Logan
Shifting my body, pain slices through my side as I try to roll over. I can feel the leather underneath me and I know I’m on the couch, but everything else is blurry. I try to stretch out as best I can, my eyes still closed. I can tell my right eye is going to be swollen and my entire face fucking hurts. I think I hear water running and figure it’s probably Trevor. He was at the warehouse last night, he fought before me and barely had a scratch on him. Lucky bastard. I replay last night and it slowly comes back to me. I kicked Santos’s ass and left right after, like I always do. Pale green eyes cross my mind. Prairie. Was she real? I thought for sure when I spotted her in the crowd that it was just my past, fucking with me. But she was outside, wasn’t she? Santos and his piece of shit cousins jumped me. Mother fucker.
I hear the floor creak and the couch dip down near my feet. “Fuck off, man,” I mumble.
“Logan?”
My good eye opens at the sound of her voice. I look down the length of my body, my ripped T-shirt and bloody jeans, and see her sitting there beside my bare feet.
“Logan, it’s me,” she says. “It’s Prairie.” My stomach instantly churns, my chest tight as I move to sit up.
“Careful,” she winces. “Take it easy.”
I can sense her reaching for me but she pulls her hand back quickly. I wouldn’t wanna touch me either. I shift my legs so that my feet rest on the floor and I lean forward, my hands resting on the sides of my head. The hammering in my skull is almost as unbearable as knowing she’s so close to me and I can’t do a damn thing about it.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, hating that my voice is so cold. But she shouldn’t be here. She can’t be here.
“I- I was at the warehouse last night,” she tells me. “I got your friend, Trevor, to help you. I told him we should take you to the hospital but he said no. I cleaned you up as best I could last night, I don’t think you need sti-“
“Where is he?”
“He left last night, he said you’d understand why,” she offers.
“Hm,” I mutter, standing slowly from the couch. Zavier must have had a job for him. I can feel Prairie’s eyes on me as I make my way to the kitchen and pull a bottle of water from the fridge. I notice the pain meds sitting on the counter and down three.
She stands and walks into the kitchen, her feet barely making a sound against the hardwood floor. She’s even more beautiful than I remember.
“Logan, we need to talk,” she says.
“Talk about what?”
My insides feel like they are being shredded into ribbons and I can’t help but realize just how fucking cruel fate can be. I wanna touch her. I wanna hold her. But I can’t. I lost that right when I pushed her away five years ago. And now? Now I’m surrounded by so much shady bullshit and I can’t subject her to any of it. I have to send her away, again. Even if it rips my beating heart right out of my chest.
“What do you think?” she demands. “It’s been over five years, I haven’t so much as gotten a letter from you. You just gave up and now you’re here and I just, I don’t understand,” her voice cracks and the sound is like a punch to the gut. “I just can’t believe that you’re really here.”
Standing in my kitchen, staring at the only girl I’ve ever, could ever love, should make me happy. But all it does is bring me misery. Because I know I can’t keep her. Not when this is my life now.
“Look,” I begin. “I’m sorry for how things turned out, but we were just kids, right?”
She crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at me stubbornly, but there’s no mistaking the wobble in her chin. She’s trying so damn hard to be tough right now but it doesn’t matter. I’m even more toxic now than I was back then. Because now I know who I am and I don’t apologize for it. I can’t drag her into this shit. Any of it. Zavier Kane, the warehouse…Prairie is better than all of it.
“So that’s it? You have nothing else to say to me, after all this time?”
“Nothing I say will change the past.”
“Did I mean anything to you?” she asks.
You were everything. You still are.
“It doesn’t matter now,” I say quietly.
She walks back into the living room and picks up a pair of boots and a purse that I didn’t notice before. It takes everything inside of me to stay where I am, to not reach out and pull her close to me. She reaches her hand up to her throat and tugs harshly, pulling a familiar gold chain from her neck and setting it on the kitchen counter in front of me. Shit.
