the right side of his waist, disappears into his shorts. His clingy gray shorts.
Why didn't I think to set out a pair of underwear for him?
"It wasn't that simple, Veronica."
"You don't say?" I push at the waistband, but it doesn't budge.
Logan's watching me intently, amused, as if he's sure I'll chicken out at any moment.
Like hell I will. You don't scare me. Anymore.
"Want me to...?" he begins.
"I'm fine."
How would a nurse handle this? I let out a silent breath, arrange my features into something detached and professional, and untie the knot on his drawstring.
Rather than pulling on his waistband, I roll it over. Logan lifts his hips from the mattress, and I continue rolling, averting my eyes and carefully ignoring the trail of hair leading down from his belly button. The V-shaped dips inside his hip bones are harder to ignore, and I wish I had an excuse to trace them with my fingertips.
Or my tongue.
Nurse now, lust later, Veronica.
Thankfully, the abrasion ends before the hair thickens, I squeeze the bottle of Shur-clens over the scrape, and Logan tilts his hips, preventing gravity from soaking his shorts. The liquid pools in his navel and he grimaces.
I saturate the scrapes on his chest, and one on his right thigh.
Don't look.
"So how did they convince you to talk?" I ask, patting the wounds dry. His stomach is flatter and harder than last summer - which is neither here-nor-there.
Logan sighs, annoyed at this line of questioning. "Aren't I exposed enough right now? Can it wait until you finish?"
Fuck. It must be bad.
"Yeah. Sure." I smile, soft and understanding. I'm here for you.
The wounds on his chest and leg are dressed and covered. All that remains is the one above his groin.
I squeeze a pea-sized amount of Neosporin on two fingers and gently touch the reddest portion of the wound.
Logan inhales, quick and sharp, and I spare a quick glance at him. He's staring at the ceiling, ribcage rising high and falling deep.
My own chest aches, and the air is thick and syrupy. Fingers trembling, I massage the ointment into his skin.
Something twitches in his shorts, and I won't look. Can't look.
Something, Veronica?
I look.
My cheeks burn, and I busy myself ripping open packets of Tegaderm. Five square sheets of the clear film are required to cover the wound, and securing the gauze without taping over his hair proves challenging.
"Thank you," he says, once I've completed the job.
"Not a problem." I gather up the debris - empty packets, boxes, discarded pieces of tape - taking them out to the garbage. After some creative shifting of toiletries - how many products does one pretty boy need? - I manage to squeeze the supplies into the medicine cabinet.
Logan's pulling on a gray tank top when I return. The shorts are restored to their natural position, and the towel is gone.
I toe-off my shoes laying down on the right side of the bed, and watching him.
Logan lifts a small remote, pushes a button, and the hideous fish sculpture above his headboard illuminates, bright red. He cycles through multiple color combinations, settling on a soothing royal blue.
Turning off the remaining lights, he eases himself into bed, curling his arm under his head. "So I guess I'm fine. You can go do..." he gestures - less towards the door than Duncan's bedroom.
"Do I look like I'm going anywhere?" I ask, fluffing up my pillow for emphasis.
He sighs, "It's been kind of a crappy night Veronica, so I'm not really up for bickering or whatever."
"No bickering. No whatever." I pretend I'm taking notes. "Got it."
"What do you want?" he whines.
You. The Kane Scholarship. World Peace. You.
"I'm staying to make sure you don't have a concussion and die in your sleep, Jackass."
"Oh," he says, contrite. "Thanks."
I give him time to adjust his sheet and get comfortable, and then roll on my side. "They threatened somebody you cared about, right? Duncan? Trina? Kendall?"
Logan scoffs at the last name. "No. They didn't threaten anybody."
"What kind of leverage did they use to make you talk?"
"Leverage?" He lets out an ugly laugh. "Does a gun count as leverage?"
"They held a gun on you?" No, that didn't sound shrill at all.
"Yeah," he whispers.
"It was more than that, wasn't it?"
"You could say that."
I wait him out this time, and a long silence passes before he speaks again.
He stares at the ceiling, eyes wet and glistening in the blue glow of the hideous fish sculpture.
I wiggle closer and squeeze his shoulder. Supportive, without being pushy.
Logan exhales, closing his eyes. "They loaded a bullet. Spun the chamber. Aimed at my hand."
"And pulled the trigger?"
A single nod.
Rage floods my body, and the pounding in my head muffles my hearing.
They fucking tortured him.
Logan senses my mood shift and rolls onto his side. "Hey. I'm okay," he says softly, stroking my arm; gentling me.
I'm not.
"How long did this go on?" I ask through clenched teeth.
