A/N: Thanks you all for your continued interest. I appreciate your comments, and your excitement. Thank you. Thank you also to Bondopoulos, who has my back. I am so glad I snatched you as Beta long ago.

Chapter 8

They'd exchanged phone numbers as if they were suddenly the best of friends.

Mac checked her phone for what seemed like the fortieth time in the past ten minutes, but it still showed no incoming text from Dick.

How strange it felt to be waiting for a message from him of all people, she thought.

Wallace stood waiting for her at the entrance of the hotel. Mac sped up her steps as she made her way to him from the parking lot, her black stilettos clicking into the pavement loudly, click, click, clack. She tugged at the hem of her dress, wishing suddenly that it were just a tad bit longer.

It was a dress she'd picked out specifically for tonight: black, short, sleeves off the shoulders, with peek-a-boo triangular cut-outs running down the sides of the dress to the waist. When she'd chosen the dress at Rica Boutique in La Jolla, she'd felt kick-ass in it. She'd imagined herself walking into the reunion oozing confidence amidst the whispers of "Who is that?" while every head turned in her direction.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't given any thought to a certain tall blonde's reaction. Eat your heart out, Dickster, is what she'd intended her look to convey. Not once in her imagination had she thought she'd be the one to seek him out at any point during the night.

It was true that Mac was now so much more than the girl she'd been in high school; more everything. She was more confident, had an awesome (if a bit boring) job, a great apartment. She'd worked hard to overcome her past and to rise above it. But, even with the new dress and all of those factors combined, it didn't make the prospect of walking through that crowd any easier.

As she approached him, Wallace smiled and opened the door for her. Together they walked into the hotel's marble entryway and looked around. Familiar faces were scattered throughout the crowd. She scanned them all, but didn't see the one she was looking for.

Signs pointed to a table where Madison Sinclair and Shelly Pomroy sat with name tags spread out on a table before them.

Mac approached the booth cautiously, unsure of what to expect. Madison was not her friend in any way, and never had been. But Mac knew a lot about the other woman. It had often crossed her mind to wonder how much Madison knew about their shared past.

Judging by Madison's sneer, Mac assumed, not much.

"Cindy Mackenzie." The snooty blond handed her a nametag. "Nice hair."

Not sure if the comment was meant to be a compliment or not, Mac took the proffered tag and pinned it on without saying a word. Wallace took his as well, and they moved past the entrance and into the throng of people.

"So, ten year reunion!" Wallace rubbed his hands together and Mac grinned. "I want to hear some Kylie Minogue, Pussy Cat Dolls, maybe some solo Rob Thomas!"

"Let's find the bar first," she suggested with a laugh. "Then we can go harass the DJ for some of that old school rock and roll."

The space was already warm with too many bodies and smelled of alcohol and sweat. Mac wrinkled her nose. She felt Wallace's hand settle lightly on her back in an attempt to not lose her in the mass. She scanned the crowd for Dick.

She didn't even see him before she ran smack into him. He hadn't been facing her, but he must have felt her fall into him, because he immediately turned with an arm out to steady her. When his hand encircled her bicep and righted her, Mac looked up into his handsome face as she grappled at his sleeves to steady herself.

Damned Jimmy Choos.

"Why, if it isn't Miss Most Likely to Blog! May I say you're looking espcecially fine tonight." He gave her an approving once-over and set her lightly away from him, his fingers skimming the flesh of her inner arm as he did so.

Mac shivered from his touch and looked at him through slanted eyes. He'd cleaned up nicely since this afternoon, even going so far as to don a jacket. The light gray suit flattered him, she thought resentfully. She folded her arms carefully as Wallace stepped protectively up beside her.

"You and uh…" Dick glanced at Wallace and frowned. "Urkel here gonna come to my after party? It's at the 09er. We're gonna party like it's 1999!"

The crowd was thickening and Dick kept losing his balance as people pushed past him.

"Ooh, an 09er party at the 09er. Sounds nostalgic," Mac said with a smirk, "How could anyone resist?"

"Come on, it's a great chance to catch up on old times; nothing better than that, right?" Dick said. He eyed Wallace again. "Dude, didn't you used to be on the basketball team? You're game was sick!"

"Thanks, man," Wallace answered.

The two men seemed to be sizing each other up, almost to the point that they were circling one another.

