by Maya Cross
"You never said anything."
She shrugged. "I didn't want to make you feel bad. Besides, we barely knew one another. I decided I'd just be there for you, and if you wanted to talk about it you would. And then things seemed to get better, so it wasn't an issue anymore."
I felt like an idiot. Logan and Charlie had both noticed, so why wouldn't Joy? "Well, I'm sorry I never told you."
"It's no big deal. I wouldn't have brought it up at all, except that I'm scared. You've got that same look in your eye that you had when you first arrived at Charlie's, the one that says you don't give a damn about anything. Like I said, I can put two and two together. You and Logan started getting close, and you started to get better. I pick up things about the bar. I know he went through something similar, a couple of years back, so it makes sense that he helped you."
"You have no idea."
Her frown deepened. "And now you've been knocked on your ass again, in more ways than one. So what happens when you get out of here and you don't have him anymore?"
And there it was. The question that had been bouncing around my head since I woke up. Joy had a talent for getting to the heart of things.
"I don't know," I said. "My parents want me to go back to New York with them."
"Do you think that will help?"
"Maybe." It wouldn't. They were trying, and I was grateful for that, but they just weren't equipped to deal with this. They didn't know the extent of my drinking, and they didn't know about Logan. I could see it in their eyes — they thought whatever "phase" I'd been going through was over now, and they were going to get their daughter back, the one they'd always thought I should be. When they found out I was messed up beyond repair, I'd become an embarrassment, a secret to be shuttered away in rehab clinics and AA meetings. I didn't belong with them anymore. I didn't belong with anyone.
Judging by the way Joy was looking at me, she knew the truth too. She sat down next to the bed and then, cupping her hands in her mouth, she let out a long sigh. "Logan looked so...broken. Like he was just passing the time waiting to die. I can't bear the thought of seeing the same thing happen to you."
She sounded so sad when she said that, and I wanted to reassure her that it wouldn't, but I couldn't make myself say the words. She was right to worry. The scene she painted was scarily familiar. It was me from nine months ago, in the wake of Tom's death, stumbling around my apartment aimless and hammered out of my skull. I thought I had my problem under control. I didn't want to become that person again, but I could already feel the bottle beckoning me with numbing fingers. In light of everything that had happened, I didn't know if I was strong enough to hold it at bay.
"Have you ever lost someone?" I asked. I couldn't reassure her, but maybe I could make her understand.
She shrugged. "Grandparents, an uncle, but nobody unexpected. I've been lucky."
I nodded. A year ago, I'd been in the same position. Don't get me wrong, those deaths hurt, but they're not people you see every day, and they don't come out of the blue. They don't rip through your life like wildfire. Losing a partner is something else entirely. "When Tom died, it was like the world had ended. There was this enormous hole inside me, and it felt like my soul was slowly draining away through it. I hated myself. I didn't want to do anything. Some days I couldn't even get out of bed.
"I didn't think anything could feel worse than that, but somehow this does. Logan's not dead, but he might as well be. I can't touch his face or run my hands through his hair. I can't kiss him or hold him. I can't even speak to him. And it's not because of some mistake, or some cruel act of fate. It's because he chose not to be here. He abandoned me when I needed him the most. How am I supposed to get over that?"
The last half of my speech turned to mush as tears choked my body. Crying hurt like hell, but I didn't care. I needed to let some of that emotion out or it was going to consume me.
Joy took my hand and gave it a squeeze. "I know, I know. He's an asshole."
"Charlie says he still cares about me," I said, when I could talk again. "In fact, he said he cares too much, that's why he ran off."
"Well, maybe he's right. It's been six weeks and, like I said, Logan looked absolutely awful. I'm not sure I've ever seen a more miserable human being in my life. Whatever reason he had for doing this, he hates himself for it, Grace."
I didn't want that to be the case. Denying it made the situation so much simpler; anger without complications. But, deep down, I couldn't believe it. We'd shared too much for him to walk away from this this unscathed. "Maybe he does, but at this point, does it even make a difference?"
"That's up to you, I think." She licked her lips. "Do you still love him?"
God, how did I even begin answering that? "That's a complicated question."
She nodded. "I guess that's to be expected."
"I want to hate him for what he's done, but love isn't a switch. I can't just stop caring about him. He helped me through so much. He helped me at a time when I was sure I was beyond help." I squeezed my eyes closed to stop a second round of tears bursting forth. "So what the hell do I do? How do I weigh those things against one another?"
"I don't know, but I don't think you'll get your answers unless you talk to him."
"I don't know what's left to say. What words are there for this? 'I'm sorry?'" I let out a bitter laugh. "The damage is done. I'm not sure we can repair this, no matter what we do."
"Maybe not, but if there's any chance, you need to try. When he first left, I hated him for it. I didn't think I could ever forgive him. But I've seen how this has affected you both. I'm not sure either of you can survive alone. As weird as it sounds, he needs you to get through this, and obviously you need him. Without each other..." She trailed off, but it didn't matter. I understood.
"I'll think about it," I said.
