CHAPTER FOUR
So here I am, working out in the weight room when it does me fuck all any good. Been keeping an eye down below. Waiting. For her.
Ain't she supposed to be here Monday, Wednesday and Friday? Calendar says Wednesday and she ain't showed yet. What the hell? I'm fast running outta time, due to teach a weapons training class in fifteen minutes.
Charles seems to think I'm his man for teaching the older kids the fine art of handling high caliber military weaponry. I thought he'd lost his marbles when he assigned the class to me but once into it, it's as if I'm born to it; or at least had training somewhere along the line. Beats the hell out of a lot of things I could've been stuck with to earn my pay around here.
"'Nuff o'this shit!" I grumble to no one. Exhaling through clenched teeth, I heave three hundred pounds back on its rack. Barely broke a sweat.
Cruising past the butlers' pantry that doubles as the staff coffee room, I spot her. Standing on tiptoes, she can't quite reach into the cabinet above her head. Standing silent, out of sight, I watch her stretch and quietly curse before she opens the lower cabinet to step on its lip. She is a little thing! Five three or four max.
Sidling up behind her, my hands nearly circle her trim waist. Mmm-mmm! She smells sweet n' soft. Don't normally appreciate perfume on a woman but whatever she's wearing suits her. Gentle and low in her ear I say, "Here ya go," and lift her level with the shelf she needs.
She gasps and stiffens. Almost dropping the can, she turns about three shades of pink, "You scared the beans outta me."
"Sorry 'bout that."
Rigid posture and hand on her hip says she ain't buying my apology, "You could've just reached it for me."
Ain't stupid enough to say where's the fun in that, so I shrug.
"Next time, let a gal know you're there," she scolds. The half grin and twinkle in her bright blue eyes says I ain't totally in the doghouse.
Swear to god! A man could drown in those eyes.
Standing crossed arms, I watch her turn the job of opening a coffee can into high art.
"What's the preference around this place?" she asks while scooping coffee grounds into the basket.
"Huh?"
"Coffee strength?"
My mind ain't on coffee. "Uh . . . oh, right. Never strong enough for me."
"Mmmm." There's a mocking frown creasing her mouth. "Need that caffeine buzz, huh?"
"Caffeine don't do squat fer me?"
"Really?"
She's playing it cool but her scent tells me she's anything but so I back off; give her space. "My mutation, ya know."
"Oh! Right. Didn't think about it. Helpful, I suppose."
She spills water on the gray marble counter top and we grab for the same towel but I get there first. She shrinks back like I bit her or something and I'm sensing equal measures of anxiety and titillation.
Can't say I ain't tempted to grab that manicured hand and press a kiss into it — and then some, "Hey, no worries Doc. No repeats of the parking lot, okay?"
Aw, now! Go figure? She's red as cherry but I sense a wisp of disappointment!
Lush lips twitching, she smarts back, "Good plan."
Leaning against the counter, she's got her fingers locked together, alternating between clicking her thumbnails and circling her thumbs, "You haven't come by my office for your blood draw yet."
I shrug, "Been tied up and . . . by the time I remember you're already gone." It's half a lie. "How come you weren't at the pool this mornin'?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Nuthin. Just noticed, that's all."
"Shall I print you out my weekly itinerary?"
"Whoa, darlin'. Don't go getting bent outta shape."
She snaps, "I'm not," and clams up.
Oo-wee. Yeah, she is. Maybe I oughtta quit while I'm behind.
"How 'bout now?" stops me from beating a quick exit.
"For what?"
"Draw your blood. It's going to take a couple minutes for the coffee to finish."
I detect a faint odor of contrition that I'm gonna play for all it's worth, "You do the draw?"
"If ya like. C'mon then."
xXx
Wonderful! My clinic's empty. And for heaven's sake, he's doing it again! Dark, mischievous eyes stripping me bare. Oohh, that arrogant creep! Two can play this game, right?
"Trust me, it's better than you imagine," I whisper and snap the rubber tourniquet tighter than it needs to be.
He grunts and answers, "Yer sure 'bout that?"
Oh! Arrogant and rude! Of course I'm sure. I jab his vein hard as I dare.
"Ow!" He flinches, "Hey doc, is there a problem?"
Trying to seem casual, I change out the vial and bite my tongue formulating a reply, "Has anyone ever told you that you have an attitude bigger than Alaska and Texas combined?"
