LOGAN: The Fallen Thorns MC

by Evelyn Glass

  He brought her a beer and she nodded to the couch, following him, and then lowered herself smoothly to his lap with an arm draped across his shoulder to rest behind his neck, relaxing into a familiar and slightly possessive pose. She sighed against his chest and then kissed his neck with an ease suggesting she did this all the time, paying no attention to the reality of it being the first time.

  She glanced at the TV. Her annoying déjà vu told her that under the TV, in the wooden cabinet, were two porno DVDs that he never watched. They were only played when friends gathered at his house for poker or to swap lies after a bike run or similar occasions. They were background and, though he probably didn’t use the word, they were merely ambiance.

  In fact, no one watched them even during those gatherings, being much too focused on each other and the fun of being with brothers.

  She tipped her bottle of beer up and stared at the TV, trying desperately to figure out how she knew this. What could possibly hint to her from the rest of the room in such clear visuals, such a level of information about him and his personal life?

  She didn’t know. It made no sense, but the DVDs were there. She was sure of it. The thought of now going over and finding those two DVDs actually in the cabinet below the TV terrified her. She didn’t believe she could handle such precise evidence about their lives and how their lives belonged together. It was freaking her out, actually.

  She looked back to him and saw the man she wanted to be with ten years from now. She blinked and pushed the vision away. She wanted to see Cole as he was right now. She wanted to learn about him on her own with no more previews or pressure — and whatever God or brain tumor was fucking with her like this could fucking stop and let her be! Let them be!

  “Where did you grow up?” she asked, going for something normal and safe.

  Cole leaned a little back and seemed to relax more. Then he told her about growing up in Chicago and his childhood. He talked easily about it and seemed to view it as simply history, which had very little bearing on who and what he was today. Though he didn’t deny that predicting this outcome, from knowing him at sixteen and some of his history, wouldn’t be difficult.

  After talking and passing the occasional kiss between them, he asked about her and she tried to be honest. She allowed the abusive stepfather to be shared, along with his attempts to seduce her and his violence when she didn’t accept his advances.

  As she talked, it felt like he was really listening, honestly interested, so she talked a little about running away, being on the street, going from city to city, developing the personal outlook over the course of a year that it was all the same. It all felt the same. Sure, this place had a Space needle and that place had a bridge, but people were people and, generally, living with them wasn’t very much fun.

  She left the prostitution out, as well as the call girl stuff. She felt like a real woman right now and that stuff was no longer the real her. She never wanted to be a whore. Never wished that when she grew up, she could suck cock for a grand a night.

  This was not who she was. Yes, the money sounded good and yes, she started it and continued to do it of her own free will. And yes, she lived very well because of it. But it was all crap. Next to this moment right now, sitting in Cole’s lap, drinking a beer, and talking with him – being listened to so fully by him – had in it far more wealth and shiny things. She felt so real right now, she was close to tears.

  “You haven’t been trying to get me into bed,” she pointed out. Not as a challenge or a tease, but as a statement of fact that aroused her curiosity.

  “I don’t feel rushed and, besides, I’m enjoying this, though it is off sometimes… well, weird,” he said, looking around the room.

  “Weird? Good weird or bad weird?” she asked.

  “The I’m not complaining, but I still don’t understand kind of weird,” he told her.

  She bit her lip. Could he be experiencing the same things? If they were at her apartment right now instead of here, would he know where her Ben Wa balls were? Would he be able to find her DVD of lesbian porn — which she watched with interest, though never with high enough arousal to get herself off during the show. It was basically just research.

  Women are sexy. Period. Two women together showed a lot of sensuous body language. She regularly visited the high dollar strip clubs for the same reason: research. She wasn’t using any of that research on Cole, she mused, playing with the idea of seducing him into bed. After all, didn’t he deserve everything she could give him?

  Well then doesn’t he deserve the truth about his DVDs?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The question came out of the left field of her mind and thunder-bolted into her heart. “This is nice,” she agreed, trying to distance herself from that bare all or shut up intrusion of judgment. “Just the two of us.”

  She was going to add, again, how much his close call today scared her, when he murmured, “Sometimes it feels like four” under his breath and then took a quick sip of his beer, his eyes scanning the room thoughtfully.

  “What?” she prodded softly, trying to move and bent to look in his eyes, “What did you say?”

  “What, what?” he said, looking back at her and this time he wasn’t lying. He probably had no idea he said that out loud.

  “You said something about,” she hesitated, not sure if this was a wise choice to make. She took a breath and started again, “You said something about it feeling like there were four, not two of us here.”

  His eyes widened a little, then he regained his composure, “Did I?”

  “Can you tell me what you meant, what you mean?”

  He scanned the room again and readjusted himself under her. “I have no idea what is going on with me. Flashbacks or some shit. Maybe it’s the stress from this afternoon that is fucking with me. That makes sense, right? I mean, it’s not an everyday occurrence, thankfully.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it,” she nodded, “you… well… that event and you afterward and the thought of losing you just after we decided to take a risk and get together really ripped fresh scars inside of me.”

