Bluebird

by Stella James

  Feeling marginally more human when I step out, I wrap myself in a fluffy pink towel. I apply moisturizer to my entire body and head back to my bedroom. I throw on a pair of black yoga pants and a soft white T-shirt, not bothering with a bra. Fragments from last night flash through my mind as I comb out my hair and toss it up into a knot. We were drinking, we were dancing…Logan. The memory of his angry stare hits me and I begin to remember. I feel sick to my stomach as I walk into the kitchen. Turning the corner, I clutch my heart, a shriek on my lips.

  Sitting in my small living room, on my pale blue couch with his hands resting under his chin is Logan. Looking dishevelled and still bruised from the other night at the warehouse, although not quite as bad as I thought he would be.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, swallowing hard.

  “What were you doing at Delve last night?” he counters.

  I shake my head and turn around, reaching for a mug in the cupboard. “You first,” I say.

  He considers for a moment before responding, “I brought you home. You could hardly walk,” he adds with obvious disapproval.

  “Where’s Brooke?”

  “The blonde?”

  I nod once.

  “She got home safely,” is all he offers me, before adding, “You don’t have to worry about her.”

  I place my mug under the coffee maker and set it to brew and turn slowly to face him, he looks furious.

  “I was out with my friend,” I explain. “And yes, I had too much to drink. Although I don’t see how that’s any of your business. You made it pretty clear yesterday that you want nothing to do with me.”

  “It’s my business when you’re in Zavier Kane’s club,” he grinds out, standing and reminding me just how much he’s changed in five years. “You can’t be in there.”

  I can’t help the bitter laugh that bubbles up from my chest. Whether it’s the leftover booze giving me some much needed courage, or the pounding headache that’s currently trying my patience, I have absolutely no interest in what Logan Mackenzie thinks in this very moment.

  “I haven’t seen or heard from you in over five years,” I begin. “I suggested yesterday that we talk, and you shot me down. So, what I would love to know right now Logan, is what right do you think you have when it comes to dictating where I go?”

  “You don’t know w-“

  “No, you don’t know. You don’t know me. You know nothing about me,” I say. “Or my life.”

  Nothing but the kitchen counter separates us, his jaw clenched, my irritation simmering. But as quickly as my anger flares, it disappears. Because underneath the tattooed, closed off man in front of me, is the boy who used to hold me while I slept. The boy who gave me my first kiss. And as much as I want to hate him, to make it all easier…I simply can’t. And when my anger vanishes completely, I look at him. I really look at him. And I see the tortured look in his eyes.

  “Logan,” I say softly. “I don’t want to fight with you. But you can’t do this. You can’t disappear from my life and then send me away and then come back again. I can’t take it,” I add quietly. “I’m sorry you had to make me your responsibility last night, I don’t drink often so I doubt you’ll find yourself troubled again. And if it means that much to you, I’ll stay away from that club. It wasn’t my idea to go there anyways.”

  His shoulders slump and I grip the counter in front of me to stop myself from going to him. Time means nothing, circumstances mean nothing. When the person you’ve given your heart to is standing so close after so long, nothing else seems to matter. Or so I’m learning. Regardless of that fact, I can’t take his rejection again. I don’t think my heart would survive it.

  “You should g-“ I begin.

  “I thought about you,” he says roughly. “I’ve thought about you every damn day.”

  Tears begin to fill my eyes. “Don’t,” I say. “You don’t have to.”

  I swipe at my cheek and pull the milk out of the fridge, setting it on the counter. I busy my hands, scooping sugar into my mug, only to hear the floor creak behind me. I feel the heat from his body as he places his hands on the counter on either side of me, caging me in. He inhales deeply and lets go of an uneven breath.

  “I still think about you,” he adds. “But I’m no good Prairie. I told you before there were parts of me that aren’t nice and I used to think I could hide them or control them. But the truth is, I don’t even try to anymore. I accept who I am.”

  I set down the spoon and rest my hands near his but not touching. “I once told you that I loved all of you, Logan. I meant it,” I whisper.

  I can feel the resolve to protect my heart beginning to crumble until it’s nothing more than dust. Having Logan this close to me is making me feel things that I haven’t felt in so long. This desire to be close to him, this need to feel his breath on the back of my neck. The years that stand between us make it feel brand new but there’s so much familiarity and comfort as well. If he tries to push me away right now, I know I won’t let him.

  “I should leave,” he says. “I know that. I should walk away from you.”

  I turn in his arms, looking up at his tormented brown eyes. “Stay,” I tell him, resting my palm on the side of his face. “Just stay.”

  I raise up on my toes, bringing my mouth close enough to his that I can feel his breath on my lips. The loud vibration of a phone echoes in my apartment, pulling us from the moment and before we can capture it again, he’s gently removing my hand from his face and swiping his phone from the coffee table.

