My chest aches but I take a deep breath, unwilling to find out what Julian might do if we don’t.
I cross the room to Logan’s closet and start pulling every shirt and dress I can see, shoving it deep into my bag. I’m about to head into the bathroom when I realize the last piece of clothing I’d grabbed was a dark maroon sweater. The subtle scent of menthol wafts from the top of my bag as I lift the sweater, staring at it in my hand. I slide my fingers across the maroon fabric and remember how I ended up with this sweater. Abby’s favorite cardigan.
It was mid-January and we were standing outside our favorite café in Providence. It wasn’t snowing but I remember the way the cold air seeped its way into my bones. Abby inhaled one last deep drag of her cigarette then turned to me as I wrapped my arms around myself, attempting to rub the chill from my arms.
“I thought the cold didn’t bother you, Boston girl.”
She was teasing me as she always did. Abby was originally from the west coast, so she always picked on me for being a stuck-up New Englander. I always teased her for being a clueless valley girl from southern California. I was surprised the cold hadn’t bothered her, but that could be due to the fact she was always prepared, covered head to toe in winter gear.
“It doesn’t bother me,” I told her, rolling my eyes. “I just forgot how cold it was supposed to be today.”
Abby sighed, smashing her toe on the concrete, crushing what was left of her cigarette. “Here, take my sweater.” She quickly shrugged her sweater off.
“Seriously, Abby. I’m fine.” I held my hand out, telling her not to worry.
“Take it,” she urged, widening her violet eyes. “I want you to have it.”
I paused, considering whether I should take it or not. It was her favorite sweater but the frigid air biting my skin won out. “Fine,” I groaned, thankful to have a best friend who was as persistent as she was. Even if it was only a simple sweater.
Now, as I smell the last remnants of Abby’s cigarette embedded in the sweater, I realize I probably won’t ever see her again, knowing it’s the only way to make sure she’s safe.
Anger starts to overtake the worry. Julian has managed to destroy every piece of my life. He not only nearly ended Logan’s life; he’s also causing me to leave behind the only other person I still care about. Abby.
“Len.” Logan’s hand grips my arm, pulling me toward the front door of the apartment. I look down and see he’s already gathered my things from the bathroom. “We have to go. Now.”
I follow Logan out of the apartment not knowing where we’re headed or how far we’ll need to go to feel safe. By the time we’ve reached the elevator, I begin to realize I may never feel safe again.
Two
Lena
One Year Later
I’m looking outside my window for the hundredth time this morning. In the corner of our modest sized yard sits an old wooden shed. Nearly every single plank of wood is cracked, weathered, and worn. Planks of wood are nailed to the frame, their ends frayed and splintered. My husband swore many times over he would tear it down and build me a new one, promising he would create a space I could call all my own. Honestly, I don’t mind that Logan hasn’t followed through on his word to fix the shed. The more I look at the old aged wood, the more I realize it looks how I feel on the inside. The feeling only makes me want to go out there and destroy it. Maybe then I could build a completely new one where this one now sits.
“So, I suggested to Max that maybe we should try switching to an Alaskan Black Cod instead of the Chilean Sea Bass.” Logan places a coffee mug directly in front of me on the cool marble of our kitchen countertop. The corners of his eyes crease as he stares at me, waiting for me to respond. I feel his eyes on me, analyzing every breath I take, every blink of my eyes, anxiously waiting for my response. Logan and I have been married for only a year but I’ve become an expert at reading his thoughts. He’s more transparent than he realizes.
“I’m sorry.” I blink several times, not entirely sure I caught what he said. “What?” I turn away from the window and the poor sad wood, bringing my full attention to my husband.
Logan’s shoulders fall and his brown eyes soften. Sadness radiates from behind his usually happy exterior. He hides it like a shadow. He knows it’s there but pretends as if it doesn’t exist. I’m not naïve to the notion that our marriage isn’t exactly where we thought it’d be one year in. At first our new marriage was exciting. We were moving on and heading in a new direction today. But the one-year anniversary of Julian’s attack on Logan passed a few days ago and I haven’t been able to stop my mind from wandering. Every detail has risen to the surface, like an ocean wave washing debris onto the shore.
“I was telling you about a menu suggestion I made to Max. He finally accepted it.”
“That’s great.” I lift the hot coffee to my lips, hoping my poor attempt at a genuine smile hides behind the dark red porcelain mug. I turn back to the window and the old worn-down shed. Maybe it wouldn’t look so sad if I painted it.
“It is.” His weak smile eats away at the ache in my chest. I can’t help it. I want to be happy for him but as the days wear on, I’m finding the constant charade exhausting.
The love I still have for my husband isn’t what I’m tired of pretending. I love Logan just as much as the day I married him. It’s the illusion we’re living the life we dreamed of.
The disappointment in my life is internal. It isn’t Logan’s love that is leaving me feeling like something is missing, it’s more like an absence of something else. I just haven’t been able to put my finger on it. Maybe fixing the shed in my back yard will fill the void I’m feeling.
If my fake smile fails, Logan doesn’t let on that he knows. He lifts his wrist, illuminating the time on his black smartwatch as he walks over to the sink, rinsing out his coffee mug. “I should get going.”