His laugh is rich and honest, "A time 'r two."
I'm communicating with a brick wall. "Do you look at every woman like that?"
Looking me square in the eyes, his expression cocksure, "Only beautiful women."
From the heat I feel, my face must be as red as the blood I'm drawing. What do I say to that? Not a darn thing, if I've got any brains. I withdrawal the needle as gently as I would for a newborn.
Fishing for a band-aid, I tease, "What'll it be tough guy? Garfield? Winnie the Pooh? I'm partial to Eeyore."
"Okay, then. Plain," I recant responding to his sour grimace.
Hmm. This is interesting. Aside from a tiny drop of blood on the cotton swab, there isn't the slightest trace of a needle mark.
"Logan, if you have a deep laceration does it heal just as quickly?"
"Depends. Worse it is, longer it takes."
"Really? How much longer?"
"Never timed it. Been messed up a few times and it takes me a couple days to get back to normal."
"Messed up? Like how?"
He shrugs and glances away, a clear signal the conversation's closing.
"I sorta owe you an apology," is my feeble attempt to keep him talking.
He quirks an eyebrow.
"I haven't done a blood draw in ages."
Oozing sarcasm, he answers, "Really?" Then, lets me off the hook, "No worries, doc. I, uh, deserved it."
Flushed with guilt from treating him roughly, I hide behind the screen of my e-notebook and fill out the lab requisition, "Silly question but is Logan your first or last name?"
"Yeah."
"I'm serious."
"So'm I."
"Well, the computer won't let me complete the form without first and last name. Whadaya want me to put down?"
He shrugs, "Dunno. Think I look like a Tom 'r a Joe?"
Framing him up between skyward index fingers, "Herbert," I tease, "Herbert Milquetoast. The look on his face is priceless. "No, no! I'm sorry. Hmm. Need something rugged, manly. Steve? Jake?"
He waves me off, "Surprise me."
"Let's see, Logan's of Celtic origin, I think."
"Gaelic," he corrects.
There's a difference? Curious, I Google names and discover he's right. It's a silly effort but scrolling the list, I search for something that suits him. Who knows, I might need it again.
"How about Kelley? It means warrior. Logan Kelley? Kelley Logan?"
He shakes his head muttering, "Whatever."
"Uh, while we're inventing a patient, I need a date of birth."
Dipping his head sideways, he looks peeved, "Aw fer chrissake!"
"Make up something?" I ask timidly.
He nods then points to the vials, "What're ya gonna do with 'em?"
"I'm going to send them off to a private lab I use from time to time. It takes a few weeks to process and map the genetic sequences."
"Private lab?" His face is a mask of suspicion.
"Worthington Labs. They specialize in human mutagenics."
"Yeah, yeah, I figured. How do I know they ain't gonna do some funny stuff with my blood?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Healing factor."
It takes me a minute, "Ohhh. Worthington's reputation is impeccable . . ."
He cuts me off, "So was Hindenburg's."
Good grief, how paranoid can a guy be? I shrug and offer, "Your other option is to go with a buccal swab."
"What's that?"
"I use a cotton swab to collect a sample of cells from the inside surface of your cheek."
"Right," he stretches the word, obviously pretty ticked off. "And I'm a fuckin' pin cushion because?"
Okay, enough of his boorish second-guessing. "Because, in my opinion, it's allows for greater range of testing with less chance of error."
As he rubs the back of his neck there seems to be a battle raging behind his dark eyes, "All this is gonna tell me what?"
The guy needs a bonk upside his head. We've been through this. "Simply put, it'll match you with blood relatives. That is of course, if those relatives are listed in the world-wide DNA database but since it goes back about fifty years there's a reasonable chance of a match."
Jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, he mutters, "Shit!" Striding briskly across the waiting area, he yanks open the door, "All right. Do it."
I know it's coming but I still jump as the door slams behind him. Certain he's out of sight, I stick out my tongue.
Poop-head!
xXx
"Whoa! Ty . . . don't . . ."
Too late. The kid takes another step backwards and even if I had wings, I can't get there fast enough. Neither can his classmates, three younger kids, who've been laboring all afternoon building a tree house.
I'm just here for a smoke break. Why's the shit always hit the fan when I'm around?
He hits the ground with a thud and a crack. The skewed angle of his right arm is a strong clue where the crack came from. Just as I beat tracks to his side, he recovers his breath and howls like a banshee.