"I need a drink," Mac said suddenly. She dropped all appearances and started scanning the room for the bar.

"Ah, right here!" Dick said, pointing unexpectedly to his groin. He pumped his hips upward and grabbed a silver flask that was in a case attached to his belt buckle. He uncapped it, took a quick pull and then extended it to Mac.

As if she would take it. She frowned and shook her head. "Gross."

"Eh, your loss." Dick tucked the flask back into its case and pointed behind him. "Frou-frou drinks are that way."

As they moved away from him, Mac's phone dinged. It was a text from Dick:

Sean's not here yet. How r u gonna find the car?

She tapped out a quick reply: Don't worry about that. Keep me posted.

***Break***

The wine felt warm in her belly, and that warmth radiated out to her limbs, making her feel drowsy.

Most alcohol made Veronica feel invincible, but wine left her relaxed and loose-tongued.

Bunk sat across from her, telling Navy stories. Logan sat on the floor with his back against the couch, close enough to Veronica that every once in a while, if one of them moved just right, her knee would brush into his good shoulder or the back of his head. Occasionally, Logan would interrupt his friend's storytelling to add a tidbit here or correct something there, but otherwise was quiet. Veronica, although slow to respond, was taking in the stories and holding them for later; a small part of her wanted to wait until she was alone to dissect their meaning and connect all the dots of this part of Logan's life together.

It was true that she'd known Logan had joined the Navy. The furthest she'd ever let herself think of him in the Navy however, was boot camp and maybe onboard an air craft carrier.

But the stories that Bunk was volunteering were nothing like she'd ever imagined. They were nothing she could have ever even fathomed.

"So Logan flies down," Bunk was saying now, his face animated with the telling, "Just as the missile is fired and it clips his wing."

She gasped and leaned forward, bumping into Logan as she did. She glanced down at him but he didn't look at her. Enjoying the solid warmth of his arm against her leg, Veronica purposely did not move away. To Bunk, Veronica prompted, "Oh my God. How..?"

"This is the thing!" Bunk leaned forward too, unaware at how tense the story was making his audience. "So it clips the wing, but it doesn't explode! Nothing happens! The damn thing bounces off the wing like a freakin' bird." He hooted, "Everyone on the carrier is waiting with bated breath, like, what the fu-excuse me, what the hell, we got to get this plane back on the carrier in one piece."

"You were more worried about the million dollar hunk of metal than me, just admit it," Logan piped up from his spot on the floor.

"You know it." Bunk winked before continuing, "He gimps the jet back, lands it slick as snot, hops out and says..." he laughed, " 'Dancing with the Devil never gets old!'"

"That was a good day for the team," Logan said modestly, tension evident in his voice.

Veronica's eyes burned into the back of Logan's head. The amount of danger the Navy put Logan into was so different than the danger she'd always associated with him. This danger was bigger than Neptune…bigger than anything she'd ever been a part of.

The fear she used to feel for him was nothing compared to the absolute terror beginning to slowly expand through her limbs. It began as a dull throb in her gut, where the wine had suddenly turned sour in her stomach. The tang of it seared the back of her throat, and she struggled to swallow it down, her throat closing off wretchedly.

"It proved a lot to your commander." Bunk was saying proudly, "Those kinds of days are the days everyone hopes never come, but want to go right when they do. And it went better than we thought."

"That seems like such a big deal. A near-miss air strike on a commercial plane," Veronica commented, somehow finding her voice. "How was that not a media-riot?"

"That's an even better day." Logan said in answer, standing abruptly and jostling Veronica as he did so. He didn't look at either of them when he said, "The less the media knows, the better we've done our job."

With that, Logan left the living room, and she heard the front door slam.

Bunk sighed. "I shouldn't have brought that one up."

"Why not?" Veronica asked, her eyes on the doorway.

"Echo's just…never liked the glory that comes with the job description, you might say." After a moment, he added, "Well, one thing about Echo is that he's fiercely protective. If he sees an opportunity, he jumps in and gets the job done."

"I seem to recall that about him," Veronica agreed.

"Tell me something. When's the last time you've spent time around Echo?"

Blinking, Veronica took a sip of her wine and looked over at the older man. "I…guess that would be almost nine years ago, at Hearst."

"And what was the situation?"

She could see that he already knew the answer, but she answered him anyway, "He'd just gotten into a fistfight defending my honor."