"A while. A few times. My knee. My dick - almost."
"What did you do?"
"Beg. Scream. Cry. Piss myself." His eyes lift to his forehead and a tear drops onto the bridge of his nose. "Real manly, huh?" He adds with a bitter laugh.
"I don't give a fuck about manliness." I say, vehemently.
I can see the Duncan-joke poised on the tip of his tongue, but a choked sob escapes instead.
Oh, Logan.
I pull him close, stroking his hair and making soothing noises as he trembles, silently soaking my shirt.
"Get some sleep," I whisper once he's subsided into sniffles.
"You're really staying?" he sounds like a little boy who's been let down too often.
"Every single second," I lie.
-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-
32.
A door slams and feet pound on concrete. I press my back against the cement block wall and wait.
Footsteps round the corner and I hold my breath.
Closer. Closer. Another second.
To my immediate left, a hand reaches for the power breaker.
I make my move.
Pressing Mr. Sparky into soft flesh, I pull the trigger for two seconds, releasing white light and a three hundred-thousand volts.
Crackle. Gasp. Shriek. Thump.
I flip the breaker and the exterior of the body shop lights up.
Weevil groans and curls into the fetal position. His eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a burst of forced exhales.
"Stay down," I say, once he's finally focuses on me.
"What the fuck, V?" He starts to rise.
"Backup!"
My dog walks out of the shadows with a low, menacing growl.
"Fine. Fine. I'm down." Weevil puts up his hands in submission.
"Backup, sit."
Careful not to antagonize the dog, Weevil shifts into a more comfortable position. "I can guess why you're here."
"Great, then we can skip straight to the threats." I squat down so he can see how serious I am. "If you or your boys harm another hair on Logan's head, I will destroy you. And unlike anyone else you've dealt with, my methods will be precision-focused and long-lasting."
His eyes recognize the truth. "I thought he killed Felix!"
"Well, he didn't."
"Yeah. I know that now," Weevil stares at the ground.
"Well I'm glad it only took six broken ribs, two concussions, seven point five million in property damage, and a little recreational torture to figure it out." I say. "There could've been real consequences or something."
"What do you want me to do?" he yells, frustrated. "If you think I'm going to apologize, you might as well zap me again."
Go ahead. Tempt me.
"You're going to do better than apologize." I flash him my shark smile, and stand back up. "You're going to help me clear his name."
"What's in it for me?" Weevil's eyes take on a mercenary gleam.
"Once Logan's charges are dropped, I'm going to find out who really killed Felix."
-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-
33.
After sneaking Backup back into the apartment, I return to the Grand.
Duncan lounges on the couch, watching late night T.V. He glances up, relieved and smiling.
Probably thinks I changed my mind about the breakup.
"How'd you get in?" he asks, more curious than annoyed. "I never gave you card key."
Nope. You never gave me a key.
"I took Logan's when I left an hour ago."
His face twists into a sneer. "So what, then? It's his turn again?"
I pause on the verge of opening the bedroom door. "Excuse me?"
He stands, an ugly gleam in his eye. "Isn't that why you're here at..." he checks his watch. "...1:13 AM? I didn't pay you enough attention or something, so now you're using him to hurt me and take away my only friend?"
I exhale. "Wow. You think I'm that petty? Your faith in me is enlightening. Could you possibly know me any less?"
"You did it before." He sulks.
"Did I?" I bare my teeth, eyes tight. "So my dating Logan last year was all about sticking it to you?"
One-shoulder shrug. "Well, you didn't seem too happy about me being with Meg."
"You know what the word is for that, Duncan? Narcissism."
He rolls his eyes.
"This may come as a shock to you, but I dated Logan because I wanted to. Because I liked him. I broke up with him because of his dangerous behavior. You were never a factor back then, and you couldn't be less of a factor now. And If your friendship suffered when I was with him, that's entirely on you. He went above and beyond trying to be sensitive to your feelings."
He tries to speak, but I cut him off. "Logan - your supposed best friend - was knocked unconscious and tortured at gunpoint tonight by the PCHers. They tossed him in ditch like a sack of garbage. So I'm going back into that bedroom, and I'm going to check on him throughout the night, and I don't give a damn how you feel about it."
"I didn't know." Duncan has the decency to look contrite. "Is he okay?"
"Of course you didn't know. You never answer your phone."
"So you two aren't back together?"
"No. I'm helping him out."
He moves forward. "But that's your plan, right? To get back together with him?"
The question triggers something in me and I round on him. "My plan? Singular?"
"Huh?"
"I don't know where you're getting this idea from, but let's pretend you're right for a second. Pretend I want Logan and I 'plan to get him back'. Where do his preferences come in? Shouldn't that be a two-person decision?"