She left me with my thoughts a little while later.
The situation was impossible. We couldn't be together, yet we wouldn't survive apart. I'd thought about tracking him down, of course, but I just didn't know what it would achieve. Even if I could find it in myself to forgive him, he didn't want to see me. He'd made his choice. And beyond that, how could I possibly trust him after this? How could I commit to a man who could cause me such pain?
On the other hand, I desperately wanted to understand why all of this had happened. I wanted to hear it from his mouth. It would hurt, but maybe that was reason enough.
Two Months Later
Chapter Twenty Six
Grace
The car pulled up in the drive.
"Are you sure about this?" Joy asked for the tenth time.
We were outside Charlie's cabin. I'd convinced Joy to drive me up here when I was finally well enough to make the trip. My body still ached, and I was walking with crutches, but according to the doctors, given what had happened to me, it was better progress than I had any right to expect. They said I'd eventually make a complete recovery. I'd been discharged a week ago into the care of my parents, who, true to their word, had stayed in town throughout the whole ordeal. It didn't quite make up for exiling me, but it was a start.
"It was your idea!" I replied.
"I know. I just...I'm nervous for you, I guess."
"Well that makes two of us." I let out a long breath. "You were right though. I need to do this."
She grimaced, but then nodded slowly. "Do you have a plan?"
"I don't think there is a plan for what's going to happen in there."
"You're probably right." She looked like she was searching for another reason to keep me in the car but, after a few seconds, she said, "Well, good luck. And remember — I'll be here if you need me."
I managed a tiny smile. "I know. Thanks."
The cabin was in a lovely area — lush woodland, birdsong on the air, a small lake in the distance, gleaming in the sunlight. It was a refreshing change from the barren beauty of the Vegas landscape. If the circumstances had been different, the idea of spending an afternoon there with L
ogan would have been wonderful, but as it was, all I could focus on was the churning in my stomach. I couldn't believe I was actually going to see him. It had been three months since the accident, and I'd spent a good amount of that time trying to talk myself out of coming at all. It was going to hurt, and it probably wouldn't achieve anything, but I couldn't let it end this way. I needed closure, one way or another.
I hesitated at the door, my hand poised on the knob. Last chance, Grace. I closed my eyes, letting all of the happy memories from our time together play through my head. Focus on the good, Logan had once told me. I prayed that would get me through this.
I steeled myself and stepped inside.
The room was dim, with only the snatches of sun sneaking under the curtains for light. It smelled musty; mildew and sweat and the stale smoke of old scotch. It was fairly basic looking inside — lots of rough wood, gnarled furniture, an open fire place against the far wall. It felt rustic, like a cabin should, although the vibe was somewhat ruined by the liquor bottles that littered the floor.
Logan was lying on the sofa, an open bottle of Jack Daniels precariously propped up against his chest. Even without the obvious clues, I'd have known straight away that he was drinking again. The transformation was incredible. He looked hollow, shrunken, like a wilting flower that had been cut at the stem. It had been over three months since I'd seen him, and that time had wreaked havoc. I almost couldn't reconcile the broken wreck before me with the man I used to know.
At first, all I could do was stare. I felt tears rising behind my eyes, and I had no idea if they were for him, or for me, or for the things he'd done. I wasn't the only one who'd been destroyed by this. I couldn't understand how we'd reached this point, how we'd caused each other so much pain.
Initially, I thought he was asleep but, as I took a step forward, his eyes flicked open. He blinked rapidly for a few seconds, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, then he started to laugh. There was no mirth in it. It was a horrible sound, the laugh of a man who feels like the universe is playing one last giant joke on him.
"Why are you here?" he asked, making no effort to get up. His voice was coarse. I suspected he hadn't spoken in a while.
No hello. No apology. He seemed almost angry that I'd come. "I needed to see you."
He spread his arms. "Well, here I am." Somehow he even managed to make that sound bitter, like it was an affront that he was still alive at all. Thankfully, he didn't seem too deep into it yet. That's why I'd arrived early in the day — hoping I could catch him relatively sober.
I moved closer and sat on a nearby stool while he continued to watch me with glassy eyes. I'd rehearsed this moment in my head a million times, while lying in that damn bed, but now that it had come, my tongue was frozen. The things he'd made me feel were so raw, so intense, that I had no idea how to even begin putting them into words.
"You fell off the wagon," I said eventually.
He laughed again. "I didn't fall. I jumped." His eyes danced across discarded bottles. "May have set the fucking thing on fire on my way down, too."
"Why?"
He shrugged and took a long slug from his whiskey. "Maybe I was thirsty."
I sighed. Part of me had seen this going a different way. I had images in my head of Logan being so overcome with emotion at seeing me alive and well that he just broke down and apologized for everything. Obviously that was just naive optimism. I hadn't exactly been a picnic to deal with when I was drinking. There was no reason to think he'd be any different.
"What happened, Logan?"
He looked away and gave the barest shake of his head. "I don't want to do this." There were cracks forming in his facade now. His expression sagged, his muscles tightened. The bitter humor was falling away, revealing the broken man underneath. If I'd had any lingering doubts about the way his choices had affected him, they were now gone.
