14
| NICOLE |
Ever since Logan got back from Vegas a few weeks ago, I feel like I’ve been in training for the American Ninja Warrior competition or something. Between climbing and all the other fantastically rigorous activities I’ve been doing with him, my body has never been this physically exhausted before.
I’m absolutely not complaining.
The fact that all said activities have yet to even land us on third base is downright impressive.
But, truth be told, it’s the part after all the orgasms that I think I like best. There are times he’ll just hold me, for minutes on end, like he doesn’t want to let me go…and then he’ll get all growly and demanding and tell me he doesn’t want to let me go.
Though with a lot more colorful f-bombs, of course.
It’s really terribly adorable.
In a gruff bear-with-a-thorn-in-his-paw sort of way.
I have to admit, every time, it gets harder to leave.
I’m getting in deep with the man, I know. Which is just crazy. This is Logan we’re talking about here. There’s a reason he’s been single for the last nine years. I’ve heard him tell his workers—on numerous occasions—that he purposely never dates any woman with the intention of starting a relationship. It’s the same thing he tells reporters. He’s very public about his stance on not looking to remarry. As he always says, his daughter is the only girl in his life now. Period.
Where Logan’s concerned, I believe it.
And to be honest, I can’t blame him. If there were ever a woman to carry a torch over, Janine would be it. She was…perfect. So perfect that I can’t even be envious of her for having the love of a man beyond her lifetime.
I actually kind of get it.
Because the more time I spend with Logan, the more I’m starting to think that maybe, perhaps, one day, in the far distant future…I might end up feeling the same way about him.
Which is again, just crazy.
“Nicole?”
I spin around and shine the flashlight on my keychain up, way up. “Kenny, what are you still doing here so late?” My evening clients are always scheduled a few hours before the gym closes because I usually spend those last couple of hours either climbing or watching the pros on the most advanced walls flabbergast the rest of us with their skills.
Kenny’s session had ended nearly five hours ago.
He’s been doing this more and more over the past two months. I’ve had a few chats with his psychologist and psychiatrist to see if they’ve also been noticing more erratic behavior from him and while they have, they weren’t too overly concerned yet.
The difference for them, however, is that they’re both men who aren’t completely dwarfed by Kenny’s linebacker-looking frame. I can’t say the same for me.
I am starting to feel concerned. And frankly, more than a little uneasy around him.
“Heading home?” he asks as he taps his foot on the asphalt and fidgets around restlessly like he’s agitated about something.
With the way he’s opening and closing his fists, and the scowl that seems permanently affixed to his face, I’m definitely hearing alarm bells in my head.
“I’m actually meeting up with someone,” I fib.
Logan and I had intended to go out and grab a bite and maybe a movie or something since Hannah’s at a sleepover tonight, but he got called in to a late phone conference about an hour ago. At last text check, he was still at his corporate office in the city with no clear end in sight yet so he told me he’d bring takeout for a late dinner over to my place as soon as he could.
“I’m actually running late to meet him,” I add, finding it surprisingly not at all difficult to lie to Kenny, which speaks volumes. If my gut instincts are telling me to get the heck out of there, I’m going to listen.
“Him being Logan?” sneers Kenny, with a bitter edge to his voice that has me adjusting my hold on my keys so they can be used as a self-defense weapon. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?” His face twists into a snarl of disgust.
I don’t respond. Instead, I swiftly take those last few steps over to my SUV. There are still quite a few cars in the lot so we’re pretty well-hidden, unfortunately, and a good distance away from the front entrance. There isn’t a single other person in the lot that I can see so my panic attack alarm won’t do me any good. Locking myself in my car is definitely going to be the safest option here.
He snags a hand around my elbow. “Don’t ignore me! You know how I hate that!”
I yank my arm free and pull open my door.
He slams it shut and shoves me up against it with one meaty paw, knocking my keys out of my hand as he gives me a hard shake that rattles my molars.
Waving a finger in my face, he snarls out, “I thought you were different.”
With escape no longer an option, I begin locking and loading every psychological weapon at my disposal. “In what way, Kenny? How did you think I was different?”
Flat out fury is turning his expression frenzied, manic. “You weren’t like all the others before. But now you are. Now that you’re fucking Logan, you’re going to end things with us, aren’t you?”
According to Kenny’s school records, he’s been flying off the handle and getting into fights since he was young. Working with me through high school, he got to a place where he could keep his anxiety and rage under control. But then he started college and everything stable in his life disappeared. First his foster parents, then the few friends he had. Unfortunately, his abandonment issues have always been more his psychologist’s domain. It’s clear those issues are huge triggers, but, since I haven’t worked with him on these issues, all I can do is divert him away from those landmines until I have an opening to escape.
“What do you mean end things? You’re one of my first clients. You’ve been with me the longest. Are you wanting to fire me?” I ask, turning the conversation on its side. “Have you been unhappy with our sessions?”
He frowns, confused over the tide change. “Our sessions are the only things that make me happy every week.”
“Then I don’t understand. Do you want to stop our sessions?” I feign supreme confusion.
“What? No!” He shakes his head as if trying to clear it.
Yep, I’m mucking with his brain completely. His hand isn’t pinning me against my car door anymore. If I can get him to back up a bit, I’ll be home free.
“You’re the one who’s been too busy for me lately,” he insists, his anger returning.
“The last couple of weeks, we’ve been meeting almost every other day,” I counter. “I know your psychologist insists on meeting only once every two weeks. Is that what this is about? Is he wanting you to meet with me less? Do you need me to talk to him and explain?”
“I haven’t told him,” Kenny admits in a hushed tone.
I see a couple of folks leaving the gym out of the corner of my eye. If I can just keep Kenny talking a little longer, I may be able to signal for help. Sure, this is a bit cliché—like getting the villain to talk too much until the cavalry arrives, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Why haven’t you told your psychologist about meeting with me? Do you think he’ll disapprove?”
If I weren’t frightened out of my mind right now, I’d be really freaking proud of this impressive psychological warfare I’m engaging in.
“He won’t like me meeting with you so much. He always says I can’t think of therapy as my only constant.”
I couldn’t have phrased it any better.
Frustrated tears gather in Kenny’s eyes. “But he doesn’t understand. I need you. I need you to be there for me. But you’re abandoning me like all the others. None of you care about me.”
He’s starting to hit himself in the thigh and I know that time’s almost up; he’s getting ready to fly apart.
“You’re going to leave me. Just like everyone else.”
“I don’t have to,” I say, wording it just so.
“You’re lying!”
I don’t even see the back of his hand coming at me until I feel the pain exploding in my cheek.
I’ve never been struck before. And my brain is having a hard time recovering.
My eye is throbbing in its socket, but it’s still functional enough to see he’s getting ready to hit me again.
No way, asshole.
The next thing I know my limbs are attacking him like they have a mind of their own. I’m probably doing that chick-flailing-arm thing, but I don’t care. His second punch doesn’t land, that’s all that matters. I fight harder.
But, he’s too big. Too strong.
Suddenly, he grabs me by the shoulders and slams me back onto the ground.
The explosion of pain knocks the wind out of me. My skull feels bashed in, and there’s a throbbing, overwhelming pressure in my head now making my senses sluggish.
My vision’s ebbing in and out, and my entire body feels injected with liquid lead. It’s getting harder to move.
That’s when I realize he’s got his forearm on my throat, smothering my airway.
No.
I think I scream it. At least that’s how it sounds to my ears.
His nose, his eyes, his crotch. Everything is fair game. I kick and slap and scratch and bite. I go downright ballistic on him.
Just don’t stop fighting. You can’t stop fighting.