  I let go of my long held breath and turn back to my coffee cup, picking it up so I have something to do with my hands. I can hear Logan’s low mumbles but I’m too wound up to even try and overhear what he’s saying.

  “I’m sorry, I have to go,” he tells me.

  I turn to face him, certain that my neck and cheeks still burn bright with a pink flush. He looks reluctant.

  “Okay.”

  He comes back into the kitchen, and hesitates for a moment before he gently tilts my chin up with his fingertips.

  “I don’t want this to be it,” he says. “I want to see you again. I need to see you again.”

  I nod my response and gently place my hand around his wrist, simply because I need to touch him. He hands me his phone and instructs me to program my number, testing it once before he tears his gaze from mine and heads for the door.

  It takes me a minute after the door clicks shut to realize that I’m still standing in the same place, staring into my living room. I finish my coffee and nibble on a piece of toast while I rummage through my closet, behind various pairs of shoes and a bin filled with random pieces of my childhood. I feel for the familiar lid and grasp the shoebox with one hand. I sit down on the floor and open it. Letters. Unopened. I let my fingertips run along the edges of the envelopes before I place the lid back on the box and set it on top of my dresser.

  These letters don’t belong to me, they belong to him.

  Chapter 17

  Logan

  I stare down at the whimpering asshole in front of my boots and all I feel is annoyance. He’s two weeks late with his loan payment and begging for mercy.

  “Get the fuck up,” I tell him.

  He stands on trembling legs, no doubt believing he’s in for a world of hurt. And normally he would be. I left Prairie two hours ago, standing in her kitchen where her soft lips were so damn close to mine and I’m fucking pissed that I have to be anywhere other than with her right now. I got the text from Zavier to collect from this gambling junkie and for the first time since I got out of prison, I wanted to say fuck it and walk away from my job. I wanted to let Zavier deal with his own bullshit. But I knew I couldn’t.

  “Please, I’ll pay next week, I swear,” he whines, his nose dripping blood and snot onto the dirty linoleum floor of the dive bar bathroom where we are currently having our little meeting.

  I grab him roughly by the collar of his shirt. “Don’t make me come back here. Pay the fu
cking loan or I swear to God you’ll get more than a couple hits next time.”

  “I swear, I swear I will,” he grovels. “Thank you, thank you.”

  “Get the fuck out of here,” I growl.

  The door swings shut behind him and I check the time on my phone, seeing another message from Zavier.

  Z: Is it done?

  Me: Gave him an extension.

  My phone begins to ring as I knew it would.

  “Yeah.”

  “Remind me who is in charge, Logan,” Zavier drawls.

  “You’ll get your money next week, what fucking difference does it make?”

  “The difference, is that I run a business, not a charity.”

  “I’ll collect next week,” I say.

  “I certainly hope so,” he cautions. “I must say I’m disappointed in you Logan. Only six months on the job and you’re already losing your edge.”

  “I’m not losing anything, you’ll get your damn money,” I say, leaving the bathroom and heading for the front door.

  I end the call before he can respond.

  *

  It’s dark by the time I get back to my apartment. One collection turned into two, the last of which took me two Goddamn hours just to track down. By the time I got the payment back to Lou at the club and was subjected to another one of Zavier’s drawn out lectures on the importance of business, the sun was just beginning to go down. I’d texted Prairie then and told her that I had to work late. She said she understood and we could talk tomorrow. I thought about calling her on my way home from the club, just to hear her voice, but I’m wound up and I know I’d be shitty company. And that’s not what I want for us. I knew the minute I left her apartment this morning that I wouldn’t be able to walk away again. Fuck nobility, I’ll figure out a way for us to be together and keep her safe. I have to.

  When I reach my floor, there’s a young guy standing at my front door holding a shoebox in one hand and a bike helmet in the other.

  “You looking for me?” I ask.

  “Uh,” he looks down at the box. “Logan Mackenzie?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Cool, man. I just need a piece of I.D. and a signature and I’ll get out of your way,” he says, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket after he hands me the box. I sign my name and inspect the small package as I walk through the door and head for the fridge. I grab a beer and bring the box with me to the couch. I don’t know how, but I know it’s from her. When I peel back the tape and lift the lid, I see a note on top of a pile of unopened envelopes and my stomach drops.

  Logan,

  I don’t know what’s going to happen between us, five years is a long time…I know that. But seeing you after all these years has given me hope, I won’t deny that. Hope that maybe all is not lost.

  I’m not giving you these letters to make you feel guilty for sending them back to me in the first place. I’m giving them to you because the words written on these pages were only ever meant for you. It’s your choice what you do with them.