"Well I do."
His mouth twisted into a snarl, and he looked poised to get to his feet. "That's too bad, because you need to leave. I'm not joking. I don't want to see you. Get out!"
"Or you're going to throw me out? Go ahead, but I'm going to come right back in. I'm not going anywhere until you start talking, Logan. You owe me that much."
Conflict raged across his face. Even now, I knew he'd never actually lay a finger on me. Eventually, he changed tactics, fixing his eyes to the floor and doing his best to ignore me.
I couldn't believe I'd gotten this far without breaking down. Inside me, it was chaos. I wanted to burst into tears. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run over and wrap him in my arms and tell him it was all going to be okay. Most of all, I wanted to snatch the whiskey from his hands and down it in one go, to hit the self-destruct button and let nature take its course. Somehow, I'd managed not to pick up a drink since being discharged. It had taken every ounce of willpower I had. But being so close to an open bottle had my nerves on a hair trigger. The scent of it burned my nostrils, coaxing that ravenous hunger to fever pitch. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. I couldn't break. Not yet.
"Did you really think I was just going to move on?" I asked. "Forget about you? About this?"
"You should."
Anger flared in my chest. "Don't do that. Don't you dare act like I could just brush this off. This meant something, Logan!"
This time he did stagger to his feet, agony painted on his face. "Something? This meant everything, Grace. Everything!" He spat the words at me, as though it was my fault we'd fallen for one another, like it was some heinous act that I'd made him care.
In spite of his rage, it was exactly what I needed to hear. That fire he had for me still burned in there somewhere. "Then why did you leave?"
He glanced away and cupped his hands over his face. "I freaked out, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I saw you in that bed looking so fucking broken and I just...I couldn't be there. I couldn't watch you die."
"But I didn't die."
"That doesn't matter."
"I don't understand."
He took his time replying. There was pain swimming in his eyes. So much pain. "Everything I've ever loved has been stolen from me. My parents, my friends, Fi. I've experienced enough loss for a hundred lifetimes, and I swore I wouldn't experience any more. Seeing you like that, it made me realize the risk I was taking. Even if you lived, would you still be here a year from now? What about five years? I'm a fucking wreck, Grace. Look at me. I can glue myself back together sometimes, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm in a million pieces. I was going to break down eventually, and when my shit really hit the fan and things got dark, you wouldn't have stayed. One way or another, I was going to lose you. I just accelerated the process."
I couldn't believe he'd doubt me like that. I knew it was more a reflection of his insecurity and self-loathing than it was his real feelings, but still it ripped me open.
My voice trembled as I spoke. "You can't actually think that. I gave you my heart, Logan. You saved me, and there wasn't anything I wouldn't have done to save you in return."
He shook his head helplessly. I didn't know if he really didn't believe me, or if he simply didn't want to. I'd always thought his issues were something we could deal with, something that could be tamed by patience and compassion, but now it was clear that might not be true. How do you beat something that is burned so deep? It was like a parasite, draining the joy from everything good in his life.
"I warned you that I was going to hurt you," he said. It was half plea, half accusation.
"Yeah, I guess you did."
"Why couldn't you have just listened?"
"I did. I just thought it was worth the risk."
"And what do you think now?"
I sucked in a long breath. I didn't know how to answer that. Was anything worth this?
We sat in silence for several minutes, contemplating, thousand-yard stares on our faces. I was glad for that. The conversation had shredded me, but nonetheless, being near him still brought me a modicum of happine
ss. If this was going to be the last time I ever saw him, I wanted to take whatever I could from the experience.
"It's not like I didn't think about coming back, once I heard you were awake," he said eventually. "I thought about it every second of every day." The lull seemed to have drained him of rage. Now, he just sounded impossibly tired.
"And why didn't you?"
His expression twisted in disgust. "I couldn't face you, not after what I did. I fucking abandoned you, Grace."
"I might have forgiven you."
He scoffed. "Then you'd be an even bigger idiot than me. You deserve so much better than this." He gestured to himself and the bottles on the floor. "You deserve someone who doesn't break down at the first hint of trouble."
"I hate when you say things like that. This whole time you've been worried you're not good enough for me, like I can't make my own decisions."
"Look at me. This isn't the last time this will happen. You know what I am."
"I thought I did. I thought you were the man I loved. The man who loved me."
His nostrils flared and he opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but then he seemed to change his mind.
Instead, he rose to his feet and turned away. "Why did you really come here? Did you want an apology? Did you just want to make me feel like an even bigger asshole?"
I wished I had an answer. "I don't know. I just needed to see you."
"Well, you've done that. I'm not going to throw you out, but I can throw myself out. I can't be here anymore. It's too hard. Please, I'm begging you, just leave. Go and live your life. Go and cook beautiful food and travel and find someone who has the strength to be there when you need them." He stumbled toward the entrance, pausing momentarily at the cusp. "There's nothing left for you here, Grace."
