Logan - a Preston Brothers Novel: A More Than Series Spin-Off

by Jay McLean

  Luke adds, “Regardless of what you think, I don’t have a need to control everyone’s actions. And speaking of… I know you think I overstepped with the whole Aubrey thing. And I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but I just want you to be okay, Logan. I want you to have the best life possible. And if that meant apologizing to that asshole, I would’ve done it. Because Dad’s right, we don’t need anyone else in this family getting arrested.”

  I sigh. “That’s not your weight to carry, Luke.”

  He stretches out his legs, crosses his feet at his ankles, and stares down at his toes. “Maybe not. But also, maybe. Dad shouldn’t have to carry all that weight on his own. And I know I’m not the oldest, or whatever, but Luce—she has her own problems. She has her own family now.”

  I swallow down the meaning of his words, take them in completely.

  When I don’t respond, he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to even like a girl before.”

  “Can I ask you something?” I ask, ignoring his statement.

  “Sure.”

  “Why haven’t you asked Laney to marry you? I mean, we’re all waiting.”

  He laughs once. “Because it’s not time.”

  “Why not? Luce and Cam got married while they were still in college. They turned out fine.”

  “Because… I want to give her the same as I want for you: the best life possible. And I can’t do that yet.”

  “You have a steady job, with a steady income. So does she. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No,” he says matter-of-factly. “It’s not just about us, Logan. It’s about all you guys, too.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe not for you.”

  He’s treating me like I’m dumb again. “Whatever.”

  “The thing is… Dad—like, yeah, I don’t expect him to retire anytime soon, but he will, eventually, and the job, that company, our livelihood, it’s all going to fall on you and me. I don’t want to do anything to bring it down or change our way of life. The twins, they’ll be fine. But Lachy, he’s still young, you know? I want to be sure that we can give him the same life that Dad has worked his ass off to give to us. I want him to be able to go to whatever college he wants—if that’s what he wants—and not have to worry about any of it. And when I’m sure that I can do that for all of us, then I’ll ask Lane to marry me. Because as soon as we say those vows, we’re going to start popping out babies one after the other,” he says, clicking his fingers. “And I want to be able to give our kids the same life we had, because—I mean, besides Mom dying—we had it pretty fucking good, Logan. Don’t you think?”

  I am nine years old, and the leather…

  “Yeah, Luke. We had it real good.”

  37

  Logan

  Based on Luke’s final word of advice, I leave all the suits and ties in his apartment and dress in jeans and a button-up with the sleeves rolled up. I don’t make a reservation at the French place. Instead, I decide I’ll take them to my favorite place to eat—the concession stand at the sports park. Because like Lucas said: if I’m going to get Aubrey’s mom to like me, she has to like me for me. And if it’s not good enough—if I’m not good enough for her daughter, then I’ll just have to find another way to prove that I am… that doesn’t include eating snails and dressing like a jackhole.

  I take a single toke of Mary, just to take the edge off, before meeting back with Aubrey and Melissa at the store right before closing. “I hope you have comfortable shoes,” I tell them. “Because the best way to see this town is hoofin’ it.”

  Aubrey slips off her heels, claims she’s going barefoot. Melissa smiles. “I’m excited to see the town through your eyes, Logan. Maybe it’ll help get to know you better.”

  Our first stop is only two shops down: Lucy’s store. “This is my sister’s,” I tell Melissa while Aubrey clings to my arm.

  “I take it she loves books?” Melissa asks.

  “She lives for them.” I point upstairs. “The top level is her husband’s office. We all work together. My dad has a construction company. Cameron’s the architect.”

  “So it’s a family business?” she asks, and I nod. “Are you planning on making that your future?”

  “If I’m lucky enough, sure.”

  “And your sister,” she asks. “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “And her husband?”

  “Same.”

  “Any nieces or nephews?”

  I shake my head. “Not yet. Luce has issues with her girly bits, so the docs say she might not be able to carry a baby full term.”

  Melissa frowns. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “I think they’re full of fudge nuggets.”

