"Hey."
I jumped and grabbed my heart. Logan lounged in the shadow of the doorway from the bedroom to the main living space. He was grinning like he knew he'd caught me in the act.
"What do you think?" He took a step in.
I tried to play it cool. "You're neat. Which is a bit freaky in a guy, but admirable."
He laughed. "That's it?"
I looked around. His walls were covered in baseball posters. A signed and framed Chicago Cubs baseball jersey with the last name Walker hung on the wall over his bed.
"You like baseball. That's awesome. I do too. I could argue with your taste in teams, though. The Chicago Cubs? Really? When was the last time they won a pennant?"
He was supposed to smile or laugh or something. Instead, he shook his head. "And you prefer?"
"The Mariners, of course. They may not be all that much better. But at least they're the hometown team. For the whole state, you traitor." Washington only had one Major League Baseball team and the Seattle Mariners were it.
I walked over to the Cubs jersey. It was signed. "Caleb Walker," I read. "Nice coincidence. Kind of awesome to have an MLB jersey with your last name on it. It's, like, every guy's dream to play major league ball and see his name on a jersey. How'd you swing that?"
Logan stared at me a minute. "He's my brother," he said so deadpan that for a moment I thought he was joking.
"No? Your brother plays major league baseball." I pulled my phone out of my pocket and immediately looked him up.
Logan walked over and pulled my phone from my hand. "There's no need to look him up. Don't believe me?" He took my hand and led me to his desk in the corner. He grabbed a picture frame and handed it to me. "There we are—the happy family. Dad, Mom, Caleb, and me."
His dad was a distinguished older man who looked like he'd been an athlete in his day. His mom was thin and pretty, also athletic looking, like someone who probably rode horses or played tennis at a club. Logan looked so handsome he was hard not to stare at and his brother could have been his twin.
"This proves nothing except you have a brother. A twin?" I said, thrilled by the possibility.
He sighed. "Baby brother. Eleven months younger than I am. It's a common misperception." He picked up another picture. This one was of Caleb in a Cubbies' catcher uniform, squatting, mitt out ready to catch a ball.
"Wow!" I said, trying not to sound as impressed as I felt. As proud as Logan sounded, I sensed there was more to this story and it wasn't all happy. "He's a year younger than you are and he's already actually playing for the Cubs?"
Logan nodded. "He was drafted right out of high school. First round. Only the fortieth player from Washington state since 1965 to be drafted right out of high school and the first first-round catcher drafted at all since 2000." His voice was filled with pride, but his moods were mercurial. Just as quickly, his tone slid into sneering. "My dad's pride and joy. All of his dreams come true in one son."
I was still staring at the picture. I turned to Logan, hoping I didn't see scarring, deforming jealousy there. I set the picture back on the desk, which was when I noticed a picture of Logan with his arms around Kelsie like she was his girlfriend, both of them smiling into the camera, looking happily like two people in love. This was not going well—for either of us.
I was wrong—not every new revelation was beautifully shiny and a new wonder to behold about Logan.
I took a deep breath, pointed to the picture of Caleb, and stumbled forward. "That's the problem with your dad? You think he loves your brother more? You think he's prouder of him?"
"I know he's prouder of him." Logan took a few steps backward and fell into a seated position on his bed.
I sat cautiously next to him, dying to hear his side and not wanting my illusions about him to shatter. We're all human, but whether I'd wanted to or not, I'd put Logan on a pedestal. Kind of hard not to do when he'd been so sweet and saved my life, too. "I'm sorry." I didn't know what to say.
"Don't be. It's not your fault." He leaned back against the wall. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I love my brother. I'm thrilled for him. Proud as an older brother can be. He's living his dream. And Dad's. He's earning piles of money and the chicks love him. He even has groupies."
"Well, of course there's that. Every guy's dream to have groupies," I said, teasing.
Logan ignored my comment. "Caleb was born to play ball. He is a seriously intuitive player. He knows things you can't teach, like how to read what a player on base will do. He's gifted. A baseball genius.
