Logan - A Preston Brothers Novel (Book 2): A More Than Series Spin-off

by Jay McLean

  My tears fall freely now, unable to control them.

  He asks, “Why didn’t you call me while I was gone?”

  I shake my head.

  “Why are you stubborn, Red?”

  “To protect my heart. Why won’t you hold hands, Logan?”

  His face turns to stone. “Pass.”

  31

  Aubrey

  Logan fell asleep in my sunroom. I left him alone. When I woke up, he was gone.

  Logan

  I fight all of Mary’s temptations the entire Saturday, because I have plans, and I don’t want her ruining them.

  Aubrey

  I put away all the petty cash in the safe and switch off all the lights, another work day done. When I go to lock up the store, Logan is outside waiting for me. He’s leaning against his truck, his legs crossed at his ankles, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He offers a smile that makes my insides turn to dust. “You missing your mamma, Red?”

  I can’t help but get excited. “Why? You want to take me to see my mamma, Lo?”

  He opens the car door for me.

  He opens the car door for me!

  Once I’m inside and buckled in, he says, his finger running across my collarbone, shifting the hair away, “I’ll take you wherever you want, Red, just as long as you want me to.”

  Logan

  Okay, so I didn’t have plans, so much as I had a plan, and that plan consisted of getting Aubrey in my truck. Last night she told me she wanted to see her mom, and I wanted to be the one to make that happen. Whether we were friends, friends by association, or friends on the brink of more, it didn’t matter to me. What mattered is that she said yes. At least to this, if nothing else.

  I got what I wanted, because she’s in my truck, my navigation is set to her mom’s address, and we’re listening to music, creating a playlist of songs as good as our banter, back and forth, hers then mine, a collection of contrasts that make my heart and soul want to hide and heal all at the same time. Three hours fly by, and we’ve barely said a word with substance, which is fine; we have three more hours on the drive back.

  Aubrey’s mom’s house is a standard suburban with a red SUV in the driveway. “I’ll be quick. Like, fifteen minutes. Thirty at most. Promise I won’t keep you out here waiting.” She’s grinning from ear-to-ear, one foot out of the truck already.

  “Take your time, Red.”

  “Forty-five minutes. No longer. Swear.”

  “Red.” I touch her wrist, make sure to hold her gaze. “Take as long as you need. Promise me?”

  Another smile and she’s off, running up the driveway and knocking on the door. A woman appears, her hair more ginger than scarlet. And then comes an embrace that has the woman’s eyes widening, her lips lifting. She strokes Aubrey’s hair, the way I want to, almost need to, and she looks up at me, and Aubrey turns, points, waves. And that heart of mine? That soul? The ones that wanted to hide and heal? They fight. And when the mother and daughter move into the house and I’m staring at a closed door, I make the choice for my heart and my soul.

  I let them heal.

  If not for me, then for Aubrey.

  Aubrey

  My mother is beautiful, there’s no denying. If it weren’t for her red hair, I’d question whether I was adopted. We have no common traits or quirks, but I’ve always put it down to her being absent when I was younger and being mainly raised by my dad. She’s a recruiter for the Marines, and the strongest, most powerful woman I know. I admire her, but I don’t want to be her, and for a long time, I wondered if that was the reason it always felt like there was a giant void between us. There’s no void now, though, and feeling that, knowing that, makes me so grateful that Logan drove the three hours to get here.

  Mom pours soda into a glass while I sit at the kitchen counter, listening to every word she’s saying. She’s telling me about her job, about the new neighbors, and I nod at all the right times, which makes her smile. And then she stops talking and takes me in properly, like mothers do. “I’ve missed ya, kid.”

  “You have?”

  “Of course, I have. It’s not the same here. The house is too big and too quiet, and I miss coming home from work and calling out to you, you never hearing me over the sound of those records you still have in your room. I’d walk in and you’d be elbow-deep in paint.” She shakes her head, exhales loudly through her nose. “It’s just not the same, Aubs. And you left in such a rush, you know? I feel like, like—”

  “Like I’m only three hours away,” I say, my voice low while my finger circles the lip of my glass. “You could always come and visit. My house is too big, too quiet. It’s always empty.”

