Hail Mary: Book 7 Last Play Romances: (A Bachelor Billionaire Companion)
Page 5
He’d slammed his hand against the steering wheel over and over, wishing he could find out something more. He didn’t know what to do. He knew that crazy woman, Kim, who he was supposed to be marrying, was looking for him.
Finally, he’d had an idea and stopped at a public library he used to go to in high school when he needed a computer. The librarian’s eyes had widened when she’d seen him and he knew she recognized him. He pulled out his wallet and one of the crisp hundred-dollar bills. “Can I please have access to a computer for half an hour, please?”
The librarian had treated him like royalty. “No, no.” She looked embarrassed. “You’ve already donated quite a bit of money to the library.” She ushered him to a private room. “Here, use my office for a while. Have you really lost your memory? I’ve been following Kim’s vlog.”
There was that word again: “vlog.” He frowned. “I don’t remember, no.”
She sat him down at her computer, opened up a search engine, and winked at him. “Well, if you need help, let me know.”
He began by searching himself, which, to his delight and horror, was a complicated mess of Internet life. He saw pictures of himself and Kim everywhere.
He read his bio on Wikipedia, which told a brief version story of his life. His mother had passed when he was twelve and his father raised him, and then his father died of alcohol poisoning. Not surprising. He’d had a complicated relationship with his father. To his amazement, there were pictures of him and his father together, one at a game that looked like from college.
After a couple more minutes of trying to figure out his life, he searched Paris Ford. There was hardly any coverage, except an announcement of her business in Jackson, and he saw pictures from what looked like the All-Stars Shane had mentioned. He was shocked to see pictures of himself with those who the article said were pro athletes, movie stars, country music stars, and other billionaires around Jackson. Apparently, Logan was the one who organized the event—or, more accurately, paid Paris’s company to.
He found a picture of her and Shane together, announcing their wedding. Hand shaking with anger, he skimmed past a baby announcement and saw a picture of him and Paris. The headline read, “Logan Slade’s Ex-Girlfriend’s Mother’s Funeral.”
Pain stabbed through his chest. He couldn’t believe Paris’s mother had died from cancer. She had been like a mother to him. Gently putting his hand on the screen, he touched a picture of him and Paris at the funeral. They looked … it looked like something important had happened. And that had only been two years ago. What had happened between them?
When he’d left the library, he felt like he should come to the cabin. She would be here. He just knew it.
“Logan!” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you okay?”
Coming back to the present, he shrugged. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Is this for real? I can’t decide if this is true or if it’s some vlog piece for you and Kim. Some blast-from-the-past piece for the media?” Her aqua-green eyes sparked with anger, and all he wanted to do was take her into his arms and melt her anger with kisses. It was something he did, or used to do. Would she even let him do it now? The funny thing to him was, even knowing she’d married and divorced his best friend, he still wanted to kiss her. Dang, he wanted to kiss her so badly, like thirsting after water on a hot day. He wanted to drink her in, feel her against him, and smell her. Then he wondered the oddest thing: would she still taste like cherry lip gloss and smell like that mint shampoo she used to use?
“Logan!” she demanded, stomping her foot like a two-year-old.
He couldn’t stop himself; he crossed the two steps between them and yanked her into a kiss, their lips slamming hard as her body pressed against his.
He felt her resist him, pushing against his chest, but he held her, a vice grip around her, pulling her into him. Not giving her a chance to break the connection.
She struggled and punched him rather hard in the gut, but he felt it the exact moment when she gave in, yanking on his T-shirt and pulling him closer. He responded by moving a hand into her hair and pulling her flush with his body. She tasted different. At the moment she tasted like … wine?
He’d never drank, swearing he wouldn’t become an alcoholic like his father. From somewhere, that memory of the taste assaulted him. He knew it was liquor. Then his senses shifted and he discovered she smelled like coconut, like suntan lotion. Something tropical.