"Way better than I ever was, or ever would be. I don't have the intuitive feel for the game he does. He worked fucking hard. He deserves his success."
"You played, too?" I had a terrible sense of where this was headed.
Logan nodded. "Yeah, I played." He snorted. "I was Dad's pride and joy for about three seconds when I was four. Until Caleb picked up a ball at my t-ball practice and that was it.
"From then on Dad pitted Caleb and me against each other in a sick kind of competition, even though neither of us felt compelled to compete against the other. We were actually each other's biggest support.
"Dad did his damnedest to make it impossible for us each to accomplish at our own level and be happy with what we achieved. One of us always has to best the other. Dad brags about the victor and belittles the loser." He paused. "The reigning champ has always been Caleb.
"Nothing I've done has mattered as much to Dad as what Caleb does. My talents don't impress him and never will. I could start the next Microsoft or Google or Facebook and Dad wouldn't care."
I put my arm around Logan's shoulder. My heart went out to him. I didn't have either a father or a brother. But I had a mom who drove the wedge of competition between us, so I understood.
"That's real crappy of your dad." I leaned my head on his shoulder. "But it's his problem, Logan. Not yours."
"Easy to say," he said. "Maybe I could even have dealt if that was it." He stared at the desk across from us. "I was a pitcher, the prestige position. All my life, Caleb and I played on the same teams. Me pitching. Him catching. We were the dynamic Walker brothers, an inseparable, unbeatable team because we could read each other like twins. Baseball stars. We went to the Little League World Series together and won the championship. We played on all-star teams together.
"My freshman year here I played on scholarship."
I squeezed his shoulder. I had no idea. "But…" I was confused. "Where is all your memorabilia? And why—"
"Did I quit?" His laugh was cynical. "I didn't love baseball as much as Caleb and Dad. But I played to please them. My freshman year, Dad came to exactly one game. It was the only one that didn't conflict with Caleb's. That was the excuse.
"He came to the last game of the season, and I think it was only because Mom guilted him into it. It was a bear of a game and we were hurting because we'd had so many injuries. I was a relief pitcher. I rarely pitched more than an inning or two. But our two first-string pitchers were injured."
He took a deep breath. "I pitched the whole fucking game. To impress my dad. And because Dad cajoled the coach and encouraged him to keep me in. And there was no one else." He was silent a minute.
I waited for the rest of what I was certain was a story that ended badly.
"A pitcher should never pitch when they're fatigued. I threw an impressive game—a no-hitter. Until the last inning. I threw a curveball and threw out my shoulder at the same time.
"I collapsed in pain on the mound. Everyone thought I'd dislocated my shoulder. But it was much worse—I tore the labrum in my pitching shoulder."
I gasped, because even I knew what that meant. That was a career-ending injury for a pitcher.
"Yeah," he said. "Only about three percent of pitchers ever come back from that. Half a dozen surgeries later, I was part of the ninety-seven percent. I lost my scholarship. I couldn't play anymore.
"Dad blamed me. Said if I hadn't been hotdogging…" He choked up. "If it hadn't
been for Jason Front…
"I don't know what I would have done. I was depressed. I didn't go to class. I was failing out and I didn't give a shit. I drank too much. I totaled my car and banged myself up pretty badly. Subconsciously, maybe I was trying to end it all. I don't know.
"Jason pulled me through. Gave me a job as an RTA, encouraged my love of computers and engineering. He's the best guy around and one of my closest friends. He's like a big brother to me. He's the most awesome dad to Mia. If I'd had a dad like him… Mia's lucky."
Tears welled up in my eyes and my pulse pounded in my temples. This was all too much to take in. The ramifications of what Logan was telling me were overwhelming. My heart was breaking for him and us and everything.
He stripped his shirt off and pointed to the tattoo on his shoulder. "This covers the scars. To new beginnings. It was Jason's gift to me."