  “Always?”

  “Always.”

  “What about that boy who brought you here…”

  I shrug. “It’s always empty.”

  “Friends?”

  “Ma.”

  “What?”

  “It’s always empty.”

  “Well, then,” she says, leaning on the counter, her hand reaching for mine. “I’ll have to come and visit.”

  “Why haven’t you yet?” I ask, my gaze lifting, meeting hers.

  She shrugs, releases my hand as she stands taller. “I figured you wouldn’t want me to. I thought maybe—maybe you left because of me…”

  She’s partly right but not completely. I shake my head. “I just needed a fresh start after everything with Carter.”

  “You shouldn’t let a boy—”

  “I don’t need a lecture, Ma. I just need your support.”

  “Okay,” she says, nodding. “Speaking of Carter, I ran into him at the store the other day. He asked about you.”

  My eyes go wide. “Did you tell him anything?”

  “I just answered his questions.”

  “What questions?”

  “He asked where you were living, what you were doing… Why? Was I not supposed to tell him?”

  After keying Pathetic Dick into his car, I’d prefer it if he didn’t know where I lived. Obviously, I don’t tell her that. “It’s fine.”

  She smiles again, only this time, it’s half-hearted. “Well…” she says, looking around the kitchen. “Did you want to pack any more things now that you have a car to haul it in?”

  I’ve been living out of a suitcase for six months and doing just fine. “I’m good.”

  “What about your records?” she edges. “Or more clothes? Or your painting supplies.”

  “No. I don’t need them.”

  “Did you replace them?”

  “No.”

  “Then… why?”

  I sigh. “Because I don’t know how long I’ll be there.”

  “Oh, no. Why, Aubrey? What’s happening?”

  With a shrug, I focus on my pleated skirt. “I just miss you, too, I guess.”

  “Aubrey.” There’s no confusing the amount of pity oozing from her tone. “It has to be more than that. Talk to me, sweetheart.”

  Logan

  After waiting outside for her for forty-five minutes, I send Aubrey a text, tell her I’m getting a bite to eat with Leo and to take her time. I lie about the meal but not about my brother. He meets me at a nearby intersection and directs me through the maze of his campus back to his dorm. It’s the first time I’ve visited. It’s his second year here. Just another reason I’m a sucky friend/brother/human. Ten p.m. on a Saturday and there are people, people, people every-fucking-where. Yeah. I for sure made the right choice. College is definitely not for me.

  Leo leads me from a visitor parking lot toward a bright yellow building, up some stairs and then opens the door to a six by eight-foot prison cell. Or dorm room. Whatever. “Not that I’m not happy to see you,” he says, waiting for me to step inside before closing the door. “But what the fuck are you doing here?”

  His side of the room here is just like his one at home, the one next to mine. It’s sparse, neat, tidy. Everything in its place. Books upon books on his nightstand. On the end of his bed. On the bookshelf
I built him when he first moved out. No movie or music posters on the wall, but rather, inspirational quotes from whom I’m sure are dead poets and writers. Above his desk is a picture of us—his family—and on his desk is a framed picture of him and Baby Preston; Brian’s son, Laney’s stepbrother, and also his godson. Of all the Preston boys Brian could’ve chosen, he chose the best. Really. And there’s no jealousy or animosity on my end. Maybe on Luke’s, but that’s a whole other story.

  I stand in the middle of the room, hands in my pockets. “Nice digs.”

  “Nice deflect.”

  “No raging party to go to?”

  “Eh.” He shrugs. “You go to one, you’ve been to them all. Besides, I need to study.”

  “You’re always studying.” I drop to the floor, on my stomach, and check under his bed for any signs a twenty-year-old actually lives here and not a forty-year-old virgin.

  “What the hell are you looking for?”

  “That blow-up doll I sent you.”