  Prairie

  I reach for the stack and take the first one from the top, not knowing if they’re in any specific order. I read the next one and the next one, until I’m halfway through the pile. Some of the letters are filled with plans for the future, for our future. Some are just filling me in on random things that are happening in Prairie’s life. Her roommate, her classes. Mundane, everyday occurrences that paint me a picture of Prairie’s first year at college. I realize that she did in fact put the letters in order and when I reach the last one in the pile, it’s dated about six months into my sentence.

  Logan,

  I don’t know what I can say at this point that I haven’t said already. You keep sending my letters back and I don’t know what to do anymore. Why don’t you want me to keep writing? Why don’t you write me back? Why don’t you let me visit?

  I know you won’t answer those questions, I know that I’ll get this letter back just like the rest. The only conclusion that I can come to is that you think you’re saving me by pushing. I understand that. I understand you. Because I love you, Logan. I love the good parts and bad parts and the parts that you think no one ever could. I’ll keep telling you that until you believe me.

  I still think of that day at the swimming hole when you gave me my very first kiss. That was one of the best days of my life. I knew in that exact moment that I would give my heart to you. How could I not? I haven’t kissed anyone since then. I miss you more than words can describe, and I think about you every day. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.

  You’ll always have me Logan. Always.

  Love, Prairie

  I stare at the words until I can’t see straight, regret sitting heavy in my chest. I know at the time I thought I was doing the right thing, but I’m ashamed of how careless I was. How could I have pushed her away like that? The one person who gave a shit about me.

  I promise myself now that I won’t make the same mistake twice. If she’ll give me another chance, I’ll give her everything that I have to give. And even then, I know it won’t be enough…but I have to try. If it means I can have her again…I’ll do whatever it takes.

  Chapter 18

  Prairie

  “It’s about time you got here,” Brooke hisses. “I have been dying to talk to you about the other night.”

  “You could have phoned me,” I say with a smile, taking my seat and securing my cash drawer.

  “And miss this adorable blush creeping up your neck? Hell no,” she says. “So, who the hell was he?”

  “Who?”

  “Ugh. The dark haired guy with all the ink and the finely sculpted body who hauled you out of Delve like he was getting ready to hunt and gather for you,” she reminds me.

  “Just someone that I used to know,” I grin. “We haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

  “Girl, I love a second chance romance more than the average woman,” she says. “You’re telling me all about him over lunch.”

  “And how did you get home?” I ask, changing the subject. “I tried texting you yesterday to check in.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I was running errands all day and my phone was dead,” she explains. “And I had my own escort from the club,” she adds, fanning herself with an envelope. “He was quite the gentleman. Walked me to my door and everything.”

  “And that’s where it ended?”

  “I am a lady, Prairie,” she says primly. “And apparently I was way off my game because he totally shut me down.”

  “Aww, probably for the best though.”

  “Drunk me is way too damn friendly,” she muses, shaking her head.

  The morning picks up and it doesn’t take long for a line to form. I tell Brooke over lunch about my history with Logan and how we’d reconnected by chance. She’s convinced our story could be a movie. It feels good to share it with someone. I don’t have a lot of girlfriends, mostly just her and Holly. I lost touch with Kerri from college when I didn’t come back after my freshman year and the last I’d heard about Emily, she and Josh were getting married and moving onto their own acreage. She hardly spoke to me after Logan got arrested, probably because of what people were saying about him. That he was crazy, dangerous and no good. Typical small-minded gossip. It hurt me at the time when she bought into the lies, choosing to believe them over me. We never reconnected after that.

  Brooke doesn’t know about my assault and I kept the fact that Logan was in prison out of our lunchtime gossip session too. Not because I’m embarrassed but because he never should have been there in the first place and I hate the idea of anyone judging him. He’s been through enough.

  I haven’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon when he said he’d be working late. It took me almost all day to work up the nerve to send him my letters. I thought about delivering them in person but it was dark by the time I got my courage, so I sent them by messenger instead. I’m wondering if he read them, and if it was a mistake sending them in the first pla
ce. Maybe the past should stay in the past. I decide to bite the bullet and call him on the way to the gym but when I pull my phone out of my bag, I see I already have a message from him.

  Logan: Can I see you tonight?

  A jumble of emotions wash over me at such a simple request. Relief, happiness…uncertainty.

  Me: Yes. Going to the gym now, but I’ll be home by six.

  Logan: See you then.

  Me: Are you sure this is real?

  When my phone chimes and I see him calling me instead of texting, my heart jumps.

  “Hey,” I say, a smile in my voice.

  “It’s real,” he says right away.

  “You didn’t have to call me just to say that.”

  “Yes I did,” he says.

  “Well I accept your romantic gesture,” I reply with a laugh.

  “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Bye.”

  I’m still grinning when I lace up my shoes and walk out of the locker room. Today I have a one on one session with Jamal and these are my favourite. After an excruciating circuit and a cool down, I’m sitting on one of the old benches, sipping my water and catching my breath when I see a familiar face.