Chapter Fourteen

"You let her get to you, didn't you?" Carrie asked when he returned from the beach. Her tone was knowing and accusatory, her hazel eyes glaring at him as she sat sipping coffee at the kitchen table where she'd been waiting for him.

"She can be four thousand miles away and not speak to me for a decade and still get to me," Logan responded dryly. There was only a hint of the irritation he felt at her question in his tone.

"And yet you put yourself in the position of being vulnerable to her again," Carrie pointed out. Shaking her head, she scolded him mildly, "Nice, Echolls. Really nice. You trying to recapture the market on that 'tortured soul' act you used to have perfected?"

His eyes flashed and his hands clenched into fists. His knuckles turned white in his attempt to keep himself from sweeping something off the table just to listen to it crash to the floor in a million pieces. That was how he felt: like a million pieces shattered to the floor, put together haphazardly with Elmer's glue, then broken again. Yet somehow he still maintained the tentative hope of being restored, this time with care. He knew what a tenuous position he'd put himself in but he didn't care. It was his life, after all. Then he remembered: his life had meaning now, a purpose. He couldn't risk consequences for himself without repercussions for others.

He very purposely controlled his breathing and opened his hands forcibly. Gripping the side of the table, he leaned down to look Carrie in the eye. There was a look of warning in his own dark eyes as he said in a quietly ominous tone, "You're not helping."

"Helping?" Carrie laughed sharply, "How can I help when you refuse to help yourself?" she demanded. Her dark brows raised pointedly as she gave him a sharp, no-nonsense stare.

He exhaled loudly, pushing himself away from the table to spin on his heel. As he came back around to face her again, his hands shoved through his hair and troubled eyes met hers. "I know," he admitted almost inaudibly.

Standing, her cerulean blue silk robe pooled around her as she moved. Carrie looked at him invitingly and taunted, "You want my help? Let me help you forget about her. That's the best I can do."

Grateful for what she was offering but knowing it would do no good, Logan moved to kiss her tenderly. Giving her a crooked smile as he pushed a tendril of her dark hair behind her ear, he said sadly, "I wish that would work." He stepped back and said apologetically, "I think this is something I'm going to have to figure out on my own."

She stepped forward, touching his cheek with the palm of her hand. Her lips pursed as she searched his eyes before saying, "You know where to find me when you finally decide." She kissed his cheek and added, "Just don't wait too long." Then she headed up the stairs to shower and change, leaving him to his own thoughts.

Back in New York, Piz had been tying up some loose ends with his radio station before heading to 'the other coast' for Veronica's high school reunion. He was just packing up and preparing to leave the office when he got a call he'd been expecting long before now.

"Hey, baby, what's shakin'?" he answered with a lame attempt at humor as he stuffed a few more files in his messenger bag to take with him.

"Not my ass, that's for sure," came her quirky response. Almost immediately, Veronica got down to business, saying hurriedly, "We need to talk. You got a minute?"

"Sure, what's up?" he asked with some concern as he paused what he was doing to listen to what she had to say.

"It's about Logan," she warned hesitantly.

Piz was all ears now, a feeling of trepidation and inevitability forming a huge pit in his stomach as he said cautiously, "Go on."

"I ran into him yesterday and met up with him this morning," Veronica began. Then she added in a rush to try to reassure him, "Nothing happened, or next to nothing anyway. It was just...nostalgia...mostly..." she said awkwardly. Feeling as if she were trying to explain away some huge betrayal, she offered loyally, "I'll totally stay away from him for the rest of my visit if you want."

Silence met her on the other end of the line. Piz had known that something like this would, in all probability, occur at some point during her time there. He just hadn't quite prepared himself for how much it would hurt.

"Stosh?" she prompted with care.

"Sorry," he responded, his moment of reflection broken by the sound of her voice saying his name. He shook himself mentally and began to emotionally brace himself for what he was about to say next. "No, no. No need to do that. I trust you, Veronica. And believe it or not, from everything I've heard he's been up to recently, I trust him, too. So if you say it was nothing, it was nothing." He paused for a moment before adding, "Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?" Veronica asked, listening intently on the other end of the line, a hint of anxiety in her tone.

"If I'm not your first choice, end it with me," he said into the phone with pained resolve. She started to protest but he wouldn't let her. "No, Veronica, I'm serious. I deserve better than to be someone's consolation prize. So if you find out that's what I am to you, do me the favor of letting me go. I mean, it's not like we couldn't still be friends," he threw in lightly with more than a smidge of self-recrimination in his tone.

It took a long time for Veronica to answer. There was no way she was going to let him hear the tremor in her voice as she fought the tears that threatened to fall. Finally, in a raw tone filled with emotion, she agreed with a nod that she knew he couldn't see, "Alright, Piz. I refuse to make a decision now but if I come to any conclusions, I'll let you know. But no matter what, you better mean that about staying friends! I don't have any that I can afford to lose."

"Mars," Piz began affectionately even as he felt the foreshadowed pang of loss, "You couldn't get rid of me if you tried."