"O...kay."
"He might think I'm too bitchy or fickle or a dozen other things. He certainly thinks I'm a pain in the ass - he reminds me all the time. And I know for a fact he's interested in another girl. So no, I'm not planning to get back together with him."
Duncan rolls his eyes, and holds up both hands in an 'I-surrender' gesture. "Sorry I chose the wrong words. Forget I even asked." He turns around and drops back on the couch, effectively dismissing me.
I storm over, standing between him and the television. "But that's what you did last summer though, right? You decided you wanted me back, and to hell with what anybody else wanted."
"I don't feel like talking anymore."
"Your entire life, you need only point at something, and it gets handed to you."
"Ohh...here we go. Please Veronica, tell me how rich and entitled I am."
"If the trust fund fits..." I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "You've never had to work for anything, so you never learned to value anything."
"I valued you."
"No. I just had the distinction of being the only toy ever taken away from you. As soon as you saw somebody else playing with it, you wanted it back."
"You know it wasn't like that. I loved you."
"No, you loved possessing me. A cute blonde girlfriend to smile-and-nod and decorate your arm."
Duncan rolls his eyes.
"Except...New Toy wasn't quite the same as Old Toy, was it? You pulled the string on the back, and it no longer told you how wonderful you are. It said new things. Things you didn't want to hear."
"I never sa-"
"And New Toy wasn't as pristine as you remembered, either. Up close, the paint was chipped and scratched and covered with Logan's fingerprints. And you started to wonder why you'd ever set aside Discarded Toy for this."
"Come on, Veronica. I thought our relationship was going great. When did I ever mistreat you?"
"What relationship?"
Duncan scoffs.
"In a real relationship, you would've asked my opinion on any one of a number of situations. The secret visits to the hospital. Moving Logan into the suite, Kendall's statutory-rape playdates. Meg's pregnancy."
"Maybe I didn't want to argue with you."
"Who knows if we would've argued? For all you know, I could've been supportive and understanding, but you didn't give me the chance. You didn't value my opinion, and by extension, you didn't value me."
"How does moving Logan in have anything to do with you?" Duncan asks, entirely missing the point. "He's completely over you. He said it. You're in the rear view."
"Well as long as Logan's feelings weren't inconvenienced." I answer through clenched teeth. "If you cared about me at all you would've asked if it made me uncomfortable having my ex around all the time. You would have made sure I could live with it, with before you extended the invitation."
"It's not like you guys were serious, or in love or anything."
Flames burn through my veins and I force myself not to defend my former position in Logan's life. "You'd have to be blind or willfully ignorant to miss the tension between us. It was an ugly breakup."
"Yet here you are, pulling his ass out of the fire."
"He wouldn't hesitate to do the same for me." With a stupid gun, probably, but... "And with that, I'm done, I'm exhausted, and I'm going to check that Logan isn't seizing or laying in a puddle of vomit."
-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-
34.
Logan's chest rises and falls, deep and steady.
In the bathroom, I wash off my makeup, pull up my hair, strip down to my tank top, and change into a borrowed pair of shorts, cinching the drawstring enough to keep them from falling off.
Although our breakup is still recent, my confrontation with Duncan seems long overdue. Like a heavy weight lifted from my chest. I feel...free.
Still, I'm a bit unsettled. I'm not even with Logan romantically, and I'm already driving a wedge between the two boys. And while I'd like to believe he's better off without that kind of conditional brand of friendship, I only have to think back to last summer, and how Duncan's calming influence could've been invaluable.
I need to avoid contact and allow them both to move on with their lives. After I've cleared Logan's name.
"Logan." I climb into bed and jiggle his shoulder.
He's a heavy sleeper, and I shake him several times without any reaction.
Back when we were together, I would've straddled him and kissed him awake. Not an option tonight - even if he wasn't injured.
Two large hands clamp down upon my waist and, with a whoosh, I find myself flat on my back, Logan stretched out on top of me, hips pressing into my thighs.
A whimper escapes my throat, and my nerve endings tingle, hyper-aware of his body, heavy and warm, the clean scent of soap and the minty zing of toothpaste.
"I've got you now," he whispers, eyes locked on my lips.
The air rushes from my lungs, and something flutters deep inside. I lock my knees to keep from grinding up into him.
"Logan?"
He falters, eyes growing wide as the sleep haze clears, and then rolls away, as if burned.
"Oh. My. God." He buries his face in his hands. "I thought you were..."
"Kendall?"
"No!" He scrunches his nose. "I just thought I was still..."
I give him a curt nod and look away.