Kneeling, I gently restrain his movements, "Easy kid."
Stunned silent, the other kids gather 'round. Warning them to, "Back off," I don't need the scent of their empathic fear smothering any clue's Ty's giving off.
"We just wanna help," the kid with the blue tail, FW's his name, offers.
"Fair enough. You guys get Doctor Sue." They're gone quick as I can blink; the words yes sir trailing in their wake.
Attention on Ty, I don't wanna scare him but I do wanna try making sure nothing else is broke; like his neck. Taking care not to move him, I cradle his head between my hands, "'Zis hurt?"
Fear as strong as the pain, he's blubbering his eyes out and can't answer.
This is one o'those times when a transferable healing factor'd be nice. Lowering my voice, I demand, "Ty, look at me. Take a deep breath."
Eye contact he does but the deep breath comes out in an eruption of hiccups.
I keep soothing, "Easy . . . easy does it." Takes a minute or two but he calms down and I ask again, "Does your head or neck hurt?"
He snorts back a nose full o'snot, "N - no."
I reward him with a reassuring grin then take his left hand in mine, "Feel this?"
He nods and squeezes hand on my cue.
"Okay. Now, here's what you're gonna do. With your good arm, I want ya to hold onto your busted one." Demonstrating, I wrap one of my arms around my middle both supporting and locking my other arm against by body, "Like this. Okay?"
"Trust me," I say as his fear spikes up a notch. He whimpers but complies.
"Good job."
Sizing up the situation and the kid's condition doesn't make me feel too good about options. "What's next might hurt a little. I'm gonna lift ya up and carry ya to Doctor Sue's office."
No surprise, his fear threatens to go through the stratosphere and the blubbering starts over fresh.
"Count with me, on three," I suggest, hoping that engaging him will be a distraction.
Just starting to count, I spot Doc Sue tearing across the lawn. Ty's pals bring up the rear guard.
I haven't been so pleased to see a doctor in . . . well, not in recent memory.
Squatting next to him, she gets the kid calm and telling his story in no time. Filling her in that I don't think the kids neck is broke, I try fading into the background.
"Okay Mister Ty, Coach Logan has the right idea about carrying you back to the clinic."
The kid starts up again with the whining.
"Hey now. None of that," Sue shuts down his cryin'. "I'm going to give you something to take the pain away." Reaching into her bag, she pulls scissors, "Sorry but I'm going to have to cut your jacket and shirt."
The scissors give her a rough time cutting through the thickly padded jacket. I say, "Lemme," and pop a single claw.
She swallows a startled gasp. Ty responds with, "Cool!" and the first grin I've seen from him since he fell outta the tree.
Syringe readied, she says, "Tyler, look over there," and points toward a pair of squirrels scampering over trees branches. Gently pinching is arm, she injects a sedative.
He quits mid-whimper, "Hey, that didn't really hurt!"
"Told ya, dude. Let's give it a few minutes and we'll fix up that arm, ok."
In less than five minutes, the kid's loopy and I carry him, giggling and chattering a streak, to Sue's clinic.
Motioning toward an exam room, she says, "Electra's gone for the day so do you mind sticking around and helping if I need it?"
She's outta her friggin' mind! When it comes to all things medical, bash 'n dash is my definition of helping. Nodding, I mumble, "Guess so."
Everything's hunky-dory, that is I'm chillin' on a couch in the waiting area reading a magazine, when she sticks her head out of the X ray room, "I need your help reducing the fracture."
I don't like the sound of this but I get off the couch, stretch and pop my joints, "Got a plain English translation for that, darlin'?"
"Sure do." She points to a hard plastic and metal chair, "Get comfy."
"Check this out," she's talking to both of us while she shows Ty's X-ray on a computer screen. "Ty, see how your bones don't line up?"
"Wow. Sick."
Her soft laugh over adolescent slang is genuine, "What I have to do is get them to line up."
"How?"
I'm thinking, trust me kid, ya don't wanna know but Sue tells him straight up.
I respect that kind o'dealing.
Still doped, the kid starts freaking out, "Is it gonna hurt?"
"It might which is why I'm going to give you another shot."
Arm around Ty so he doesn't fall off the table, she says, "This is going to sound weird and I promise none of your buds will ever find out, but I need you to sit on Coach's lap."