"See," Bunk said triumphantly, "He honestly wants to do the right thing. That blank missile started a trend of Ol' Echo. When you're under pressure like that…there's nothing like it, and nothing can truly prepare you to put your life on the line. His life wasn't his that day. It was America's. Echo proved to Commander Ross that he was ready for the true missions."

After a beat, Bunk added, "You know, he's a real hero."

"Well, yeah, that story—"

"No." Bunk firmly shook his head. "That was nothing. That was a commercial plane full of spoiled American's who didn't know enough to thank a man for his sacrifice. It was a year later that was the true test of what that boy out there is made of." He lowered his voice and leaned over the coffee table. "He had orders for a seek and destroy mission that none of us have authority to question. The coordinates for this place were given and he went in, ready to deliver. And by deliver, I mean kill.

"When you're on the front lines, you quit thinking in terms of bodies and lives. You'd go insane if you kept count, especially with all the what-ifs. Echo went in and purposely came back out, his mission incomplete. You see, something in his gut told him something was off with the mission, and he questioned it. Turns out, the building he'd been sent to destroy was actually a temporary station for the Red Crescent, which is kind of like Iran's Red Cross. Anyway, there'd been some serious fighting a few days before all of this and wires were crossed, but Echo, he trusted his gut and he saved probably two hundred lives that day. Al Qaeda wasn't even in the city that day; it would have been catastrophic.

"Now, it's not like Echo got out of that whole situation unscathed. There was a whole investigation; he was grounded for a bit. But once the higher ups realized just exactly what Echo had kept them from, there was leniency. He earned grudging respect from the naysayers that had originally questioned his right to be there."

"Why would he not have a right?"

"His history was well-known…the…drama that had followed him, his record, before he was recruited. He didn't talk about it to very many of us, and there were…assumptions made that he had a problem with authority and how he liked to go against the grain."

"I wondered about that," she admitted. "The Navy isn't somewhere I ever really pictured Logan ending up."

"No, I supposed not," Bunk agreed. "But he really has a love of flying; it fits him."

They sat for a few moments of silence. Finally, Veronica asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

"He's your man; you've a right to know."

Uncertainly, she said, "Bunk…we're not together, Logan and I. We haven't even seen each other in years; he just lost Carrie. He's not mine."

"Hmph." Bunk said in answer, standing up and stretching. "Well, that's just a matter of opinion, isn't it?"

Before Veronica could respond, her computer binged. Dick had just activated the wire.

***Break**

Logan needed oxygen. He needed to stay outside and breathe in the crisp night air. He started pacing around the house to cool down and think.

He couldn't quite figure Veronica out. All day she'd been irritable and short-tempered, but once Bunk had walked in the door, she'd become relaxed, almost happy even. Logan was having a hard time processing the change. Sure, Bunk was good with people, but this change was beyond that.

During dinner, the three of them had sat at the kitchen island, side by side. Bunk had kept the conversation going, for which Logan was grateful. Only a few times had it been necessary for Logan to utter even a syllable. That made it easier for Logan to pretend to listen while he tried to ignore how Veronica's thigh kept skimming lightly against when she reached for something. And how, every once in a while, Veronica would move her foot just so and it would bump into his ever so slightly. More than once he'd looked at her in surprise, but she'd been immersed in whatever Bunk was saying.

It had seemed obvious to him that she wasn't doing it on purpose. But Logan had spent too many years keeping himself from even thinking he'd ever see her again. To be sitting close enough to feel the heat of her was almost euphoric. He'd had to keep himself in check, not wanting to visibly react to her nearness.

And then, after dinner, Logan had caught Veronica looking at him more than once when she thought he wasn't looking. The funny thing was that Logan always noticed when Veronica looked at him. He'd always been aware of her. That was the one thing about her that he had never quite been able to shake since they were twelve years old. Tonight he'd been hyperaware of the small differences in her recent behavior. She seemed to find reasons to touch him, such as when they brought their dishes to the dishwasher. She'd had to step around him to get by and the whole length of her had brushed up against him. It was quick and unexpected, and Veronica hadn't given any hint that she'd done it on purpose, but Logan's body reacted as if the move had been completely calculated.