"So...uh...Can we not mention-"
"Never happened." I cut him off.
Message received, loud and clear. You're not into me.
It doesn't matter. I'm here for one reason only. "How are you feeling?"
"A little achy, I suppose."
"No numbness in your limbs? No nausea?"
"Nope."
"Good. Okay, go back to sleep now."
Logan raises an amused eyebrow. "I forgot what a little tyrant you are."
"Sometimes we all need reminders."
With a wink, he falls dramatically on his back, crossing his arms under his pillow. "Happy?"
No. Happy was thirty seconds ago with you stretched out on top of me. 'Satisified' is probably the word you're looking for.
"Yeah, I'll check on you again in two hours." I make myself comfortable on the other pillow, turning on my side, and patting down the blanket between us.
"Veronica?" He rolls onto his side.
"Yes?"
"I don't know what convinced you I was worth helping, but thank you." His eyes flick away - uncomfortable with discussing his worth - and then back again, gauging my reaction.
"Pretend for a moment your dog's life was at stake." At his confusion, I clarify. "That's what you said to me that night out by the door. I guess I took it to heart."
"Ah..." The hideous fish sculpture puts out enough light to illuminate the slow grin forming on his face. "Never thought I'd be grateful being compared to a dog."
"Well...now that you mention it, you do exhibit several dog-like qualities."
He rolls his eyes. "Why? Because I bury my bone in inappropriate places?"
"You said it. But that's not where I was going. Other than the puppy eyes and the bassett hound forehead, you're loyal and trusting. You'll follow around anyone who shows you even the slightest bit of affection, and you're prone to rolling around in shit."
"You forgot to mention the way I lick my favorite people."
I laugh, softly. Prove it.
His gaze flicks to my breasts and quickly away.
He fiddles with the edge of his blanket. "You know, you're a bit like a dog too, Veronica."
"A bloodhound who sniffs out clues?" I ask, lifting up on my elbow. "A pit bull who can't be shaken loose?"
His grin stretches wide. "Actually, I was referring to your leg-humping habit."
I gasp. "You are SO dead!"
I playfully try to smack his arm, but he catches my hand, locking our fingers together.
"There you go, assaulting an injured man. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I fixed you," I say, pushing back against his hand, "I can break you again."
"Would you do that to your faithful dog?" His eyes crinkle. "Never mind, of course you would."
We spend a minute grappling and giggling. The combined strength of both my hands can't budge his one, and his smug face is just asking to be punched.
"Give up?"
"Not even close." I roll up on my knees, using my body weight and gravity to wrestle his arm down to the bed.
His knuckles are mere centimeters from the mattress, when he hisses between his teeth. "Fuck!"
I release his hand, shifting into nurse mode. "Where does it hurt? Are you bleeding?" I push up the hem of his shirt, searching for blood.
His belly shakes with laughter."You are so gullible."
Sinking back on my heels, I shake my head. "Do you know what happens to naughty dogs?"
"I'm not sure," Logan begins, "But I'm hoping it involves a rolled-up newspaper and some light spanking."
I roll my eyes, preparing a response, and then rejecting it. He would only volley back with a 'helpful' suggestion to rub his nose in anything I wanted.
"So what happens to good dogs?" Logan asks. "So I know if behaving is worth it."
"Belly scratches." I tickle my fingernails over the bare skin revealed between his tee shirt and shorts, and he shakes his right leg like Backup does when I hit that just-right spot.
I don't even notice his fingers on my left wrist until they lock down. He surges up, licks a wet stripe from jaw to my temple, and falls back down, laughing.
Despite the urge to squirm, I don't wipe my face. Instead, I play bored, crawling back to my pillow, smoothing out the sheet, and rolling back to face him. "Meh. Backup does it better. He likes to sneak up while I'm yawning."
"Yawn." He commands, bobbing his eyebrows with a hint of a nod. Challenging.
"Nope. I'm not going to yawn. I'm not even going to think about yawning, or imagine yawning."
As expected, he yawns himself, and I laugh.
I've kissed Logan hundreds of times. I know how it goes. The intensity that sweeps over him, the hand that lifts to stroke my face. The little sigh before he leans in.
This, is not that. His eyes twinkle with merriment, not lust. This is a game. Fun. The banter he lives for and thrives on.
I could call his bluff right now - yawn with gusto - and he would not deliver on the challenge.
Face it, Veronica. He's over you.
Despite all the innuendo, I'm the buddy now. The pal. The sparring partner. Why would he want me when he has Kendall, the Laker Girl, or "legs up to the sky" Hannah. Whoever that is.
He's still watching. Amused.
"Oh quit looking at me," I say testily, "I'm not going to slip up and..."