  She laughs at that. “You don’t believe your sister?”

  “I don’t believe the doctors.”

  “You think they’re wrong?”

  Another shrug. “I think she’ll have a miracle baby. A girl. And she’ll look just like Lucy. Like my mother.” If Melissa wants to get to know me, I’m not going to hold back. “She’ll be the cutest, sweetest little girl in the world, and my dad—he’s going to love on her like no pops has ever loved on anyone.”

  Aubrey smiles up at me. “You really think that?”

  “I can feel it in my blood, Red.” And it’s true. I really do. Because if anyone deserves a miracle, it’s Cam and Lucy.

  I point across the road. “That’s the movie theater; it’s pretty much all the entertainment this town has to offer. A few years back, Laney, my older brother’s girl, she used to work there and sneak us all in for free.”

  Melissa says, “Aubrey tells me you come from a big family.”

  “Yep. Seven kids. I’m right in the middle.”

  “What are all their names?”

  “I’ll take this one,” Aubrey says, her chin in the air. She rolls off their names and their ages and one random fact about each of them. She does it so easily, so effortlessly, as if she’s known me forever. When she gets to Lachlan, she goes on and on and on about him. I’d be jealous but—okay, I’m a little jealous. Not because they’re friends, but because they’ve spent more time together than we have.

  When she’s done, I tell them both, “That’s actually where I had my first kiss, right in front of the ticket booth.”

  Melissa laughs. “How old were you?”

  “Ten.”

  “And how did that go down?”

  “It earned me a punch to the gut.”

  Aubrey cackles, patting my arm. “You let a little girl punch you?”

  I shake my head. “No. Leo punched me. It was his girl. On his date.”

  I show them around the rest of the town, which isn’t much, but everywhere I bring them, Melissa asks questions. Lots of them. Mainly about what the places mean to me. She asks about my childhood, about my upbringing, and if I grew up happy. Which is odd, but she’s her daughter’s mother, so I expected a lot of inquisitive questions.

  We eat the concession stand food like animals. Aubrey doesn’t leave my side. Doesn’t remove her touch from my arm. It’s not exactly how I wanted our first date to go—not that I’ve really put a lot of thought into it—but I’m pretty damn proud of myself. Pat on the back for you, Logan Preston.

  We head back to Main Street, where our cars are parked. Melissa and Aubrey get in Melissa’s car, I get in mine, and we drive the couple minutes back to Aubrey’s house so we can share a tub of ice cream and Melissa can see the house for the first time.

  After the tour and the ice cream, Melissa gets back in her car to go home. We wave her off in the driveway, watch her car pull away, down the street, until her tail lights disappear, and I’m finally, finally, alone with my girl. I lift her off the ground, throw her over my shoulder, laugh when she squeals. I smack her ass. “You’re in so much trouble, Red.”

  As soon as we’re in her house and she’s on her feet, her mouth’s on mine, one hand undoing the buttons on my s
hirt, the other undoing my belt. I’m laughing into her mouth, and she’s smiling against mine.

  I rear back, just long enough to say, “I’m so fucking addicted to you, Red.”

  She doesn’t bother with my fly, just shoves her hands down my pants and goes for gold. She grunts in my ear. “I want you to take that belt and wrap it around my neck, then walk me like a dog!”

  I freeze. Pull away. “What the fuck?”

  “No. That’s not what—”

  “You want me to what?”

  “No! I meant…” She busts out a laugh.

  “What the fuck, Red? How kinky are you?”

  She’s still stroking my cock when she says through a giggle, “I totally worded it wrong. I meant I want to do it doggy style.”

  I can’t stop laughing, and she won’t let go of my dick. “Don’t try to talk dirty anymore, okay?”

  She nods. “Deal. But will you still fuck me from behind?”

  I kiss her again, chuckling when my tongue slides against hers.

  “Stop laughing at me!”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “If you keep at it, I’ll fuck you doggy style!”

  “Jesus, Aubrey!”