After that moment, his entire body had been zinging with awareness. Awareness of her. It was a feeling that he hadn't allowed himself to feel for years. When they'd gone into the living room and sat down, he'd thought for sure she'd give him a break, but she hadn't. He couldn't help but watch Veronica take small sips of her wine. He watched how her tongue lightly touched the rim of the glass, watched how her eyes hooded slightly when the alcohol spilled into her mouth. It felt as if she was playing a seductive game with him as he watched her lower the glass to her lap and then run her fingers along the rim of the glass. When she spilled a small bit of the red wine on her fingers, he watched her thoughtlessly lick the inner pads of her fingers, one by one, sucking off the sweetness that had dripped there.

Not being able to take it anymore, he'd sat on the floor against the couch so he couldn't be distracted by her. Then Bunk had sat down across from him and started telling more stories. Of course, Veronica had sat down near him to listen. For thirty excruciating minutes, Logan had borne feeling Veronica's knee bumping into his good shoulder. Each brush was a healthy reminder of the increasing tightness in his groin. Sometimes, he had thought irritably while trying, unsuccessfully, to join in Bunk's storytelling, it would be nice to not have such animalistic thoughts at every improper moment. He'd sat back to pull at the knees of his pants and folded his good arm across his chest in an attempt to appear nonchalant, and then sat as still as he could when he'd sensed Veronica looking at him.

Finally, he just couldn't take it anymore. Bunk was telling a story that Logan had never even told Dick, and he could feel Veronica's eyes burning a hole in his back. Everything closed in on him in that moment and he'd had enough.

He'd just come around the corner of the house when Bunk rushed out of the door. "Echo, we're live!"

***Break***

It's on.

The 'bing' of an incoming text came just as Mac caught sight of Dick slinking out the back exit door behind Sean Fredrick.

She cast a glance over at Wallace, who had taken up a conversation with Weevil and his wife at a table. Engrossed in the discussion, Wallace didn't see her. She wended her way through the crowd, back down the stairs and then out to the parking lot, where she started looking for Sean's car.

As she walked, she pulled a small tracking device from the vee of her dress. With a cursory glance around the lost, Mac activated it before quickly palming it, never missing a step. She hoped that she could find Sean's ride quickly and would be able to attach the device to it without attracting any attention.

Ever on top of all the details, Veronica had emailed Mac with the make and model of the two vehicles that Sean owned. Relatively certain that he'd choose to arrive in his two-seater BMW over his more modest SUV; Mac was on the lookout for the small car.

She found it two rows farther toward the back of the lot. It was a dark night and the area was lit up only in spots beneath light poles, which were speckled throughout the lot. The little red car was not near a light, but it was not in a position that was dark enough for Mac to feel confident that she would not look suspicious if security was watching from the control room.

Mac was relieved to see no one about when she looked back to the entrance of the hotel.

As she came up even with the car, Mac let herself trip in her wobbly heels and fall to the ground. She'd already unsnapped the top of her clutch and as she landed, her lipstick and compact spilled out of the little black bag. Gathering them up, Mac reached beneath the car as if looking for a stray item and stuck the tracker under the bumper before deftly gathering her items. She stood up, brushed off the side of her skirt that she'd landed on and then headed further out to where she'd parked earlier.

After a few minutes, she made her way back to the hotel, no one any the wiser as to what she'd just done.

***Break***

Wallace was waiting for her at the reunion's entrance. He stood there, leaning against the door jam and looking utterly pissed off. "I don't like it when my date disappears."

She jerked her head in the direction of where Dick was now talking with a brunette-headed bimbo that she didn't recognize. "Sorry, but opportunity waits for no man."

Wallace tracked her gaze and huffed. "I figured out where you went, at least. Weevil and I were having a nice little chat about some of his old compadres getting time for stuff they didn't do."

"Veronica might want to hear about that." Mac continued past the door into the party with Wallace on her heels.

"That's what I said. I told ol' Weevs that the four of us should get together for a little catch up dinner later next week."

They continued through the maze of people but stopped when they heard Madison Sinclair over the loud speaker.

"And now, we'd like to start the awards portion of the evening!" Madison stood on the stage, looking out over the crowd with a large screen behind her.

"They just showed a memorial of everyone who died," Dick said low in her ear. Mac's eyes remained frozen on the screen; she didn't move as he continued, "Carrie was the last one." Lower still, he told her, "I got some of the goods tonight, but he wanted payment for the rest, so the plan is to meet later in the week to finish up the transaction."