She gave him a final push hard to the chest.
He yanked back, releasing her.
Both of them sucked in gulps of air, and he burst out laughing. “It might be eight years and a lot of crap, but it’s still there, Pear. It is. It’s—”
A slap to the face cut him off. “It’s not there!” Her eyes were fiery with rage, until she caught her breath and stared down at her hand, looking as shocked as he’d felt when he’d woken up in the hospital. “Go,” she said quietly, stepping back and shutting the door.
“Wait.” He tried to use his strength to keep the door opened. No, no, no. He couldn’t let Paris go. He couldn’t leave. His insides started to tremble.
“Please, Logan.” Her body shook. “Please, just go.”
They stared into each other’s eyes for a few awkward seconds and he pulled back, feeling shell-shocked. This must be what soldiers feel like in war when a building next to them is blown to smithereens right in front of their eyes. In one moment it’s there; in the next moment everything has changed.
She shut the door. He stood there, putting a hand to his lips and thinking about tasting her, smelling her. She was supposed to be his. He’d had a ring. He was going to ask her after the bonfire their senior year. He’d had a plan. After graduation, at the senior bonfire, he would ask her—with all their friends! He’d already kind of asked her father. Told him he intended to marry her and he needed his permission. Her father had given him a serious look and then nodded, telling Logan he trusted him to take care of her properly.
The pain pulsed in his head, feeling like it would explode. How had all this happened? His last memory was of being in that championship game, knowing he would win that game and knowing he would ask Paris to marry him afterwards. Waking up to this life couldn’t be happening. He stumbled back as the nausea came back with a vengeance.
She hated him. The woman he loved hated him. He clutched his chest, feeling his whole body shake, and tried not to pass out. Somehow he stumbled back to his car. He leaned against it for a couple of minutes, heaving in a series of deep, deep breaths, but sweat prickled on his forehead and tears burned down his cheeks.
He hadn’t believed things were different with her. How could they be? But his thoughts trailed to seeing the obvious hate and anger in her eyes. Paris.
He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled. He knew he couldn’t drive. He couldn’t function. His whole life was gone. Seeing the dock and the boathouse, Logan knew he’d be staying the night here whether Paris liked it or not.
Chapter 9
The next morning Paris woke with a start and had that horrible dry, all-the-salt-sucked-out-of-you taste in her mouth mixed with an alcohol flavor. She couldn’t believe she’d drank that much and took an anxiety pill. Big-time fail.
She remembered the kiss. Remembered Logan, the crazed, wiry look in his eyes, the way he had yanked her to him so possessively, like, like … like a man claiming her. Sitting up, she felt a slight headache, but it wasn’t bad. Turning to the neon clock next to the bed, she saw it was ten in the morning. Yanking back the covers, she swore. She felt like crap.
Feeling grateful it was the weekend, she picked up her cell phone and saw a text from Shane that was sent four minutes ago. We’re in LA, Ty wants to talk to you. Call us.
She stared at the signal strength with dismay. The tower out here was unpredictable, part of the reason she didn’t come out here that much. She needed Wi-Fi for work. Heck, how would she survive without Wi-Fi period?
The weather was windy and that made a difference in the signal. What were they, in the Dark Ages? The nineties, when you had to wait for Internet with that horrible connection noise?
Going into the kitchen, she took out a glass and filled it with water, slugging it back and pulled out a protein drink out of the fridge. She loved these, even though they were pricey. Rushing out the back sliding glass door, she slipped on her flip-flops, and ran toward the dock. She didn’t want to miss talking to Ty. Getting to the end of the dock, she saw her cell get more bars and pushed Shane’s number.
He answered it quick. “Seen Logan yet?”
This was not the time for games. “Where is Ty?”
Shane hesitated, and the noisy airport filled the silence. “Ty, it’s your mom.” His voice was resigned.
Your mom. Not just Mom, like it used to be. She plastered on a smile and tried to not think about the ache in her head.