Good drugs. Gotta love 'em. The kid giggles and with Sue's help slides off the table.
I get what she's trying to do for the kid's ego but I still feel like one awkward sonuvabitch with a spaced out kid in my lap.
"Logan, please wrap your arms around Ty."
Obviously, my uneasiness shows and I don't get it right.
"No. Like this," she places one of my arms around his middle and the other bracing his good shoulder and upper chest.
Weird factor aside, this ain't most comfortable position for either of us. Scares me a little, too. Too much pressure on his chest 'r shoulder and I could hurt the kid.
She ain't suckin' up when she tell me, "Perfect."
Sedative hits the kid full on and I feel him turn to spaghetti in my arms.
She squats eye level to the kid, "Ty, I need you to hold very still."
"Logan?" She measures me with a cool appraising look but I smell uncertainty. She second-guessing me?
Certain of my duty, I nod. "Ready."
Ty drools and mumbles. Christ! I hope he don't puke.
The kid's mostly oblivious but Sue keeps talking, explaining what she's doing, what he might feel and hear. She doin' that for my benefit?
Her pretty face takes on a serious, pained look warning, "Here we go."
Pop! It sounds agonizing and if it's anything like a dislocated joint, I know it is. Even sedated, the kid howls.
Whoa! I feel the blood drain to my feet and my stomach twist. Swallowing hard, I hope I don't look as puny as I suddenly feel.
It's weird. I got few reservations dishing out the worst possible pain to scum like Magneto or Sabertooth but a kid . . . nah ah.
Get a grip, bub. Ya know she's doing right by the kid.
xXx
Ty's off in la-la land, safe in a bed 'til the sedative wears off. Sue and I are sipping mugs of coffee 'til that happens.
It must've showed, my wussing out, when she fixed the kid 'cuz she's real attentive towards me. This ain't the way I planned to get her interest.
"You were wonderful," I smell more gratitude than gush from her. "I feel like I need to repay you, somehow."
I can think of a couple ways, darlin'. "Anybody'd have done it."
"Maybe but I'm grateful for your help. How about dinner at One Twenty One? It's casual and the food's to die for. On me."
Wait a minute! Did she just turn the tables? Good on ya, darlin'. "Sounds like a plan but...," I glance at my wristwatch.
Dammit. "No can do. I take over watch in about fifteen minutes."
"Well, that's inconvenient." She sighs and I can almost see the cogs spinning inside her mind, "Then a rain-check it'll have to be. How about . . . ," she whips out her cell phone and pushes a few buttons. Frowning, her voice drops off, "...tomorrow. Scratch that. I'm booked up."
Fiddling with her phone, I catch a whiff of frustration. Muttering to herself she says, "Would you be insulted if I have to put you off 'til next Friday?"
A lot can happen in a week but what the hell. "I'm there."
xXx
Fuckin' Sunday drivers! Hitting the throttle, I whip around the bulky sedan, its occupants a dodgy pair of Q-tips.
Q-tips! Makes me laugh every time. It's a phrase I first heard from Marie and damn if she's not smack on the mark with it; two snow white haired grandma's cruising down the street and don't ya know they couldn't do one freakin' mile over twenty five.
It's an unusually warm day for February and I'm feeling neighborly so I don't flip 'em the bird burning asphalt as I roar past. Slowing for a traffic light, it's decision time. For a change, I got no plan and hours to waste. A right turn takes me away from civilization. Left; Salem Center. The empty rumbling in my stomach suggests I might first wanna fuel up. The needle on my gas tank suggests a different sort of fuel up. Left turn it is.
Just two blocks from town, I spot the local Johnny Justice in his usual hidey-hole. And just like most times, it's only a couple seconds before he's riding my six, lights flashing.
I debate gunning it but since Charles makes the fines disappear, evasion is liable to tick him off a whole bunch more 'n me operating a bike without a helmet. License too, but who's keeping count?
I drop my kickstand as he emerges from his squad car, "Nice day, eh Pete." I'm in luck this time. His kid goes to Xavier's.
Confident I ain't likely to assault him, his bearing is easy going, "Gosh darn it, Logan. I can't keep writing you warnings. New York State requires helmets. 'Least you could do is carry one."
Trying to finesse the situation, I keep mum over my driving offenses, "Hey, you're gonna be real pleased with Kimmie's grades."
