Chapter Nine
Quinn
The Truth Hurts
My fingers are cold from hours of working my mouse over the pad next to my laptop. Dad told me months ago to go ahead and buy an ergonomic computer desk and chair, but I never got around to it. The awkward angle of my wrist on a flat tabletop makes my hand go numb. I give it a shake and slide it under my knee for a few seconds to warm and bring some blood back into it.
I feel like I’ve been chained to the damn computer all week, burying myself in my studies to avoid thinking about anything else. Because that anything else tends to always be Logan Brenner.
I haven’t spoken to him since the night of the break-in, and I’m feeling sick over what happened. I squirm with guilt at the phony story I told my dad, but thank goodness Logan went along with it to keep our secret safe. But I worry about this Jolene who is crazy enough to break into his house. Are Logan and Rose okay? Did Jolene do something worse than breaking a window? Did she steal Rose’s things and they’ve just been too busy dealing with it to call me? She sounds like a horrible person, and I can’t understand how Logan could have hooked up with a woman like that. He’d said they never married and I believe him.
But I have no answers to my questions because he won’t talk to me. When he didn’t call me the next day, I panicked and went to his house. I knocked, but no one came to the door. I’ve tried calling him, but only get his voicemail. I can’t seem to catch him at home; each time his truck pulls up out front, it seems to disappear just moments later. I haven’t seen Rose either since I haven’t been asked to babysit—that hurts most of all.
Everything’s a mess, including my head. All my studies of the human psyche, of behavioral baselines, brain chemicals, and mental states, wants and needs as defined by Maslow’s Pyramid, can’t help me make sense of my own situation. Why is he doing this? Have I done something wrong? I did everything exactly the way he told me—how could it be wrong? Each passing day without contact makes me feel like I’m dying inside. I told him I loved him; didn’t that mean anything to him?
I think back to what I said to Rochelle—how I’d worried about being just an object, a one-night-stand. I thought Logan was different than those horny college guys. Could a man make a one-nighter extend to almost two months of nearly constant sex? And then just turn his feelings off like a light switch? No, I can’t make myself believe it. I won’t believe it. Human emotions just don’t work that way.
Unless… oh, no. I try not to let the idea take shape, but it forms in my head anyway, like a squirt of ink dropped in the pool of my thoughts and spreading darkly outward. What if Jolene has come back? Not to harass him, but to beg Logan to give her another chance, reconcile for the sake of their daughter? Told him she still loved him? Maybe he still loves her deep down—his harsh words against her merely a defensive mask to conceal his own pain. A classic maneuver that was definitely written in my psychology textbooks.
I picture the woman, though I’ve never seen her, on her knees pleading tearfully with him to forgive her, and my guts twist violently. Because I know Logan is a kind enough man to do it. He’ll do anything for Rose.
I push away from the table, knocking my chair over as I run to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before I throw up, bitter bile scorching my throat as it spews out of my mouth and splashes into the bowl. The hideous sound of it hitting the water makes me retch a second time, though nothing comes out.
God, I feel awful. I must be coming down with something; there are certainly enough colds and flu going around on a campus as large as ASU. But I know my misery is really of my own making—my feelings for Logan that I’ve let consume my every waking moment. I’ve never had a relationship like this before, so I don’t know what to say or how to act. I feel used and lost and empty. Is this what love is supposed to feel like? If so, it’s horrible. It’s definitely not roses and rainbows and unicorns. Maybe I don’t know what love is, after all.
I crawl to the sink and clean myself up by brushing my teeth to scrub the foul taste from my mouth. I feel exhausted and decide I should flop onto my bed and take a nap, for just a few minutes of blissful unconsciousness where I don’t have to think about anything. But then I hear the sound of an engine outside. I look out the window, and my heart does a backflip when I see Logan’s truck pull up to the curb. I have to talk to him, and this might be my only chance.
I race down the stairs and out the front door. I’m barefoot, but I don’t care that the lawn is prickly or the sidewalk gritty. I only care about seeing him.
“Logan!” I cry breathlessly, running toward him. I practically slam into him like Rose does when he comes home from being out, and throw my arms around his neck. My eyes sting as I hold back the tears that have been gathering all week, waiting to finally feel the warmth of his body against mine again.