“Mom.” His tiny voice sounded through the phone.
“Hey, sweetie.” Now she didn’t have to pretend. Her heart ached, she loved her kid so much. “How was the plane ride?”
“Good.”
She held back her tears, keeping the smile on her face. Studies showed people could tell if others were smiling through the phone, so she would smile for her son. “Good. You’re going to have so much fun on this trip.” She tried to sound excited for him. He had been excited, but she knew it was hard being away from home. This was the first family vacation they hadn’t been together.
“Yeah.” His voice was so sweet.
“Did you get a pretzel?” It was something Shane always told him he would get in the airport, a soft pretzel.
A bit of pep lifted his voice. “Yes, and it was so good, Mom.”
“Good.” She blinked, and the way her heart had been squeezing lessened. “I love you, bud.”
She heard Shane in the background. “Tell your mom goodbye; we have to board.”
“Love you, Mom. Bye.”
“Love you, sweetheart.” The line went dead.
She mopped up her tears and shook her head, shrugging against the unpleasant feeling of being hung over. Needing some comfort, she called Michelle.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” she accused after the first ring.
Paris smiled. “Hey.”
A derisive laugh escaped Michelle’s lips. “You can’t rest because your old boyfriend showed up, and you called to inform me you’re running off with Mr. Wolf and you’re leaving me the business.”
Butterflies flooded her stomach as she thought about last night. “Uh, no.” She would not be admitting anything. “How’s work?”
“Have you heard? Probably haven’t, because you’re trying to avoid the greatest publicity stunt in the world for some reason. Your lover boy still hasn’t surfaced. Some people in Jackson said they saw him at the library yesterday. No one seems to know where he’s at. I swear, Kim Turner is such a freak. She’s on about every national television program asking the public to help find him. She’s all black tears down her face, drama about how he doesn’t remember anything.”
Paris turned back to the house, and started. Obviously, she’d gone to bed so upset that she’d fallen into a semi-drunk slumber without noticing the Mustang parked in front. “I got to go, Michelle, I’ll check in later.”
She didn’t wait for Michelle to respond, instead rushing up to the car. Maybe he was passed out asleep in the car. It’d been cold last night, colder than it should get in June, but it was the mountains. A glance through the window revealed nothing.
The car was unlocked, and the keys were in the ignition. Slamming the door shut, she went to the front of her house and looked for Logan. Where would he be?
A muffled sound caught her attention. Turning, she heard it again coming from the boathouse. Curious, her heart hammering inside her chest, she rushed down to the boathouse. Gently, she opened the door to see into the dark building. Dust assaulted her, and she coughed.
“Pear, shut the door, will you? I need some sleep,” Logan’s voice creaked out.
Chapter 10
Logan shut his eyes and turned on his side, ignoring the musty smell of the boat and the old sleeping bag he’d opened and climbed into last night. Trying to ignore his new life, his attention shifted to the pain in his head, which wasn’t as bad today, back to a dull ache.
“Logan?” she said, disbelieving.
Part of him wondered why she acted like him being here was such an unbelievable thing. “Pear, I mean it, please just shut the door. My head hurts. I could probably use the sleep.” He willed himself to go back to sleep.
He heard her curse under her breath, then slam the boathouse door shut.
Grateful, he tried to get comfortable on the cushions of the boat that he’d neatly built a bed out of. It’d been cozy. Granted, when he’d last slept out here, it’d been the tentative compromise her grandfather had given to allow Logan to stay with them in the summers.
“He’s not staying under the same roof,” her grandfather had growled at the both of them. So, this was it. Sometimes Shane had come too for a long weekend, and they’d both sleep out here. They’d water-ski and have fun all weekend. Of course, her grandfather always got work out of them. In fact, he’d helped build this boathouse one of those weekends.