“I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to move on, Logan,” she says. “So much has happened, and I know you’re probably not the same person you were. But neither am I.” She brushes past me, my fingers itching at my sides.
“I waited for you,” she adds quietly, reaching for the door. “Like a foolish girl, I think I would have waited forever.”
*
Hours later, after I’ve managed to sleep through the pain in my chest and the throbbing in my body, I stare at my battered face in the bathroom mirror and assess the damage. I can’t get her out of my head. She cleaned the blood from my face and stuck a small bandage on the cut underneath my eye. Her hands were on me and I didn’t even know it. Probably for the best. If I would have been reminded just how soft her skin is, I don’t think I would have been strong enough to send her away. I lift my ripped shirt and pull it over my head, dark bruises mark my ribs and stomach. That mother fucker Santos is gonna pay for this shit. The cash was missing from my pocket too, almost two grand. Fucking coward piece of shit. I pull off my stained jeans and flip on the shower. I stand under the spray, not bothering to wait for it to warm up. I rest my palms against the slick tile wall in front of me. I don’t know how much time passes but the water goes from hot to cool again and I’m still stuck in my own damn head.
It’s for the best.
You can’t have her.
The truth is, I never thought I’d see her again. Not in this lifetime. My instinct was to push. To get her far away from me. But what if I was wrong? I push the thought away as quickly as it comes to me. I did the right thing.
I hear the front door slam shut and turn the water off. I grab a towel and head back out into the main room, seeing Trevor standing in front of the fridge.
“Don’t you knock?”
He turns to face me. “You look like shit,” he says.
“I feel like shit.”
“You kick out your company already?” he asks with a smirk.
“Mind your own fucking business,” I shoot back.
He pulls out a beer and pops off the top, taking a long sip. I throw some clothes on the bed and dress quickly while he stares at his phone. It’s Saturday and Zavier will expect both of us at the club tonight but I’ll be paying that fucker Santos a visit on the way. I want my fucking money and I plan on breaking his jaw. I nudge Trevor out of the way and grab my own beer. I take two more pain pills and wash them down.
“Let’s do this,” Trevor says, not bothering to ask where we’re headed. He knows. And he’ll have my back just like I’d have his.
*
I crack my knuckles, standing against the wall across from the dance floor. Hidden from the flickering strobe light and the neon glow from the DJ booth, I watch the crowd. My impromptu meeting with Santos on the way here was quicker and more productive than I thought it would be. Trevor and I swung by his favourite hangout, a shitty old strip club downtown. He was sitting on perv row, tossing my money at the half-naked woman on stage. It didn’t take much convincing for him to hand over what was left of my money plus a twenty-four hour interest charge. He’s a pussy when he doesn’t have his crew. He might try to retaliate, he might not. I hate to fall back on it, but being associated with Zavier has its perks. Most of the scum in this city are too damn scared to cross him, and that includes putting one of his enforcers out of commission. This is exactly why I sent Prairie away this morning, even if it nearly killed me to do it. This is the kind of fucked up bullshit that is my life. I’ve had to remind myself of that fact several times today when the urge to track her down was so strong that I almost gave in.
I scan the packed dance floor again, slowing my gaze on the mess of bodies grinding to the beat of the music thumping from the speakers. Saturdays are usually our busiest night and a total shit show. Too much booze, too much testosterone and not enough girls to go around it seems. Some dumbass always starts something he can’t finish and I end up tossing him out on his ass before the cops get called.
Everything is tame at the moment, so I let my eyes pause on a tight pair of jeans and a perky ass. She has her back to me, her hips swaying back and forth. She’s dancing with some blonde who’s done up like most of the females here. The one I’m watching looks plain in comparison, but there’s something sexy about the way she moves. Her hair is pulled up messily on top of her head and her black top doesn’t look revealing from here, just tight. Familiarity hits me. She begins to turn slowly, a laugh falling from her lips and all I see is red.
What the fuck is she doing here?