  “I sold it on eBay.”

  “Had no use for it, huh?” I say, smirking when I’m back on my feet.

  He jokes, “Flesh on plastic isn’t the quietest sound in the world. My dorm mate wasn’t loving it as much as I was. Speaking of girls, what the fuck are you doing here?”

  “What does a girl have to do with me wanting to see me brother?”

  He sits on the edge of his bed. “I don’t know. I seem to recall a certain redhead living around here somewhere.”

  “Her name’s Aubrey.”

  “And where is sweet Aubrey tonight?”

  “At her mother’s.”

  “Did you drive her here?”

  I nod.

  “Not one for meeting the parents, huh?”

  I move a bunch of random shit off his roommate’s bed and sit opposite him. “I’m self-centered, aren’t I?”

  He nods. “Fact as fuck.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Not always, though. I mean, Lachy worships you. No idea why. And the twins tolerate you. Lucy seems to think you have some good qualities.”

  “And Luke?”

  “Luke hates you.”

  I chuckle. “Hate’s a strong word.”

  “Nah,” Leo says, leaning back on his forearms. “Sometimes I think Luke’s jealous of everyone.”

  “Why? He has everything he’s ever wanted.”

  “I dunno.” He shrugs. “I think it’s more about not knowing what he really wants. I mean, it took him years to decide not to go to college—”

  “And here you are,” I cut in, and Leo nods.

  “And then with you—it’s like, there’s no pressure on you to do or be something. Like, no expectations, you know?”

  “Because I’m a disappointment first and foremost.”

  “No. You’re a dick first and foremost. The disappointment comes from your own expectations. What I mean is, you’ve never played by the rules or standards. You’re just… you. But, one day, someone’s going to expect something from you—a certain redhead probably—and that’s when you’re going to feel the pressure.”

  “I’m not changing for no one,” I declare.

  He laughs. “No one’s asking you to, you dick.”

  “Why are you so smart and level-headed?” I throw a pillow at his head. “I hate you.”

  He moves the pillow aside, laughing as he does. “So, how’s the whole Aubrey thing working for ya?”

  I shake my head at him. “I don’t know. How’s the whole unrequited love for Laney thing going for you?”

  Leo sighs. “It gets easier every day, man. The distance helps.”

  “Sucks. If it makes you feel any better, I accidentally played a hand in chipping Lucas’s front tooth.”

  “Mayhem?”

  “Always Mayhem.”

  Leo sighs again, louder and more drawn out. “I miss Mayhem.”

  “I miss my sidekick.”

  “Awww,” he says, reaching over and patting my shoulder. “You miss your big bro?”

  I swat his hand away. “Fuck off.”

  “So… what should we send Lucas?” he asks, already on his phone. “Pets are out.”

  I tap my chin. “We should get, like, a hundred of those vibrating Ben-Wa balls and hide them in his dash—get Cam’s mechanic friend to help.”

  “Dylan Banks?”

  “Yeah. He’s like, the king of Mayhem, right?”

  Leo nods, taps away on his phone.

  I say, “I think you can control them from an app. So, you could partake in Mayhem from all the way over here.”

  “Solid plan, my friend.”

  “Thanks.” I stand up to stretch. “It was his idea for you.”

  “Traitor.” Leo scoffs. “Who should I send them to?”

  I give him Aubrey’s work address, then say, “Dad would be so proud to know you’re spending all his hard-earned money on sex toys.”

  Aubrey

  Mom waits out front with me for Logan to get back. It’s almost midnight now, which means we won’t get home until close to three. I almost offer for him to stay at my mom’s house, in the guest room, but I’m not sure I’m ready for Mom to meet him that thoroughly. When Logan pulls up, Mom nudges my side with hers. “He’s cute,” she says, even though I can barely make him out in the dark.

  “Yeah. He knows it, too, trust me.”

  “What’s his name?”

  I turn to her so I can give her a hug. “Logan.”