“Okay.” I glance at the time displayed in green on the microwave. “It’s pretty early.”
“I know.” He pouts. He walks over to me and places his hands on both sides of my head. His fingers thread through my hair. “It’s my turn to take inventory this week and Max wants me to teach the new sous chef how we do it for when I’m not there.” Logan extends his arm, gently placing his fingertips on my elbow. “Sorry, Len.”
“It’s okay.” I shrug, unable to look Logan in the eye. I don’t want him to see the disappointment in mine.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of where Logan is in his career. Back in Providence, he worked as a server at a prominent upscale restaurant, Bar Americano. The circumstances in which I had first seen Logan were ones I wish didn’t exist. Bar Americano was my ex-boyfriend, Julian’s, favorite restaurant. He used to tell me it showed others how high our status was in society. It reminded people that we were better than them. In hindsight, Julian’s incessant need to go to Bar Americano, at least once a week, was what led me to find Logan in the first place. Since moving out to Washington, Logan has done everything in his power to follow his dream of becoming a chef. Now that he has finally become head chef at one of Seattle’s best restaurants, he’s actively trying to prove to the owner how capable he is of working the restaurant without Max there. It’s Logan’s dream to run a restaurant of his own one day and I haveno desireto hold him back from his dreams, even if mine haven’t been so easily obtained. Logan being tasked with showing the new sous chef how to take inventory is just another step to earning Max’s trust in Logan.
“I know I’m busy today but maybe I can come home for lunch. You aren’t swamped with clients, are you?” Logan’s already standing on the other side of the kitchen, reaching for his keys sitting on the counter.
I pause, swallowing the thin film of coffee coating my mouth. “Um, no. I have one design to finish up for a hair salon in Tennessee then I have a meeting with a new client at three this afternoon. I told her I would meet her at the coffee shop in town.”
“Sounds like we have a date then.” Logan gives me that same
smile that stole my heart from the day we met. The way the right side of his mouth curled slightly higher than the left. The way the dimple in his left cheek deepened even further. His smile used to make my thighs tense and my skin ignite. Over the past year, Logan and I have been able to keep the momentum going in our marriage. But then there are days like today where I feel stuck. Stuck in a life haunted by the memories of the life I had before this one.
“It’s a date.” I give Logan a reassuring smile. He’s still grinning at me, the dimple still indenting his left cheek. Sometimes I wish Logan didn’t have to go to work and I didn’t have my meetings with clients. Sometimes I envision a life where both of us could lock ourselves away, tangling ourselves beneath the safety of our bedsheets and each other’s arms. Some days I missed Logan’s love, most days I craved it.
Less than a year ago, when Logan and I first settled in Washington, I needed to find a way to make money.
In the beginning of mine and Julian’s relationship, he was kind and admired the fact that I loved art as much as he did. But over time, the supportive Julian I had fallen in love with began to change. He slowly started to become controlling and condescending. I had a passion for graphic design, but Julian believed it was a lesser form of art. It quickly drove a wedge in our relationship and over time I started to resent him for it.
I didn’t want my art to be in museums. I wanted my art to be displayed for others. I wanted it to mean something to someone, personally.
Because of Julian’s manipulation, I decided to take back my passion for art, to take back what was originally mine. I knew I always wanted to turn my love for graphic design into a business and now that Julian was out of my life, I could finally take it back. Therefore, L Moore Designs was born. Before I had left Providence, the drive to start my own design business began to grow and once we made it to Washington, I began offering design services for small businesses across the country.
Even though I’ve built my business from the ground up, there are days where the passion is lost on me. Some days my work feels automatic and sterile. The deep-rooted feeling reminds me of when I was sixteen and forced to help my dad file lawsuit documents in his office. Routine and boring.
It seems as if the same feeling has multiplied with every passing day. My demons simply haven’t vanished because I’m no longer in their presence.
An echo, more like a memory, of the pain I’ve experienced is forever ingrained in me. In fact, I think back on the last year of my life. Somehow, I had gone from the woman who was excited about the prospect of what her future held to hiding from my past, hoping it wouldn’t catch up with me, finding a way to kill me.
The day after finding the note inside Logan’s apartment, we drove as fast and far as we could. Abruptly leaving the place I had called home has left a permanent scar that will forever weigh down on me. Guilt has become a constant force in my life. I’d left my family without a word. I’d left Abby without a word. As the days pass, I miss them more than I did the day before. There were many difficult choices Logan and I had to make in our attempt to escape and not a day goes by where I don’t remember them. I’ve also tried to come to terms with my decision to leave Providence. Was it the right one? Has it really changed our false sense of security? Probably not.
As time moves on and it seems as if life passes me by the line between right and wrong becomes even more blurred than the day before.
Despite the constant state of fear I’ve been living under, there is one person in my life, holding me together. Logan. If there’s one thing I don’t regret about this past year, it’s marrying him.
