Twenty-four

Logan

The way Reaper looked at Olivia as she was led into the house made Logan feel like he was in a fucking R rated Disney movie.

“You gotta stop holding back,” he said to him as casually as he could, pretending it was nonchalant talk. He even half-pretended to check out one of the babes for emphasis on the casual part.

“Logan,” Reaper began, “you really can’t fake shit, you know that?”

Logan’s shoulders slumped. He looked at him sternly now only because he needed to cut the shit. “Look, you can pretend all you fucking want that this is nothing for you. You can glare and stare at me like you are now with that fucking impossible to read face, but I know you. I fucking know you, man. I’ve been here with you since the fall, haven’t I? I let everything go and followed you. I’m telling you right now, it’s time to move the fuck on.”

“I’ve moved on,” he said with conviction. He sounded believable. Like he really had.

Logan stared at him long and hard, trying to figure this fucker out. “Then why are you holding back? You don’t have to be here. You didn’t have to drag her into the fucking Amazon man. The insects are fuckin’ with my head. Literally, they’re in my scalp now, Reap. I’m itching like a motherfucker –”

“Logan.”

“I’m saying you can be in Winthrop right now. Your men could have done all that bullshit crazy fucking cooking without you present. They didn’t need you. And fucking hell, you gotta let Christy go too, man. She’s dependant on you. I’ve never understood your fixation with rescuing women and keeping an eye on them, but it’s fucking over the top now. It ain’t fair on Christy, and it ain’t fair on Olivia either.” Logan shook his head, monologuing now. “You know, we’re all a group of verbally abusive fucks now, Reap. The other day Shane called Christy a tridactyl under his breath and she fucking heard it. She actually looked sad, man. And Christy’s a bitch as it is. Like, making her sad is a fucking accomplishment, and he did it. He fucking did it. Deserves a fucking medal –”

“Okay, Logan, I fucking get it, alright? Really. I see it from your end. Just stop talking.” Reaper was annoyed as fuck, but he was also nodding, like he was listening.

Logan patted him on the back, feeling good about himself. He’d held those words in for so fucking long. If everything suddenly went okay, he was going to congratulate himself. He deserved the praise.

He was a fixer.

Hell fuck yeah, he liked the sound of that.

“I think I’ll name myself The Fixer, Reap. That’ll be like my nickname, kind of like your name.”

“I gotta get ready,” Reaper cut in, shaking his head. “I don’t have time to hear anymore of your Dr Phil speeches.”

“Am I at least invited to the wedding?”

“Hell fuck no.”

“Then why am I here? You literally using me for a ride, huh? Pilots have feelings too.”

Reaper walked away, yelling out, “You’re my eyes and ears, Logan. I trust you with my life.”