The three of them stood together while Madison handed out miscellaneous made-up awards for random acts of achievement. Quickly growing bored, Mac began fidgeting, wondering just how much longer she'd have to stay here.

"Relax, Mackster," Dick breathed from behind her, "You can leave anytime, you know. I do need to give back your gift from this afternoon, but I got places to be. Be at the 09er in an hour."

She'd almost forgotten that he had the bug. She gave a curt nod in acknowledgement and then turned to Wallace. "You up for an 09er party later tonight?"

Wallace slid his eyes to the empty space where Dick had just disappeared from and then back to her. "What's a long night of reminiscing? I still haven't even heard that solo Rob Thomas."

***Break***

Mac had never been tempted to go into the 09er before tonight.

A few years back, the owners of the 09er had built the swanky members-only club. Although the building that stood here previously had been condemned and destroyed, Mac had suspicions that there had been nothing wrong with the structure. The fact of the matter was that the building had once housed none other than Mars Investigations. When the building had to be torn down, Keith had had to scramble to find a new office. The new office, Mac knew, wasn't in the most desirable of locations. It had been on principal and honor that Mac had chosen not frequent the 09er. She felt as if the elite were purposely squeezing the lesser few out of town one by one and she wanted no part of it.

Now, as she gave her name to the bouncer, she looked past the brawny man's shoulder into the glimmering expanse of the club. Wallace stood silently beside her and Mac suddenly wondered how exactly she would be allowed into a members-only night club.

"Cindy Mackenzie…" the bouncer repeated for the third time, consulting a clipboard. "Ah, yes, I thought so, here it is. Plus one," he eyed Wallace, "Says you need to go up and see the boss…"

"What?" Mac asked in consternation. "Are you sure?"

"Yup, says so right here." The bouncer pointed at the paper. "Just follow the stairs to the third floor and give your name to the staff member there. They'll let you in. I'll let him know you're on the way."

They made their way into the club and made a beeline for the stairs.

"Who owns this place?" Wallace asked, "Is it who I'm thinking?"

"If you're thinking who I'm thinking, then I think so."

The third floor overlooked the dance floor, and they took a moment to look over the throng of people before approaching what Mac would guess was an armed guard in front of some double doors.

"Ms. Mackenzie?" The guard asked, looking at her. At her nod, he pushed the doors open, "He'll be up in just a moment, please take a seat." And with that, guard retreated, letting the door shut behind himm and the two of them were left alone in a large modern-looking office.

"How did we not know this about him?" Wallace asked as he strode to a window that overlooked the city. "I mean, shouldn't we have known that Dick Casablancas bought the old MI building and had it demolished?"

"Yeah, you'd think so, but I guess it never occurred to me to care," Mac answered as she looked around with curiosity. "I mean, I knew about his surf shop but not this place. I don't remember the owner ever being disclosed in the media."

"That's because we didn't want to be in the news," Dick's voice came from the doorway.

Mac swiveled around to look at him. "We?"

His eyes glinted. "Me and my-uh—silent partner." Mac's questioning stare only made his grin broaden. "When we found out the building had been condemned, we chose to buy it up."

Mac pounced on that. "You mean, it really was condemned?"

"It had been for quite a while before we snatched it up," Dick replied, "The city hadn't told the lessees of the building, though. We'd been looking for a place to buy for a while when we looked at this site. Our realtor had heard rumors, and we had the place inspected. Sure enough, there was enough wrong with it, it should have been torn down probably twenty years earlier."

Mac snorted with disbelief. "You expect us to believe that sack of lies? You threw out businesses that needed the space! As if the city would let a condemned building not be demolished."

"We helped out every single one of those businesses, Mac." Dick's tone was serious, more serious than she'd really heard him be in the past. "Ask Keith Mars; he got a great deal to help find a new place of business. The attorneys drew it all up."

She scoffed. "Have you been to his 'new' place of business? It's a total dump."

Dick shrugged. "The cash settlement was meant to help ease the burden of uprooting their businesses and moving. There wasn't a clause that allocated it to only business use. For all I know, he could have blown it all on crank."

Or bought a nice house, the thought dawned on Mac suddenly. She blinked with the realization.

"Speaking of crank," Dick said, changing the subject, "Ol' Seannie-boy is ready to be my partner in crime."

"Why didn't you just meet him here?" Wallace asked from across the room.