  She throws her head back with her guffaw, then grasps the back of my neck, pulls me down to her tits. “Shut up and eat my cookies already.”

  She’s crazy and she’s wild and she’s everything I am, yet everything I’m not.

  And the best part?

  The part that blows my goddamn mind?

  She’s all mine.

  38

  Logan

  I am nine years old, and the leather cracks beneath my weight. The car still smells new, even though I’ve been in it for months. The dash is gray. I can barely see over it. In the pocket of the door, there’s a tube of hand lotion. It’s pink. I wonder who it belongs to…

  I sit up, gasping for air. I don’t know where I am. Who I am. The covers are wet. Unfamiliar. A hand lands on my shoulder. I choke out, “Don’t!”

  The hand is gone.

  The bed shifts.

  I blink hard, try to settle the hammering in my chest. The dream is so vivid, too vivid, like the dreams that come to me when Mary’s not around.

  “Logan?”

  The voice… the voice… I look around.

  Four-poster bed.

  Drapes of white.

  And then I remember. I didn’t fucking smoke. I didn’t smoke, and I fell asleep with Aubrey beside me. I wasn’t thinking.

  Stupid.

  Stupid.

  Stupid.

  “Logan?” Aubrey’s next to me, her eyes wide, filled with tears. “Are you…” Her hand comes out again.

  “Don’t, Aubs.” My feet land on the floor. I rub my eyes. “Just don’t fucking touch me right now.” Two fucking weeks without a single nightmare, a single flashback, and now this. With her. I hate that I’m here. That she’s here. That she has to witness this.

  “Okay,” she whispers, and then she’s off the bed, on the other side of the drapes. I try to inhale. Exhale. The air is thick. Sweat trickles down my temple, onto my jaw. I wipe it away. Aubrey returns, holding my cigarette case. She sits on the bed, an eternity of space between us. She spreads Mary’s armor open, but Mary’s not ready, not prepared. “Where…” Aubrey asks, and I shake my head. She’s gone again, this time to get my jeans. She empties the pockets and she won’t stop crying, won’t stop shaking. I did this to her, to us. “Where the fuck is it?” she cries out, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

  I grip the edge of the mattress.

  “Jesus Christ, Logan, you’re shaking.”

  She’s naked, and I’m naked, and I want nothing more than to touch her, to feel her, but she won’t take away the memories. She won’t take away the pain. My throat closes in.

  I am nine years old…

  “Your keys,” she rushes out. “Where are your keys, Logan?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, and that’s good, because I can’t. I can’t fucking speak. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. I tug the ends of my hair.

  I am nine years old…

  Aubrey’s slipping on my shirt and leaving the room. The front door opens, and through the pounding in my chest, I hear my truck door open, close.

  The weight of the water presses down on my shoulders, fills my lungs. Aubrey’s back with a baggy and she’s ripping it open, pulling out papers and spreading Mary open for me. She’s back on the bed again, trying, trying, trying to roll me a joint, to give me the girl who takes away the memories. She’s frustrated she can’t get Mary right, and she curses her frustration through sobs that tear my heart to pieces.

  Mary is sloppy, fat, crooked, but it doesn’t matter, because she feels like heaven between my lips. Aubrey stands, sparks her to life. I inhale, inhale, inhale my need into my lungs, into my muscles, into my memories, my nightmares. Aubrey sits next to me again, her knees up, forearms resting on them.

  She hasn’t stopped crying.

  Hasn’t stopped shaking.

  I take another hit of Mary.

  Then another.

  “One day…” Aubrey whispers. “I’ll be your Mary, Logan. I’ll be the one to take away your pain.”

  Her words are bubbles of air formed beneath the water, appearing out of nowhere. Saving me. Filling me.

  And then Mary speaks: She can’t give you what you need, Logan. Only I can.

  Aubrey begs, “Say something, Logan.”

  I close my eyes, push off the bottom of the lake. Hit the surface. I tug Aubrey to me, put my nose to her neck. I inhale and inhale and inhale some more.