“Logan,” I say again, my voice choked. “Where have you been?” I want to melt into him, become part of him.
But instead of the firm, secure circle of his embrace, I feel his hands on my wrists, prying my arms loose.
“Quinn, calm down,” he says, bringing my hands down in front of his chest. “What’s wrong?”
His voice sounds flat, emotionless, and I search his eyes for some explanation. His cool hazel stare sends a chill down my spine.
“What’s wrong?” I cry. “Why haven’t you called me? Or returned my calls? Or answered your door? I was so worried about you and Rose after the break-in.”
“Shh… don’t shout. Someone will hear you.”
He drops my hands and steps away, and I don’t understand what’s going on. “I don’t care!” I say. “Don’t shut me out like this. Please, Logan… I love you.”
“Lower your voice,” he nearly growls, glancing in all directions. “Come inside before you say anything else.” He walks to his front door and opens it without looking back. The strangeness of his voice frightens me, and I start to tremble; it’s not like him at all. My insides writhe like a nest of snakes as I follow him numbly up the porch steps and into the house.
He closes the door behind me and leans against it with one outstretched arm. He looks as stern as one of my professors, but none of my professors are this handsome or make me want to kiss him all over in spite of his surly expression.
“Where’s Rose?” I ask, hoping to break the tension. Something is very wrong here, and I’m afraid to find out what it is.
“She’s at day care. I found a good one awhile back but had to wait a few weeks to get her in. She loves it,” he says matter-of-factly, intimating that Rose no longer has need of my services.
I shake my head slowly. “Why are you doing this, Logan? Being so distant and…” I can’t find the words I want to say. I’m confused and hurt.
“Quinn, listen to me. I’m not saying it hasn’t been fun. You’re an incredible girl, you really are. You make me want you like I’ve never wanted anyone before. But this…” He gestures between us with his free hand. “This is wrong, you and me. On so many levels, not the least of which is Rose. She’s very impressionable at her age.”
“She’s four,” I say, the psychologist in me pushing through my tears. “All she wants is a mother figure in her life. Hasn’t she been asking for me?”
Logan sighs in exasperation. “That’s just it. She’s getting too attached to you, and you’re not much older than she is. You’re more like a big sister. I’m sorry to be blunt, but I can’t be banging the big sister, or the babysitter, in front of her.”
I’m taken aback by his hurtful and indelicate words; I can’t believe I’m hearing them. “Is that all I am to you, a… a bang?” I know my mouth is hanging open, and tears are spilling down my cheeks, but I want him to see it. See what he’s doing to me; a part of me hopes he’s just saying these awful words out of defense so that I’ll get angry and go away. But I’m way past angry. I’m devastated.
“Quinn, I’ve enjoyed our time together. I thought you did too. But it has to stop. I’m twice your age, and I feel like a dirty old man every time Frederick speaks to me. Think about it… where can this relationship go with you and your goddamn father living next door? Plus, I work all the time, I have to protect and raise my own daughter, and with Jolene sneaking around and trying to infiltrate our lives again I just don’t need any more complications. I’ve got enough on my plate.”
I try to focus on his beautiful hazel eyes; the ones that always held a sexy twinkle for me but have now gone dark. As dark as my world feels right now.
“Now I’m a complication as well as a bang?” I squeak, nearly choking on the words. I think I might throw up again. “How can you kiss me and hold me and make love to me and then stand there and say it was all a… complication! A lie!” I scream, backing away from him.
“You’re hysterical,” he says, reaching out to take hold of my shoulders. “I never said it was a lie. But I also never promised it would go anywhere—become something more than it was. Didn’t you enjoy it, too? It was great, really great honey, but it’s over. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, Quinn. Trust me, you’ll thank me for this someday.”
“Trust you,” I hissed. “I did trust you… I thought I loved you!” I sweep his hands off me with both arms and reach for the doorknob. I turn to face him one last time, my hair swirling about my shoulders. “But now I know better. I hate you. I wish I’d never met you, Logan Brenner.”
I twist the knob and run out, my sobs carrying out onto the street, and I don’t care who hears them.