"Are you deluded, dude? I don't want any of that shit anywhere near either of my businesses. A little dallying in it is one thing, but I'm not mixing business with that kind of pleasure," his eyes cut to Mac, "Now, other kinds of pleasure…"

She fought to keep herself from even a tiny smile. "Tell us about the meeting."

***Break***

They sat back in disappointment.

Veronica had pulled the map up on her laptop and they all stared at the blinking red light that indicated Sean's location in real-time.

And according to the property records Veronica had pulled up earlier in the day, he had just arrived at home and was now sitting idle inside his condo.

"Why isn't he meeting anyone?" Logan asked, frustration evident in his voice. "Why the fuck is he just sitting at home?"

Veronica was frustrated, too. She stared at the screen, willing the little beacon to move. "Maybe they met at his place." The earlier tension of the day was seeping back into her and the edges of panic were back.

"You know as well as I do that you don't do a drop where you live or work," Logan muttered, running his hand through his hair. "Sean has a system, we just don't know what the fuck it is. "

"Logan…" Veronica started, but Bunk interrupted her.

"I think you're right, Echo. I don't know anything about the guy, but I wouldn't be surprised if the drops are regularly scheduled at a set time in a specific place. Just because Dick told Sean that he's a serious buyer doesn't mean that Sean can or will alter his meeting schedule. And we all heard the audio; Dick said he didn't need the next delivery until next weekend."

"Next weekend is too far away!" Veronica complained, "Why on earth did he say that!"

"If he had pushed for a delivery tomorrow, Sean would have known something was off," Logan reminded her, "Dick has his reasons."

Veronica met his stare across the coffee table. His features were too composed, she realized with annoyance. He hadn't looked this calm all day, and she, in contrast, was becoming irate again. "Well, if Dick screwed this up…"

"He didn't screw anything up." Now Logan sounded irritated. "You heard him; he did everything we asked him to do. When will you ever just trust who I trust?"

"Why should I trust who you trust?" She challenged, her voice rising to meet his. "Up until a month ago, I suppose you would have trusted Gia and Luke with your life and look what they did. They killed your lover!"

From beside her, Bunk said evenly, "Now, you two should just—"

"Oh, and that's what this is all about, isn't it! Carrie and what happened to her, as if I could control the company she kept. Didn't we just have this same argument this morning?" Logan yelled, barreling past Bunk's calm reasoning.

"And you keep dodging it," Veronica spat out, not caring how harsh she sounded.

He looked so angry at her that she wouldn't have been surprised to see steam coming from off the top of his head.

Logan placed his hands on his hips, his brown eyes penetrating hers. "Because that, without a doubt, is absolutely none of your business. I don't have to explain to you why Carrie did anything!" he roared, "She didn't want my advice and wouldn't have listened to a damn thing I said! It's none of your fucking business!"

She honestly didn't know why she was pressing the issue, but Veronica stared stubbornly back at him. She ignored the fact that his piercing gaze was causing her pulse to quicken as well as the warning bells going off in her head. "If Carrie was so special to you, if she was your lover, why would you not get her away from those people no matter what? How stupid were you?"

"Don't you dare make me feel guilty over that!"

"Answer me!" she bellowed, "If she meant so much to you, if you cared so much, wouldn't you have ignored her protests and kept her from their clutches? Kept her from people like Sean?"

"Because she was not my LOVER!" Logan suddenly burst out, surprising them both.

They both had stood up at some point and were now shouting at each other over the coffee table. Bunk had shrunk back in his seat as if trying to disappear. Veronica's hands were on her hips and heat was rising up her neck from her anger. Logan stood glaring back at her, his normally cool brown eyes now molten lava with fury.

They stepped back away from the table at the same time, both breathing heavily as they locked eyes.

Veronica was dumbfounded by his admission. "What?"

The anger seemed to melt away as Logan ran his hand through his hair and pulling his injured arm into his body. He sighed heavily. "You heard me. Just…quit throwing Carrie in my face. Honest to God, I couldn't make her do a damn thing. She and I…"

Veronica searched his face. He suddenly looked tired, weary of the hand life had dealt him. "Logan…"

"Look," he said curtly, misunderstanding her tone, "Think what you want. Just quit making me feel guilty about the way I've chosen to live my life when all you've done is run away from yours."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for reading, and thank you if you care to review. I love to know what you think!