London

The past two weeks have been insane. Totally insane. It started with me calling my mom the night Lucas saw us out to thank her for the ID. That was a bad idea. She adamantly denied sending it, and then she went on an hour-long rant about alcoholism. My father was an alcoholic, and she didn’t want to see me go down the same path. I reminded her that I knew that, and I also knew we had discussed it being a choice to let it consume me.

After that, I sent Logan a message, thanking him. I mean, who else would have sent it?

His reply was:

- You’re fucking joking, right? LL

- No. Mom didn’t send it, so I figured...

- You figured wrong. I didn’t go out as a freshman. I was focused. You should be, too. LL

I didn’t reply. It was annoying. I was the most focused person I knew in high school, and I certainly would be here, too.

My schedule was stacked with Monday, Wednesday, and Friday classes. Having taken AP classes in high school, I was able to bypass those and jump right into what I loved—music and theatre. My first class, Intro to Theatre, was at nine in the morning. Next was Vocal Technique One, followed by studio writing. My last class was Piano Techniques. Dance was also required, and lucky for me, ballet was offered from seven until eight fifty. Jazz and Tap followed a two-hour break after classes. Dance not being my strongest, I was also taking three hours at an off-campus studio on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.

My roommates and I didn’t have the exact same schedule, but I had two classes with Jamie, and one with both Christy and Lisa. On top of those courses and the additional dance classes I was taking, we were required to participate in the drama departments Thursday lab, where we would participate in scenes, meet guest artists, talk to alumni, and have discussions.

I was in my dorm by six at night, except on Wednesdays, to study. And each night before bed, I spoke to Mom and Brody every other night, and Lexi on the opposite nights. I am pretty sure Mom doesn’t think I have a drinking problem anymore.

Today at Vocal Techniques, I was unable to hold a note as long as normal and decided I would try to swim every morning to help with my breathing control.

“You going to bed already?” Jamie asks as I walk out of the bathroom in my robe.

“Yeah, gonna swim in the morning.”

“Swim?” they all ask at the same time.

“Yeah,” I reply, toweling my hair. “Maybe start running again, too. It worked for old Blue Eyes.”

“Sinatra?” Lisa asks.

“Or Lucas Links?” Jamie wags her eyebrows. “Now that’s a DILF.”

“Speaking of DILF.” Christy giggles and turns up the music. “I would give it up to this man, or his son, any day of the week.”

“Brody and Maddox Hines,” Lisa swoons.

I want to throw up. In fact, I may have just done so in my mouth.

“You okay?” Jamie asks, seeing my face contort.

“Just tired. I’ll see you all in the morning or at class.”

Lisa looks over my face. “Well, get some sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.”

---

Archbold is located on the North campus, not South where the football team housing is located, so I assume the gym won’t be busy, especially at five thirty in the morning. I am wrong.

After swiping my student ID card, I quickly make my way to the locker room and change into my tankini.

Standing on the diving board, I am thankful I’m one of three people in this Olympic size pool. I don’t bother dipping my toe in. If it’s cold, I will hesitate, and I don’t have time to hesitate. I hardly have time to breathe. Whoever said college was easier than high school clearly wasn’t a theatre major.

It’s not easy, but I do eighty lengths, which is only one point two miles. Then I decide to forget the Uber and run back to Lawrinson Hall, adding another two miles to my morning before dancing all day.

It’s Thursday, so I only have one more day of actual classes before the weekend. It’ll be busy Saturday, with SU playing at home. I will enjoy the day by sleeping in and not leaving the dorms.

Running in place, waiting for the crosswalk light to change colors, I take my pulse, hoping to keep my heart rate up. That’s when someone blares their horn from behind me. My heart rate certainly rises.

I look up, half-expecting to be mowed down by a vehicle, and see Logan leaning out of his truck.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask, still jogging in place.

“Get in the damn truck, London.”

“Elle,” I correct him loudly.

“Your girls aren’t here,” he defends. “Now get in.”

“I’m fine, Logan.”

“Get in or I’ll drag you in here,” he threatens as horns blare behind him.

“Go.” I wave him on. “You’re holding up traffic.”

