Prairie

 

 

“It’s about time you got here,” Brooke hisses. “I have been dying to talk to you about the other night.”

“You could have phoned me,” I say with a smile, taking my seat and securing my cash drawer.

“And miss this adorable blush creeping up your neck? Hell no,” she says. “So, who the hell was he?”

“Who?”

“Ugh. The dark haired guy with all the ink and the finely sculpted body who hauled you out of Delve like he was getting ready to hunt and gather for you,” she reminds me.

“Just someone that I used to know,” I grin. “We haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

“Girl, I love a second chance romance more than the average woman,” she says. “You’re telling me all about him over lunch.”

“And how did you get home?” I ask, changing the subject. “I tried texting you yesterday to check in.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I was running errands all day and my phone was dead,” she explains. “And I had my own escort from the club,” she adds, fanning herself with an envelope. “He was quite the gentleman. Walked me to my door and everything.”

“And that’s where it ended?”

“I am a lady, Prairie,” she says primly. “And apparently I was way off my game because he totally shut me down.”

“Aww, probably for the best though.”

“Drunk me is way too damn friendly,” she muses, shaking her head.

The morning picks up and it doesn’t take long for a line to form. I tell Brooke over lunch about my history with Logan and how we’d reconnected by chance. She’s convinced our story could be a movie. It feels good to share it with someone. I don’t have a lot of girlfriends, mostly just her and Holly. I lost touch with Kerri from college when I didn’t come back after my freshman year and the last I’d heard about Emily, she and Josh were getting married and moving onto their own acreage. She hardly spoke to me after Logan got arrested, probably because of what people were saying about him. That he was crazy, dangerous and no good. Typical small-minded gossip. It hurt me at the time when she bought into the lies, choosing to believe them over me. We never reconnected after that.

 Brooke doesn’t know about my assault and I kept the fact that Logan was in prison out of our lunchtime gossip session too. Not because I’m embarrassed but because he never should have been there in the first place and I hate the idea of anyone judging him. He’s been through enough.

I haven’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon when he said he’d be working late. It took me almost all day to work up the nerve to send him my letters. I thought about delivering them in person but it was dark by the time I got my courage, so I sent them by messenger instead. I’m wondering if he read them, and if it was a mistake sending them in the first place. Maybe the past should stay in the past. I decide to bite the bullet and call him on the way to the gym but when I pull my phone out of my bag, I see I already have a message from him.

Logan: Can I see you tonight?

A jumble of emotions wash over me at such a simple request. Relief, happiness…uncertainty.

Me: Yes. Going to the gym now, but I’ll be home by six.

Logan: See you then.

Me: Are you sure this is real?

When my phone chimes and I see him calling me instead of texting, my heart jumps.

“Hey,” I say, a smile in my voice.

“It’s real,” he says right away.

“You didn’t have to call me just to say that.”

“Yes I did,” he says.

“Well I accept your romantic gesture,” I reply with a laugh.

  “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye.”

I’m still grinning when I lace up my shoes and walk out of the locker room. Today I have a one on one session with Jamal and these are my favourite. After an excruciating circuit and a cool down, I’m sitting on one of the old benches, sipping my water and catching my breath when I see a familiar face.

Trevor stands at the front counter, leaning against it. I can see him but he can’t see me. Jamal approaches him with a thick brown envelope, the two men bump fists and Trevor leaves. When Jamal heads back my way, I can’t help but ask.

“Hey, do you know that guy?” I ask casually.

“Uh, yeah, I rent this building from his boss,” he replies, his dark eyebrows drawn together.

“Zavier Kane?” I ask.

“How do you know Zavier Kane?” he asks, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“I don’t,” I shrug. “Brooke and I went to Delve the other night. I saw that guy there,” I nod to where Trevor was standing. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down next to me and lets out a breath.

“What?” I ask.

“Look, Zavier Kane is a collector Prairie,” he says. “He runs some shady shit and usually anyone who works for him owes him something. That’s how he keeps his crew honest. Stay away from his club and stay away from anyone on his payroll.”

If Zavier Kane is a collector, what does Logan owe him?

 

*

 

On my way home from the gym, the weight of Jamal’s warning sits heavily on my shoulders. I’m not naive and I’m not stupid, I know that Logan isn’t the same boy he was five years ago, just like I’m not the same girl. But I have to believe that whatever Logan is mixed up in, we’ll survive it this time. I can’t bear to think that we might not, especially when this feels like our second chance. I know that we have so much to sift through but with Logan it seems like the rules of logic are simply meant to be broken. There’s no room for second guessing and what-ifs when he’s near. My heart recognizes him and I think we owe it to ourselves to explore what this second chance could mean for us.

I’m about to promise myself that sooner or later Logan and I will have to discuss the hard things, regardless of the fear that we might lose what we have, when I look up and spot him standing beside a shiny black pickup parked along the curb outside of my building.

I take my time and allow myself to truly appreciate the man he’s grown into. His hair is still thick and dark and a bit unruly. The sharp line of his jaw is covered with thicker scruff than the seventeen year old boy I knew. He’s still muscular, but definitely larger and he still has that same troubled look on his handsome face, as if he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He turns his head and smiles when he sees me, pushing himself off the side of the truck and stepping towards me.

“Hey,” he says, his voice coarse.

“Hi. Have you been waiting long?”

“Nope, you’re just in time.”

“Just in time for what?” I ask with a grin.

“Come on,” he takes my hand and opens the passenger side door of his truck.

He helps me up and shuts the door, sliding into the driver’s seat as I buckle my seatbelt. I showered at the gym and threw my hair up, but I’m dressed casually and I’m hoping that won’t matter.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he tells me.

When he starts the engine and reaches for my hand, I ignore the nagging voice of reason in the back of my head that says we can’t possibly move forward with the abundance of untold truths lingering between us. I ignore the voice because I want to believe that we can, if only for a little while, be seventeen again.