  Her arms tighten around me. “Logan what?” She releases me from her embrace but holds onto my upper arms. “What’s his last name, Aubrey?” she asks, which is odd, because I’m pretty sure I was with Carter for a good two years before she stopped calling him Connor or Cody or Colin or any male name beginning with C.

  “Preston.” I shake myself from her hold. “Jesus. Why?” Her face is ashen, and she’s staring down at my feet. “Mom? Do you— I mean—” I look over my shoulder at Logan, waiting patiently behind the wheel. “Do you know him or his family?”

  “No.” She shakes her head, her eyes wide when they meet mine. “Why? Should I?”

  “You…”

  Her eyes widen again, like a dare, or more like a lack of patience.

  “Never mind.”

  “I just… I want you to be careful, okay? With your heart, Aubrey.” Her gaze softens; so does the rest of her. “And I highly suggest you think about what we discussed.” She turns on her heels and rushes back to the house, never once looking back. And I’m left in the middle, between my past and my present, with no definite future in sight.

  Logan nudges me, and I stir from my sleep, open my lazy eyes to his. He’s smiling. “You’re home.”

  “I’m a sucky passenger,” I yawn out. “I’m so sorry I fell asleep.” Truth is, it wouldn’t matter if I fell asleep or not. Even when I was awake, I didn’t talk. Couldn’t. Because all my thoughts were filled with confusion about my mom’s reaction to his name.

  “You’re cute when you’re sleeping.”

  I roll my eyes, mumble, “You shouldn’t say stuff like that to me.” Then I step out of his car. He meets me by the hood and walks by my side all the way to the door. I leave the key in the slot when I turn to him. “Thank you, Logan.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “It means… more than you could ever know.”

  He shrugs. “You’d be surprised how much I know about missing a mom.”

  An ache instantly forms in my chest. “I’m sorry…” I reach up, wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down to me. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Are we friends now—no association?” he asks, rubbing my back.

  “Yeah,” I say through a smile. “We’re friends.”

  When he pulls away, he keeps one hand on my waist. “Make sure to lock your door, okay?”

  32

  Logan

  Aubrey’s coffee warms my hands while I sit on her shop stoop, waiting for her to show up Monday morning. Across the street, Dumb Name and Will watch,
making pussy-whipping gestures that have me shaking my head. Pre-Aubrey, I would’ve done the same. Pre-Aubrey, there’s no way I’d be in a situation that would have my so-called friends making those gestures.

  Aubrey appears, on her bike, the end of that orange scarf from last Monday flowing behind her. She’s half-peddling, half-wobbling, because the rear tire is busted. I stand when she comes to a stop, hops off the bike, and removes her helmet. It reminds me of the time she spent on the four-wheeler—when this all began. Her cheeks are red, wind burned, and she bites down on her lip when she sees me. “Hey,” she says, her voice as warm as the coffee I’m holding. She locks her bike to the street lamp, as if someone’s actually going to steal it. Then, in the following order, she:

  Takes her bag from the handlebar basket, straps it across her chest.

  Adjusts her jacket.

  Pulls up her leggings.

  Adjusts her skirt.

  Then her hair.

  And I watch, completely transfixed by her every move. “That was possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever witnessed,” I tell her, handing her the coffee.

  She rolls her eyes as she takes it from me. “Thank you, you pervert.”

  I chuckle under my breath, while she yawns the longest yawn in the history of the world. “Late night?” I ask, hands in pockets.

  “Sleepless, more like it.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” she sighs out. “I just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” She pats my arm. “I’ll see you later?”

  Nodding, I wait until her door’s open and the lights are on before turning on my heels. Now Dumb Name and Will are pretending to go at it doggy style, tongues out wagging, and I’m so focused on getting to them so I can tell them to get back to work, that I don’t even see the car coming until I’ve stepped onto the road. Luckily, the driver, a guy around my age in a polo with the collar up, stops just in time. I hold up my hand, say, “Sorry,” instead of what I really want to say: that it isn’t 2001 and we’re not in a fucking Usher music video.