“You’re holding it up. Get in and that problem is solved,” he demands, throwing the door open.

I climb into his big, old truck since he’s not leaving and is making a huge scene.

“You seriously piss me off,” I tell him.

He peels out as the light turns yellow.

“Logan, no!” I scream, nearing panic as I buckle my seatbelt.

“Fuck. Sorry.” He pulls over quickly.

“It’s already buckled!” I yell at him.

“Said I’m sorry, London.” He pulls his hat down, covering his eyes.

My hands are shaking as I reach over and grab his hat, throwing it out the window.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks as horns start blowing again.

“You made me get in, then you can’t wait until I freaking buckle to take off!”

“Said I was sorry,” he says, looking briefly over at me. “But what the hell does that have to do with my damn hat?”

“Can you even see when it’s pulled down like that?”

“I can assure you—”

“Will you just go!” I cut him off as horns start blowing again.

“My hat,” he hisses.

“Get a new one.” I hold on to the seatbelt with one hand and the oh shit handle with the other. “Go!”

He drives a block, my heart racing, his jaw twitching, and then pulls into an empty parking lot.

“What are you doing?”

He throws it in park then turns his whole body and glares at me.

“Oh, don’t you even act like any or this is my damn fault, Logan Links!”

He doesn’t say a damn word, but those freaking eyes aren’t masked right now, and I see anger, confusion, frustration, irritation, and more confusion all directed at me. I don’t know whether to applaud their performance or slug him in that bulging arm.

He blindly reaches in the back seat and pulls out another white hat with an SU logo on it, puts it on his head, and pulls it down. Performance over, curtains drawn, which is a good thing.

“I offered you a ride. It’s not even seven in the damn morning and you’re a mile from your dorm.”

“I was at the...” I pause and start again. “It’s none of your business where I was!”

“I don’t recall asking where you were. I offered a fucking ride. You shouldn’t be out running the streets alone.”

I am frustrated because he’s right; he didn’t ask. Annoyed because it doesn’t negate the fact he is so damn bossy. And pissed because here we are again, fighting.

“Well, I certainly can’t ask my dorm mates to get up at five in the morning and go for a swim because I’m struggling with voice control,” I snap.

“You ran all the way to Archbold at five in the morning?” He cups the brim of his hat and pushes it down even farther. “You’re not that fucking stupid.”

“No, I’m not, and if you really feel the need to know my every move, I Ubered there then decided to run back.”

“You should have Ubered your ass back,” he declares rather gruffly.

“Don’t you worry about my ass, Logan,” I retort as gruffly as I can.

“You think I’m worried about your ass, London?” He laughs without humor.

“Well, Logan, what are you doing out, perusing the mean streets of Syracuse, if not to torment me?”

“I was just heading to the gym myself.”

“You live near the South campus gym; what did you do, decide to take the long cut?” I huff.

“Well, that’s none of your damn business, now is it, London?” He shakes his head.

“Oh, well...” I try to hold back my shock. I mean, why would I be shocked? He’s Logan Links, and his dick is on Yelp. “Good for you, Logan. Go you.” I fist bump the air. “I’m sure it was an award winning perform—”

“What the hell are you doing?” He pushes his hat up and looks at me like I’m deranged.

I slam my back against the seat and shake my head. “I don’t know. Weren’t we gonna try to be friendly? I was trying to give you much-deserved accolades for possibly getting laid last night.”

He chuckles. “Possibly getting laid?”

“Okay, fine, baller, for getting laid, bumping uglies, boinking, knocking boots, burying the bone.” I try to sound unaffected.

He takes his hat off and runs his hands through his hair, still chuckling.

I sigh. “What did I do now?”

“Baller?”

“You play football,” I point out.

“Baller in sports terms is a basketball player.”

“It’s also someone with bitches and dough.”

I don’t know why, but he smiles really big like he does with Lexi or Maddox’s little girl Piper when no one is looking. Then he starts laughing. His eyes shine, his dimples...God, they are so deep and beautiful.

“What?” I force myself not to smile.