"Yawn?"
The word triggers a reflex, and his lips stretch into a gleeful smile as he watches me struggle to suppress the yawn.
Something clatters to the floor out in the living room.
Logan's eyes leap to the door. He quickly rolls away - putting distance between us - folds his hands on his stomach and stares at the ceiling. "We should get some sleep."
"Yes. Definitely." I shift onto my back as well, and my body feels heavy, all the lightness from a minute ago drifting away.
I yawn. He closes his eyes.
-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-
35.
The click of an opening door wakes me.
Logan's voice, quiet and exhausted. "Hey man, you on your way out?" He's a lean shadow outlined in his bedroom doorway.
"Yeah, brunch with the 'rents in twenty minutes." Duncan answers.
"Before you go, I need to tell you something, and I don't want you flipping out and taking a shovel to our suite, or anything."
"You mean that Veronica's sleeping in your room? I already knew. We talked last night."
"Oh..." Logan exhales a nervous laugh. "Good. I worried you might get the wrong idea. She's only here to play nurse."
Duncan's voice betrays no hint of last night's bitterness. "She told me what they did to you. That blows, man."
"Well, it wasn't a fun day at Magic Mountain." Logan shifts, leaning on the door jam and crossing his arms over his chest. "So, are you gonna have my back this time? I made a promise to Weevil, I intend to keep."
Yeah, that's not going to happen. I sit up in bed. "Like hell you will."
Duncan snickers. "...And that's my cue. You're on your own, man."
The suite door closes, and Logan turns, an argument forming on his lips.
I lift my hand, holding him off. "I had a conversation with Weevil last night - after you fell asleep the first time - and we came to a deal."
"Dammit, Veronica!" He storms into the bathroom. The sink turns on, and off again. A muffled thump echoes, followed by a pained grunt.
He returns, water droplets still clinging to his scowling face, and sits, pulling one knee into his chest.
"Logan..."
"No." He raises his hand. "Don't even say it."
"Just let me-"
"I don't give a..." He presses his face into his hand, as if keeping himself from saying something stupid. Inhales. Stares entreatingly at the ceiling. Exhales.
I do an admirable job containing my laughter in the face of his dramatics.
Logan turns an agonized gaze back on me. "I am begging you, Veronica. Do not ask this from me. If I don't make him answer for what he did, it's like issuing an engraved invitation to do it again. I might as well load the chamber and hand him the gun next time."
I turn this statement over in my head. Not so much his argument (although I empathize with his position) as the fact that he's willing to concede - miserably - if I so insist.
"Logan..." I crawl up towards the headboard so I can face him, but he stubbornly stares at some point over my head.
"Logan!" I repeat, sitting back on my heels.
He huffs.
"Look at me, you big pouty baby."
His lips twitch. "What do you want? You came through for me last night, so I'm trying very hard to stay calm right now."
His hand is on the bed, and I pick it up, sandwiching it between my own. "I forgot to mention something. That conversation with Weevil? It was at the end of my taser?"
Now he looks at me.
"Or more specifically, I talked, he twitched."
Logan's face struggles to settle on an emotion - shock, glee, awe.
"There's nothing quite so satisfying as leaving you speechless," I say.
"Well then, Duncan must be a crappy lay." He pauses, squeezes his eyes closed and holds up his hand in an apologetic gesture. "Sorry. Habit. So you really tazed Weevil? I thought you were cool with him."
"Oh, we're still favor-trading friends," I say. "But he hurt you. He needed to pay."
Logan swallows, and he's not looking at me like a buddy anymore.
He lifts his hands - and my heart races, anticipating being pulled into his arms, touched, squeezed - but they only hover, momentarily, and drop back to his sides.
Instead, he leans forward, examining his big toe, where I can see blood under a loose flap of skin.
"What happened?" I ask.
"I kicked the toilet," he mutters, embarrassed.
"Would you be offended if I called you an idiot?"
"Nah, seems like an accurate description."
I stand. "Let me go grab the medical supplies. We'll get you patched up. Again. And then I'll drive you to your car."
"Yeah." Logan's still staring at me. "I guess you should."
I squeeze his hand. "Your war is over."
He swallows and nods.
A/N: As you can probably tell, this story has now become three chapters. I was close to being able to post a 22K chapter two, when my computer lost almost two weeks of revisions. Decided to publish this much as least while I work on redoing my changes.
A/N2 Looks like reviews are malfunctioning again. I'm definitely receiving the emails showing your feedback, but getting errors when I attempt to respond. Last time this happened on one of my stories, the missing reviews came back a few days later and I was able to respond. So please don't let that deter you from telling me what you think.