My life changed the day we left Providence. It also changed because it led me to marry Logan. We were halfway across the country, driving through the northern portion of Missouri when we had seen a billboard for a wedding chapel. I’d found the billboard odd and out of place. I’d always assumed quick ceremony wedding chapels were only found in Las Vegas. The kind where you walk in as the other couple walks out and the officiate is an Elvis impersonator. The tall flashing sign looked out of place in the middle of rural Missouri but when Logan and I caught ourselves eyeing the billboard as we passed it, we turned to one another and smiled. Logan’s mouth spread into a wide grin as he took the exit to the small chapel off the highway.
I never regretted the moment I said those two words. “I do.” Luckily, our Justice of the Peace wasn’t an Elvis impersonator and we didn’t have to stand in line, waiting for our turn to be married. It may not have been how I’d pictured marrying the man I love but looking back on it now, I wouldn’t have married Logan any other way.
But sometimes life isn’t always what it seems. Although Logan is an incredibly supportive husband, I’ve perfected the skill of keeping my demons to myself.
Logan’s eyes shine against the orange morning sun pouring through the window and he’s looking at me like I’ve just lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders by agreeing to have lunch with him. He misses the old Lena and I know it. Every day he tries to pull me out of my deep-rooted funk, his hand constantly outstretched, waiting for me to grab on.
He’s now standing at the end of the kitchen, ready to leave. I cross the room and meet him. His hand immediately slides against my waist, pulling me close. He doesn’t speak. He simply holds me.
“I’m sorry I’m so out of it this morning.” I sigh and look up at him, my arms wrapped around his waist.
“You can talk to me about it if you like.” His voice is low, cautious. He knows he’s tiptoeing across a topic that can easily add to the fractures already buried in my mind. He places his lips to my forehead and it’s the warmest feeling I’ve ever felt.
I slide my tongue across my teeth, considering his offer. How can I tell my husband that my ex-boyfriend still haunts my thoughts and lives in my dreams? I don’t like to talk about Julian. Especially to Logan. Especially to Logan. Over the past year, we promised one another to never speak of him again. We refused to let him enter our lives again, to intervene in our relationship. Recently, no matter how much time has passed, I still think of him. It also seems like the more time that has passed, the more I feel like Julian is still present in my life.
But having lived through what Julian did to Logan, how could I possibly bring myself to confess how he still haunts my thoughts and lives in my dreams? How do I tell him that I’m worried the note was only the beginning?
“It’s okay.” I shake my head and unravel myself from around his body, resigning to keep my secrets to myself. Logan doesn’t need to worry about me. “It’s nothing.”
“Right.” His mouth presses into a thin line and his chest falls. It’s as if the relief I gave him only moments ago has completely disappeared. His chest puffs out as he takes a deep breath. He knows I’m lying but doesn’t fight me on it. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”
After placing a kiss on my cheek, Logan tells me he loves me then leaves the kitchen and heads for the front door. I listen as Logan punches in the code to our security system. When we moved into the house, it was already set up with a basic alarm system, one that monitored all the doors and windows to our house. It came with an app that told you when the system was armed and disabled.
After he’s gone, I turn back to the window and the sad, worn-out shed sitting in my back yard.
I press my hands against the counter and lean forward, left to my own thoughts.
It’s been a whole year. One whole year since I left my best friend Abby behind without a word. It’s been one whole year since I watched my ex-boyfriend run away, not knowing where he truly ended up.
Despite a whole year passing, I feel like my life is stuck, frozen in time. I can’t move forward with my past still haunting me.
Logan hasn’t changed. I haven’t changed. And the unforgettable images of Julian beating my husband to near death on the solid black asphalt haven’t faded nor have they disappeared. They’re still there, the sound of crunching bone and splattering blood echoing through my ears
.
The only piece of my life that’s seemed to change is where Logan and I have attempted to restart our lives. I thought moving to Washington would be a fresh new life for us. I thought it would be like pressing the refresh button on a life that had been frozen with fear. Instead, the fear continues to haunt me and I don’t have the courage to tell my husband how I still fear Julian will find us.
I log into the security system app on my phone, making sure the alarm is still secure from Logan leaving. Relief washes over me and I turn back around, staring at the shed once more. My hatred for the shed swells, envisioning what the yard would look like if it were gone. I imagine what it would look like as an empty patch of grass.
I finish what’s left of my coffee and leave my laptop sitting on my dining room table, passing it as I walk out to the garage to grab Logan’s hammer.
Work can wait a little longer.
Three
Logan
Logan: I just got to work. I hope you have a good day. I love you.
I’m not ignorant to my wife’s unhappiness. Like her, my demons have become a piece of me, an extension to the man I used to be. She thinks I don’t see how she tries to hide it. She thinks I don’t see how Julian haunts her the way he haunts me. Over one year later and I can still feel how it felt to have his fist crashing into my face, breaking my jaw and leaving me clinging to life.
The only difference between Lena and me is that I’ve become better at hiding my pain than she has. She wears hers on her sleeve, pretending it doesn’t exist.
I’m sitting in my office, staring at a picture of Lena on my phone when a text comes through, a white box popping up at the top of the screen. I can’t deny how disappointed I am that it isn’t a text from Lena. After leaving Providence, we made an agreement to always text one another when either of us left the house.
Mine: A Romantic Suspense Thriller (A Back to Me Series Book 2) Page 2