“God, London.” He shakes his head and puts his hat back, covering his messy wet hair and shielding his eyes, but those dimples are still there. “For someone who has seen the world and lived through hellacious circumstances, you’re still cherry.”

“Oh, so you’re picking on me?” I sigh again. “Laugh it up, Logan. Enjoy your moment.”

He smirks as he looks over at me. “Not a bad thing. Actually, pretty fucking impressive.”

He shrugs, pulls his hat down, and looks away. “London, you wanna go running, I run at least four days a week. I’m not afraid of the early morning. But I don’t wanna see or hear about you getting nailed by some fuck driving down the road on a cell phone, okay?” He glances over and waits for me to process what he just said.

“Is that how T...? Is that why—”

“My assumption is yeah. No one pays a-fucking-ttention anymore. Scary as hell if you think about it.”

I look down at my hands knotting on my lap and decide to sit on them. It’s an annoying habit when I’m anxious, and right now, I’m full of anxiety.

I miss Thomas. I miss him so much. What happened to him isn’t fair. Not fair at all.

“So, London, you wanna run, you tell me when. I’ll show you where, and you better be able to keep up. I have a crazy fucking schedule, and this is it for me—last semester.”

“I have a crazy schedule, too, you know.” I nod. “So, I’m not a child, okay, Logan? I’m not. And I’m not stupid.”

“Never said you were. Just...” He sighs and shakes his head. “You afraid to run with me or something?”

“You call me kiddo,” I remind him.

“Well...” He pauses, and I slug him. He laughs as he rubs the opposite arm. “Fine, I’ve now seen you’re not a kid.”

When he grimaces, I know he’s talking about my boob show the other night. Although I don’t want to discuss it, I really do, but ugh...

Uncomfortable silence. Total, excruciating, uncomfortable silence.

He pulls his hat down and glances over at me. His head dips ever so slightly, and I am sure he just looked at my boobs.

I look down then want to dive under the seat because, yeah, they seem to perk up lately when he’s around.

“I guess no one will see us in the morning, so they won’t think we’re friends, or you know...” I leave it hanging.

“I know what?” he asks with just a hint of amusement in his voice.

I shrug. “Well, as you said, guys can’t be friends with girls.”

“Yeah, well, you aren’t the normal girl.” He smirks. “You’re London, a giant pain in my ass.”

My heart sinks slightly, but I won’t allow it. We’re talking normal, not fighting.

He starts to put the truck in gear then stops and looks over. “You buckled?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

After a few red lights, I notice the route he is taking and smile to myself. He’s wasting time.

Why?

I think I know, but really, I don’t know men who aren’t like Brody, Maddox, and my father. And for some reason, I want to.

“Why did Mitch lead Christy to believe he wanted her when he wanted Jamie?”

He looks over at me uncomfortably then back at the road and shrugs.

“You live with him, play with him, hang out with him; how do you not know?”

“I don’t bring it up. Don’t wanna know.”

“Okay, fine, if you were him, then what would make you do that?”

“I’m not him.”

“Come on; give me something.”

“Really, London?” he groans.

“Really, Logan.”

“My guess is Christy was the easiest.”

“What? You’re kidding me, right? What is wrong with you?”

He sighs then reaches out to turn on the radio.

“Oh, no.” I turn it down. “I want answers.”

“Has not a damn thing to do with me, London. You asked my opinion, and then blasted me. You want real, I’ll give you real. You want flowers and bullshit, you won’t get them from me. Straight up, girls talk to Mitch all the time to get at me—he’s more open. He did the same shit with Christy. She was less intimidating, so he closed in on her.”

“Makes sense, but it’s not right,” I cross my arms over my chest as he comes to the next red light and stops. “Why is he not even talking to her now?”

He sighs again and looks over briefly.

“Come on, Logan; spill it.”

“First of all, he’s busy. On top of our course load, we practice every day, work out every day, and then have to eat. After football season, he’ll be sniffing again, if she hasn’t shot him down.”

“What?” I hear a familiar song and turn up the volume.

When “Don’t Know What You Got (Till it’s Gone)” by Cinderella plays, a lump immediately forms in my throat.

Dad.

“You were right there at the Dinosaur with Dad.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Or were you too drunk again to remember that?”