"Now coach, you wouldn't be trying to get one over on me, would you?" He's chuckling but his scent tells me he's not sure whether I'm serious or not.
What, do I look like a con man? "Hell no!" Hastily, I add, "Sir."
Officer Pete shakes his head and hands over a small electronic gizmo, "You know where to sign."
I do and when I return the thing and he prints it out I am not a happy man. "Hey, thought ya said a warning?"
"I said I can't keep giving you warnings. Brass checks my records, you know."
Looking it over, I realize I'm at least five hundred bucks in the hole plus I'm gonna hafta appear in court. Fuck this!
Pissed, I stuff it in my saddlebag with the other warnings and mount up on my bike.
"Have a nice day, Logan."
Since his kid's a student, I make nice waiting 'til he's out of sight before I flip him off.
A few minutes later, pulling into a parking spot in front of the local coffee shop, I'm cussing and kicking myself enough that I almost don't notice a certain white Jaguar. But, through the window I see her sipping cappuccino among a crowd of your typical well-to-do suburbanites.
I hate crowds. I ain't got money and I hail from nowhere special. Eh, spit in your eye.
Opening the café door trips a bell. Customers look my direction but my fuck off and die frown discourages friendly contact.
Except for her. She breaks into an open, friendly smile and I find it impossible not grin back.
"Join us," she says and scoots over a space.
I shake my head and queue up to order.
Overhearing polite inquiries about her connection to me, I'm relieved an impressed how she handles it. Xavier's School and anybody associated with it provoke a mixed bag of reactions. Sue's a smart cookie and her answer, 'someone I work with', does the trick.
Coffee, fried egg and scrapple sandwich in hand, I scrounge the same overstuffed seats we shared last week. She's watching and excuses herself from the crowd when I motion her to sit with me.
"Fancy meeting you here," she says making herself comfortable.
"Yeah. Kinda like a habit 'r something."
"Kind of."
We sit quiet while I stuff my face and then trip on each other asking a version of what we're doing on this fine day.
I say, "You first," because that's the best I can manage with a mouthful of sandwich.
"On my way over to check on Ty."
And? She don't elaborate. "Right. Last I saw he was bugging ever'body to sign his cast."
"Typical," she laughs. "Hate to tell him, though, I might have to change it out."
"Whyzzat?"
"When I set his arm there was significant swelling. Once that abates he'll have too much mobility."
Makes sense. I nod. "Ya look nice."
"Thank you."
And she does, all dolled up in a form fitting dress that matches her eyes. The material, some kind of wool, looks touchable soft. So does she.
I clear my throat, "Where ya comin' from?"
"Church."
I take a slug of coffee to conceal my surprise. Sheesh! Hope she ain't one o'those bible-thumping, my shit's better 'n yours types. Nah, I'd have figured that out already. Besides, gold crucifix necklace usually means Catholic. They generally ain't the in your face sort.
"Ya do that every Sunday?"
"I try."
This topic's going nowhere. Trouble is, I ain't good at small talk.
She breaks the silence, "So the Professor let you out to play this afternoon?"
"Nobody lets me do anything," jumps outta my big mouth edged with needless hostility and she reacts like I smacked her.
Rightly pissed, she hits back in a sotto voce, "Excuse the hell out of me," and makes to rejoin her friends.
Aw shit! I reach and snag her sleeve, "I . . . I'm sorry. Sit down. Please."
She hesitates for a minute, studying me and I'm worried she might dump her coffee on my head, "Apology accepted but I really have to go."
Damn. I've blown it. Heard the words but ignored the chemical signals and snapped at her like a caged pit bull. "Ya sure?"
She smiles but it don't show in her eyes, "I'm running behind already. See you, Logan."
With that, she bids goodbye to her friends and is out the door without a backward glance. I practically choke on the cloud of indignation in her wake.
Want the definition for stupid, insensitive jerk? I'm it.
Groaning out loud, I haul my ass out of the chair. Slamming the door behind me, the bells crash to the floor.
"Forget it. Just fuckin' forget it."
Cigar clamped between my teeth, I mount, gun my bike and squeal tires down the street aiming to do just that.
XXX
A/N The way it's going, you'd think they might never get together. That vital plot point was glaringly missing in the original. I've got more relationship tangles planned in the next couple chapters. No clue how long it'll take to get it posted. I appreciate your patience. Reviews/comments always appreciated. MLC