  She can’t give you what you need, Logan. Only I can.

  “One day,” I whisper, kissing her jaw. “There won’t be any pain.”

  39

  Aubrey

  Logan’s not in bed when my alarm wakes me the next morning. My phone lacks any text messages from him or anyone else. Last night… last night was so perfect… until it wasn’t.

  I force myself not to think about it, because thinking about it brings up questions, and I don’t want to drown in those questions like I have in the past.

  I don’t want to push him away.

  I don’t want to lose him.

  I stumble out of bed, my eyes half closed, ignoring the throbbing between my legs, a reminder of last night’s activities. I shower, brush my teeth, and slip on my robe before heading to the kitchen. Then I stop in the doorway, let my smile, my emotions, consume me.

  Logan’s by the sink, looking out the window, sipping on a steaming mug of coffee. He’s in his boxers and nothing else, and the boy is a work of art. Really.

  “Morning,” I say, and his gaze lazily moves to mine.

  “You sleep like the dead, Red.” He’s smiling, as if last night’s terror never happened. I’ll let him think it, let him feel it… as long as he stays.

  “I thought you left,” I say, my voice hoarse from sleep.

  He shakes his head, crooks his finger at me.

  Gravity pulls me toward him.

  Right into his waiting arms.

  He gathers my hair in his fist. “So much hair,” he says. And then he kisses me once. “Listen, about last night…”

  “We don’t need to talk about it,” I tell him. “Unless you want to.”

  “I don’t,” he sighs out. “Believe me, that’s the last thing I want.”

  I nod into his chest.

  “Thank you for…”

  “Not pushing you?”

  “For not asking about it. For handling it the way you did. For knowing what I needed.”

  He needed weed. He didn’t need me. “Can I ask one question?”

  “I don’t know, Red…”

  “Does it happen often?”

  He pulls away with a sigh and takes my finger in his grasp. “I have a surprise for you,” he says, deflecting.

  I smile through the hurt. “Is the surprise your penis?” I try to joke. “Because I’m pretty sore right now.”

/>   His eyebrows shoot up. “You are? I’m sorry.”

  “Stop it. I practically begged for it.”

  “Actually, you did beg, and damn do you look good on your knees.” He bites down on his lip, stares at my breasts. “How sore are you?”

  “Sore, Logan,” I warn. “And I have to get to work, so…”

  He scoffs. “Work is for sissies.”

  “Says the boy who works, goes to trade school, and is getting his GED.”

  His eyes narrow. “How did you know about the GED?”

  “Lachlan.”

  “I haven’t even—”

  “Downloaded the forms? I know. They’re on my coffee table.” I smack his butt. “Get to it, school boy.”

  He smirks. “Will you be my tutor?”

  “I can do that.”

  “I was kidding, Red.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Hmm.” I’m in his arms again, and he’s kissing my neck, my jaw. Into my ear, he whispers, “The other day at your work, you were wearing this skirt and these high socks, and all I could picture was bending you over the counter and lifting that skirt and shoving my face between your legs, licking you slowly from your clit to your—

  “Logan!” I shove him away, ignore the instant throb building between my legs. “You keep talking like that, I’m going to be late for work.”

  His hands glide up my legs, under my robe, until his fingers squeeze my butt. He bites down gently on my jaw. “Seriously, Red, how sore are you, and can I kiss it better?” He doesn’t wait for a response before shifting his finger, moving my panties to the side to dip inside my wet pussy. “Jesus Christ, Red.” Then he’s behind me, pushing me to the kitchen table and bending me over at my waist. My chest lands softly on the table top, and when I look over my shoulder, he’s sitting down on a chair, peeling my panties lower, lower, lower. I help him to remove them completely, smiling when he pockets them. His eyes meet mine, a smirk pulling on his lips. “So fucking hot,” he says, and then the tip of his tongue is exactly where he described, exactly where I want it. I press my cheek into the wood, grip the edges of the table while he works and works and works at kissing me better.