No matter how much he tried to find that magic place of dreams, he couldn’t relax back into it. The birds’ chirping sounded louder. Paris’s feet crunched on the gravel on the way back to the house. He heard every one of her footsteps as she crossed the deck and pulled the sliding glass door open.
His mind went to the kiss last night, sparking a flame of anger. How had this life come about? This new life he’d so rudely woken up to ticked him off. His mind started to dissect everything he’d learned about his life. Just as important as losing Paris and having to seek her out for answers, he’d been thrown off by seeing her, too.
Kissing her, feeling her kiss him back for a couple of glorious seconds, had been—his heart raced—beautiful. It was the only thing he could hold on to at the moment. Maybe, somehow, he could fix things with her.
Irrespective of fixing things, he needed answers. Sitting up, he realized he was starving and needed water, too. He got out of the boat and rushed to the front of the boathouse, throwing back the door.
So many questions rushed through his mind. Some of them he had partial details about, but he needed help to fill in the gaps. He thought of the painting class he’d been in last week with Paris. Their instructor, Mrs. Cameron, had been from India, wore a jewel in the middle of her forehead, and always spoke about things a bit too artsy for him, like touching the outer layers of your mind to fill in the gaps in a painting. To reach, search, and pull in your imagination. That’s what he needed: someone to fill in the gaps.
This time he didn’t go to the front door, no. He went to the deck and rushed to the sliding glass door. Without knocking, he opened it and went in, going to the sink and getting himself three large glasses of water. The pain in his head lessened substantially.
She stood there with her arms crossed, wearing a long nightgown-looking T-shirt and flip-flops on her feet. Her hair was messy, a bit ratty. “What are you doing, Logan? You can’t be here.”
In the light of morning, she looked radiant. Still different than she had in high school, but still incredibly stunning. He couldn’t stop himself. “Pear, how did I wake up eight years later and not have you in my life?”
At his words, she paused, but there weren’t tears in her eyes. No, her eyeliner was a bit blurred, but she wasn’t crying, not like last night. She let out a breath. “Do you really not remember, Logan?”
He put the glass down and held up his hands, like a criminal turning himself in. “Pear, I … the last thing I honestly remember …” He choked up. “The last thing I remember about us is kissing you next
to the gym doors right before the state championship game.” Then he couldn’t stop himself from breaking into a smile. “Do you remember? You gave me that bracelet with the blue fuzzy string, I can’t remember what you called it. It had some beads on it that said Logan and Paris.”
Her face was unflappable. He didn’t know what she was thinking.
Frustrated, he sighed. “Fine. Remember when I passed out in the huddle during the game? That’s the last thing I remember.”
Her scowl deepened.
“Pear.” He searched her face. “Do you really not want me?” The sting of the question made the pain flare up again right behind his left eye.
She didn’t answer, only kept the same skeptical look on her face.
Biting back on his questions, he turned to the fridge. “Well, you can believe me or not, but I’m starving. Like, this intense hunger.” Flinging open the fridge, he saw the carton of eggs and milk, then pulled them out. “Do you want some scrambled eggs and toast?” he asked, already pulling a bowl out of the cupboard, fishing a fork out of the silverware drawer, and tugging the trash out for the eggshells. Things were pretty much in the same spot as he remembered.
“Logan? What are you doing?”
He cracked an egg into the bowl, throwing away the shell. “Look, I’ll pay you for the food, okay? I have a couple of hundreds in my wallet. Like, a lot of hundreds.” He let out a short laugh, because it still felt weird to think he had all that money. Yesterday, as he’d traveled to Jackson and stopped to get gas, it’d been unreal to pull a hundred-dollar bill out to the clerk. He snorted and kept cracking eggs. What with his sudden appetite, maybe he should just use the whole carton if Paris wanted any. “According to the internet, I’m like a multimillionaire.” He gave her a sly look. “I invest,” he said, and let out a laugh. Wow, okay, some things about this future sucked, like not being with Paris, but other things were pretty cool. Like the fact he had money.