  She sighed and took a breath. “I’ve never shaken like that before. It was like some really good things were just beginning and then … Cole? I could have been there for five or six maddening hours waiting for you, never fully finding out later what happened, and losing… everything, for no good reason.”

  “Everything?” he grinned, rubbing his hand up and down her thigh, producing what she felt was definitely and unfair level of distraction. “What? Like three kids and your frustration with aerobics not being the cure-all you continuously demand it to be?” he chuckled, and took a long drink, then said, “I need another beer.” Then he slid her off his lap, not noticing that she was gaping at him with her mouth open or that her eyes were bugging to the point of pain. “You want one?” he called back into the living room.

  She shook herself. “Got anything stronger? Whiskey? Gin? Heroin?” she joked.

  “You don’t have to get me drunk to seduce me,” he said off-handedly. “I have tequila, left over from a poker game.”

  “Who the fuck has left over tequila? How long has it been there?” she asked with an appalled voice.

  “I don’t think it spoils,” he told her.

  “How long?”

  “About six months,” he guessed, looking up, calculating. “Yeah, about that.”

  “For six months you have had tequila in your home and have never, in all that time, had a reason, or good lack of reason, to have a few shots?” she asked, her amusement ripe, covering her shakes and the knotting inside her gut. “Bring that bad boy over here.”

  “I have this funny insight that tells me I should say no, bad girl, lay down,” he said with a puzzled face as he set down fresh beers and then a double shot of tequila for each of them.

  “That better have been a joke,” she teased.

  “I wish I knew,” he murmured under his breath, “Post stress has never aff
ected me like this. I’m sorry if I’m fucking up our day.”

  “We will enjoy another and no, you aren’t fucking it up at all. I’m having a very good time, aside from a few hours ago when people were attempting to take you from me; the day has been one of the best I’ve had in … well… forever. A red letter day for sure.”

  “If you bothered to keep a journal, that might mean something,” he said softly and not really to her. Then in his regular voice, he said, “What makes it so good?”

  She was sitting up straighter now, searching his eyes. Something was going on with him, but she doubted it had anything to do with the stress.

  He’s having similar experiences! Both of us! What the fuck?

  “Well,” she started, watching him intently and combing her hands through his thick, dark hair. “I discovered a personal goal today. Something I could become passionate about. Something that drives me to complete it. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

  “What’s the goal?” he asked.

  “How do you know I don’t journal?” she asked, avoiding his question.

  “What?”

  “You alluded to the fact that I often talk about journaling, but never actually do it. How do you know that about me?” she asked.

  “I … um…” he said searching his head and then he shook it, and looked at her, a little unfocused, “You know, it kind of irritates me when you have something to say, but are nervous about it, so instead of saying it, you dig and poke at me to see if I’ll come up with it from the line of questions you are asking. If you have something, then say it.”

  Then he stopped and stuck is tongue into his cheek, and looked so endearing suddenly, she almost forgot that last tirade of his. “And I,” he started carefully, choosing his words almost one by one, while looking around for answers, “have not known long enough to say that to you. I’m sorry. Something isn’t right.”

  Shaking, she said softly, “No, you were right. Exactly right. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. I do know something and I am very nervous about telling you, and I’m even more nervous about why it is happening.”

  She now had his full, undivided attention. “Go on,” he pressed softly.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  She got up and walked with hesitant steps, over to the cabinet under the TV. Opening the cabinet, she dug around looking at titles and then dug around some more with slightly more boldness, and then began to laugh. Soon her laugher was turning into something close to hysteria.

  He tried to figure out what was going on and failed. Miserably.

  “Alright, give,” he told her, “What is this all about? And no dodging.”

  She was on her knees by this time, laughing and held up her hand, begging him for a bit more time. “I had this…” she started and then fell into another bubbling fit. “I thought that… Oh God this is hysterical! I was so fucking nervous too. I can’t believe this shit. Whatever is going on with you, I must have it in spades. Talk about fucking delusional!” she laughed some more.

  “What?” Cole demanded, his voice cutting the hysterics from her mind like the reaper’s scythe goes through souls.

  She got off the floor, closed his cabinet and while continuing to smile, sat down beside him.

  “I had this idea when I first got here,” she began, “that I had been here before. That I somehow knew things about you there was no way I could possibly know,” she offered.

  She took a pull from her beer. “So, anyway, one of these things was pretty fucking specific. It wasn’t like your favorite color is red and you have a tattoo on your leg. Nothing vague like that, which could have been mentioned or noticed over the time we’ve been together, or by any number of other explanations, all right? This one was fucking clear, elaborate, and very specific about its facts.”

  He was listening to her, she noticed. He was listening to her very intently. His attention was so galvanized on her, she was a little slower with the rest of it, “So, this … vision… for lack of a better term, it reveals to me that in your TV cabinet, right over there, were two porno DVDs. One focused on ass, the other on tits. But you don’t watch them. You use them as ambiance during poker games where none of you big boys watch them. You just set it on repeating play, turn off the sound, and let them run like mood music or something.”