I hesitantly touched it and leaned over to inspect it. The scar was so expertly woven in the tattoo, that unless you knew it was there, you'd never see it.
Logan looked vulnerable and handsome, in need of comfort. And I was aching to touch him. I slid onto his lap and straddled him. I leaned over and gently kissed his scar. "You'll always be my favorite baseball player, even though I never saw you play."
He caught my waist and held it tightly as I kissed his shoulder and his neck, and finally pulled back to look him in the eye. He slid his hands beneath my T-shirt and pulled it off over my head.
He pressed a kiss between my breasts, licking the valley between them until I shuddered with pleasure. Then he slowly worked his way up my neck, nibbling and trailing hot, insistent kisses until he found my mouth and possessed it.
He was hard between my legs. I wanted him. I wanted him so badly I ached with the need of it. But not like this. Not when I was just a means of mindless comfort. When he reached to unlatch my front-hook bra, I pulled out of his kiss and grabbed his hands to stop him.
We stared at each other a minute.
"We're supposed to be just friends." My voice was shaky. "I'm not a friends-with-benefits kind of girl." It was the truth. I was all or nothing. I never wanted to be halfway, half anything.
"I'm sorry, El." He was breathing hard. "I can't help myself when I'm around you."
Just then I got a whiff of something burning as the fire alarm squealed.
"The last batch of cookies!" I pulled my T-shirt on, climbed off Logan, and ran for the kitchen. When I pulled the cookies out, they were burnt black and ruined. Kind of like Logan and me.
I had known it was foolhardy to get too close to Logan, knowing he worked for my dad, and then discovering he was my dad's favorite. But the revelations of the last few minutes had been too much. It was no longer foolhardy. It was suicidal. Not to mention we couldn't keep our hands off each other.
Chapter Nine
I left Logan a dozen cookies, tossed the burnt ones, and wrapped up the rest. He drove me home mostly in silence.
He apologized again when he dropped me off. "I'm sorry, El. I didn't mean for things to get out of hand. It won't happen again."
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "It's okay. It was my fault, too."
Back in my room, I fell into a horribly blue funk. I should have been elated—a reliable character witness with absolutely no agenda and no prompting had just told me what a great bio dad I had. On the other hand, even though I'd known Logan less than two weeks, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep my secret from him. And I felt an odd combination of emotions—joy that my bio dad was a good guy. Jealousy that Logan and he were so close. And real terror at what Logan would think if he ever found out the connection between me and Jason. Would he hate me? Feel betrayed? Or like I was using him to get information?
It was all a complicated, horrible mess. I couldn't let what I felt for Logan screw up my plans. I had to feel free to reveal myself to Jason if I felt the need. And the more I learned about him, the more I wanted him to know I was his daughter. I just needed a little more time to think it through and weigh all the ramifications. A little more time without how I felt about Logan making me back off.
As they say, blood is thicker than water—right? A relationship with my dad was more important than a friendship, or whatever it was, with Logan. I had to break it off with Logan. I couldn't see him. I couldn't even be his friend. But if I did, I was going to look like the biggest douchebag who ever walked the face of the planet. How would I ever explain? I couldn't.
On Tuesday, I ignored a text from Logan. And felt like crap. My heart was broken. I couldn't treat him this way. He didn't deserve it. I had to face him and tell him in person that I couldn't even be his friend. But I was a coward.
I felt so meek and beaten down that I cried when I went to Byron's office for chem help that afternoon and gave him the cookies I'd made at Logan's.
Byron was so startled that he awkwardly put his arm around me and swore to play hero.
I put my head on his shoulder and bawled.
He stiffly patted my back like he was burping a baby. "Don't cry. I'll make sure you pass chemistry. It will be all right. We'll make a standing tutoring appointment for every Tuesday after lab. I'll be all yours for that hour. How does that sound?"
I nodded and dabbed at my eyes with a tissue he handed me. I swear his chest puffed out. Logan had saved my life and Byron was determined to save my chemistry grade. Since when had I become so needy?