“I’m not a drunk, Logan! I’m not, and I won’t be. I’m not like him, okay?” I fight back tears.

“I was joking.” He laughs nervously.

“Yeah, ha, ha.”

When he gets to another stop light, I pop my seatbelt and open the door. “I’m going to walk from here.”

“Jesus, London. Chill, okay?” He grabs my elbow and pulls me back in. Again, horns blow.

When he looks up, I take that moment to yank my elbow free and jump out.

I walk up the hill fast and see him turn right, his tires squealing. He’s pissed. I was harsh. I don’t care.

God, how can one song affect me like that? How? It’s been years. So many years!

I hear footsteps coming up from behind me and glance back.

“Logan, just go, okay? Just—”

I stop when he grabs my hand and pulls me into the parking garage on our right. He opens the door to the stairway and pulls me in behind him. Then he grabs my face and forces me to look up at him, I grab his shirt and consider pushing him away.

“You wanna break down, you do that shit in your dorm. You do it in a bathroom. You do it in my truck. You don’t fucking hop out and take off down a street.” He wipes away each spot my tears lay with his thumbs.

I don’t want to push him away anymore.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I admit. “It’s been years, so many years, and that stupid song...”

“I can’t listen to Bon Jovi,” he admits, scowling.

“It makes you cry?” I ask.

“Fuck no. It makes me want to kick my mom’s ass.”

“Because...?”

“Because, London, she fucked with my head, made everything his fault. I was so pissed at him inside, thinking he wasn’t the man I looked up to my whole life.” He wipes another tear. “Come to find out, it was her. She was fucking around.”

“So did my dad,” I whisper. “But I don’t wanna kick his ass.”

“No,” he says softly, wiping away the last tears.

“They tried, one harder than the other. One was stronger than the other.”

“Then they shouldn’t have gotten married. No one should. It’s fucked up. Nothing lasts.” He releases my face, pulls his hat down until it covers his eyes, and leans back against the brick wall.

I slowly release his shirt and try to tug out the wrinkles I created.

He closes his eyes and tips his head up.

“Mom and Brody will last, Harper and Maddox will, and your dad and Tessa. Ava and Thomas would have, too.” I force myself to stop messing with his shirt, but it feels good to touch him, talk to him, open up to him, and have him open up to me.

He shakes his head. “Not sure that’s true.”

“They loved each other,” I assure him.

He nods once. “Sometimes love’s not enough.”

I look down at my feet. “I don’t wanna believe that’s true.”

“Sooner you accept it, the quicker you’ll really be grown, London.”

“Or maybe I’ll just be lost,” I whisper.

“Nah.” He pushes himself off the wall. “You’re gonna shine, London Fields.”

The way he says it, I know he’s teasing me, but not to be hurtful.

“I am. You watch and see,” I joke back.

“I intend on doing just that.” He turns and opens the door. “You gonna ride with me?”

I laugh at him. “It’s a block.”

“Have it your way,” he says.

“Thanks for...everything.”

He nods.

I want to stay and talk, because after his initial bossiness and both our defensiveness, it’s been nice, so nice.

I look to my left and see he’s walking next to me.

“What are you doing?” I try not to smile.

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Going to get breakfast. You wanna go?”

“What about your truck?”

He smirks. “Trust me; they won’t tow it.”

“Wow.” I look up at his head.

“What?” he asks, touching his hat. “You gonna throw this one, too?”

“No, but the seams are starting to unravel.” I point.

“Bullshit, it’s new.” He takes it off and looks at it.

I can’t help laughing, which makes him look down at me, eyes fully on display, telling me he’s amused.

“It’s safe now. But you put it on that head and it’s bound to burst apart.”

“Is that so?” he asks, putting it back on.

“I’m afraid it is.” I continue to laugh as I put my hands on each side of my head and slowly move them farther and farther apart. Then I make a small explosion sound. “That ego, though...”

He grabs for me, and I jump back with a squeal.

“Don’t you dare,” I say through my laughter.

He freezes for a moment, then shoves his hands in his pockets as he fights a smile. “You’re safe with me, Elle.”