  Her giggles started again. “So,” she said, rubbing his thigh in a friendly way, “After you said that spiel about me knowing something — which was dead on, you know. I do that shit all the time — I figured it was this porno movie thing and I was going to come clean and went over to get the movies. But you don’t have porno movies in there! None! The whole thing’s just a fucked up delusion and here I have been shaking from it since we got her. Stupid! Right?” she finished and then began to laugh again.

  But Cole didn’t laugh with her. In fact, he was looking rather puzzled and serious. Then he got up and walked into his bedroom. A few moments later, he came out and set two DVDs down on the coffee table in front of her—Double D Delirium and Ass Attacked Teens.

  He fixed her with his blue eyes and she froze, and her laughing fit completely cured.

  “I had them in my bedroom,” he explained. “My sister’s kids came over yesterday while their house carpet was being shampooed. I didn’t want the little tikes stumbling across them. I’m not the best uncle, but I’m far better than that,” he stated and took a deep breath. “Normally, these DVDs are exactly where you went to look for them. Two days ago, you would have found them. Tomorrow, you would have found them, as well.”

  “Dear mother of God,” she whispered. “I can’t know that about you.”

  “Just like I can’t know that you like to hide little pieces of chocolate from yourself,” he told her. “Or about the two steel balls in your purse, which would have been better if they were in your pussy for the ride or that you really detest SUVs. Or that you really love mother of pearl, but will not use it for any form of house decoration, because it reminds you of a trailer park in El Cajon where he tried to pay you forty-dollars for a blow job and slapped you around when you called him a fucking sicko.”

  She reached for her double tequila and downed it in one gulp. Then, throwing back her bright blonde hair, she rose from the couch and began to pace the room, occasionally glancing at the two hilariously absurd DVDs like they were vipers.

  Cole walked back into the kitchen and came out with the tequila bottle. “Three of these and you spend the night because —”

  “You’re a fucking lightweight,” she finished, continuing to pace. “And if you think I’m leaving until we talk a whole lot more, you are crazier than I am after six.”

  Cole sat down, seeming much calmer now with no sign of bewilderment, and said, “Talk about what?”

  “What? This!” she screamed, smacking at the DVDs.

  “They were on sale, two bucks a piece,” he told her.

  “No, no, no, you are not going to play word games with me right now, Cole Porter! Why is this happening? How?” she pleaded.

  “I have no idea, but now that I know I’m not whacking out over the close call I had today and that you are having the same experience, I’m alright with it for now. So, you know things about me. So what? I don’t know everything about you and I doubt you have a complete insight into my closets and itinerary either.”

  “But why anything?” she asked, calming down a little, “You are right, by the way, about not knowing everything. I’ve been interested in your paintings, the ones on the wall, since I arrived and have no insight about them at all.”

  “My sister,” Cole told her. “She does them part-time. I believe she’s a major talent, but she won’t make any leaps. She thinks of it as just a minor hobby.”

  “Katherine, two years younger,” Nicole recited from a memory she didn’t possess.

  “Yes,” he nodded, “What color is her hair?”

  Nicole thought about that and then shrugged, “No idea. Weird.”

  “So, there remains
a treasure trove of things to indulge in with each other,” he pointed out, but then added, “or has this freaked you to the point you would rather not go any further?”

  Nicole searched his eyes and face, and then his hands. “I am freaked,” she stated with an overly calm voice — a voice controlled, and fiercely held in check. “Alright? Very fucking freaked. When did it start with you like this?” she asked Cole.

  Cole told her about her kiss at the café, their first kiss, and the illusion it created in his head. He gave her details, including her hips and her preoccupation with finding new flaws or marks on her skin, and how he loved her stretch marks, but she would never believe him.

  After describing the illusion he told her his decision about delving into that illusion and wanting it to be his final thoughts on this earth. He told her how that illusion felt like a life so complete; he was about to die a happy man.

  She burst into tears again and fell into his arms, “Shit, Cole,” she blubbered.

  “I didn’t die and I didn’t get shot, and they weren’t my last thoughts. Just giving you an example of how real they were – are – to me, how charged with emotional stuff.”

  She wept and kissed his neck, and rubbed her hands across his cheeks and chest, “So, what do we do, Cole?”

  “Well, I think we should probably go out next week, as well, basically because I really do like you. Then we can make a few memories of our own. Be ourselves with each other.”

  She nipped at her lip, “I kind of have this problem with understanding… hell, even knowing … who myself is.”

  “About time we discovered her then, I guess. My gut tells me that I’m going to really like her and I would like to spend as much time with her as I can.”

  She hesitated, but she knew she had to ask or it would be an elephant in the room for her, “And what about what I do for a living?”

  “Call girl? Well, that’s what you do. I don’t expect you to quit just because of some weirdness and an emotional afternoon. No, why don’t we just keep us for the days off and explore for us a while? Both of us know that something, some weird part of us, is really serious about each other. The rest of us needs a chance to catch up,” he suggested.