I texted Logan the ominous We need to talk. As everyone knows, "we need to talk" is code for "this may be the last time we ever do."
Logan met me in the mall outside the SUB. His black eye was healing really well. He grew handsomer every day as his face returned to normal, a normal that was new to me. He wore a somber expression when he joined me on a bench in the shade of a large maple tree. Its leaves blew gently in a breeze that finally had a touch of cool to it. Usually I found the sound calming. Today it only sounded sad.
"Hey." Logan sat next to me.
"Hey." I couldn't meet his eye.
"You want to tell me what this is about?" His voice was ragged, like he already knew.
I screwed up my courage before I lost it completely, and spoke softly, trying not to break down. "I can't do it, Logan. It's not working. I can't be your friend. And I can't explain exactly why. It's too complicated and it's all tied up in what I'm dealing with." I dabbed at my eyes. "And then there's the fact that I can't keep my hands off you."
He put a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, you're an animal."
I tried to laugh.
"What are you saying, El?"
"You know what I'm saying—I can't be your friend and I can't be more. Not right now. Not until I've sorted a lot of crap out. Does that sound familiar? But it's true. And maybe when everything is out, you won't want to be my friend anyway. Or you'll still be dealing with yours and not ready, either."
"I'll always be your friend, El."
He didn't know what he was promising.
"After what you shared with me last night, I feel like the biggest jerk in the world." I finally did look at him, but tears blurred my vision. "It has nothing to do with that. You'll always be my favorite baseball player."
He nodded and remained silent, looking almost as miserable as I was.
"And I still owe you two. If you ever need me, anytime, anyplace, I'll come running. Promise. But just now, we have to be coworkers and that's it." I nearly choked on the words.
"You're right, El." His voice was tender and sympathetic. "I was up most of the night thinking about it. I came to the same conclusion. We both have our shit to deal with, and until we do, we're not free. I agree and think it's best if we don't hang out with each other."
"It's going to be tough. What are the ground rules? Are office gatherings off limits? No more office pizza dinners?" I asked.
"Office pizza and anytime we're in public in a crowd should be okay." He gave me a sad half-smile. "If we behave ourselves."
I nodded, feeling more miserable than after I ende
d it with Austin.
Logan gave me a hug that lasted too long to be casual. It was definitely a goodbye hug, and poignant because of it. When he released me, he stood to go. "See you around, El. Take care."
I listened to him walk away. I couldn't bear to watch him. And then I broke down and cried.
August melted into September. I stayed on campus for the long Labor Day weekend. There was no way I was going home, maybe not even for Thanksgiving or Christmas if I could help it. Campus was quiet. Bre, Taylor, and Nic all went home. I moped around and did stupid stuff, like trying to piece together Logan's life, even though I knew I should just forget about him.
I looked up his brother and followed the Cubs' games and Caleb's stats. I tried to figure out exactly when Logan had taken Chem 202 and if it had somehow corresponded with his horrible accident or one of the surgeries. I looked up everything I could on labrum injuries, hoping there was a cure.
I baked cookies in the small kitchen in the dorm basement that was for student use and studied with Dex. He tried to get me to come with him to the dunes and play beer pong, but I was too despondent to go anywhere. So I locked myself in the dorm and read romance novels for study breaks and cried because I couldn't imagine romance ever working out for me.
My depression was so deep that Dex couldn't stand it. On Sunday afternoon, he took me out for coffee—his treat—pried the story out of me, and tried to cheer me up. "He's not worth it, Ellie, even if he did save your life. You don't need to get mixed up with someone with problems. Mysterious problems. Find some guy with his head screwed on straight and move on."
I sighed heavily. "But his dreams were shattered and it has something to do with Chem 202. If I could piece it together, I could help him."
Dex gave me his trademarked skeptical look. "Guys don't like to talk about stuff like girls do. If he wanted you to know, he'd tell you. You promised not to pry."
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