by Megyn Ward
Before I think too much about it, the door is opened and my father is led in, shuffling along in a pair of prison slip-ons, hands cuffed and restrained at his sides by a set of waist chains. When he sees me, his face splits into a grin so wide, I can see the prison dentist fillings in his back molars. He almost looks the same. Dark hair, cut neat and tidy, lying flat across his head, just starting to show signs of gray. Pale blue eyes that crinkle at their corners when he smiles. The slight cleft in his chin that’s just beginning to soften. Even in the correctional facility jumpsuit, he looks like what he was—a high school math teacher—and not what he is—a soulless monster.
“Matthew,” he says, beaming at me while the guard leads him over to the chair, furthest away from the door and pushes him into it. “You don’t know how good it is to see you—how long I’ve waited for this day.”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming. Dig my toes into the concrete floor to keep for launching myself across the table while the guard uses another set of chains to secure my father to the chair before he uncuffs his hands. As soon as it’s done, the guard straightens himself and looks at me. “You got ten minutes, man.”
“Ten minutes?” My father looks at the guard and then back at me like he expects me to argue. Ask for more time. When I don’t, he frowns. “I haven’t seen my son in nearly twenty years, surely you don’t think—”
“Ten minutes is plenty,” I tell the guard and he give me a nod on his way out the door. As soon as the door is shut, I take a seat at the table across from my father.
Giving me a nervous look, he shifts in his seat, rattling the chains that bind him to it. “You’re still angry with me,” he tells me with a matter of fact nod. “You still blame me for what—”
“Shut up.” I say it quietly the tone of my voice snapping his mouth shut. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get blame her for what you did.”
“She was going to leave us, Matthew,” he says, his tone going soft, pleading with me to see reason.
“She wasn’t going to leave us—there was no us. She was going to leave you,” I tell him. “She was going to leave you and take me with her. That’s why you killed her. That’s why you killed all of them—because they didn’t want you. They wanted to leave and because you’re a sad, sick, piece of shit.”
“You’re my son,” he reminds me, lifting his hands to place them on the table between us. “That’s my blood in your veins. My voice in your head—so, if I’m a sad, sick piece of shit, doesn’t that make you the same?”
A week ago, I would’ve believed him. Would’ve agreed but not anymore. “I’m not all you—” I tell him, thinking about my mother, how hard she fought for me. For us. “She’s in me too and she was stronger than you think.”
“Your mother was a whore,” He spits it at me. “They all were… just like your girl,” he says, switching gears because if he can’t control me, manipulate me, he’ll do his level best to destroy any good thing in my life he can reach. “What’s her name… Jane?” He sits back in his chair, dragging his hands across the table until they land in his lap with a dull slap. “Is that why you’re here? You want to tell me her? She’s pretty. A lot prettier than the last one and from what I’ve heard she’s—”
I stand up from my seat so fast I knock my chair over. Giving it a vicious kick I send it spinning and bumping across the slick, polished concrete before it slams into the wall. “You don’t get to talk about her either.” I say, lunging across the table, grinning like a lunatic when he shrinks back in his chair. “Matter of fact, you don’t get to talk about any of them—but to answer your question—no, I didn’t come here to talk about Jane,” I say quietly, planting my hands on the table so I can lean in even closer. “I came here to show you.”
Recovering quickly, my father smirks, a quick twitch of lips that does nothing to hide how nervous I make him. “Show me what?”
“How easily I can get in here. How close I can get to you…” I say, staring at him, showing him the monster that lives inside me, making him look until he starts to squirm. Until he looks away. Lifting a hand, I snap it out and grab his face, forcing him to look at me. Feel the river of rage he set loose inside me, the day he killed my mother. “And to tell you that you’re right—I do think about killing. I think about blood. I want to do it, just like you said. Sometimes, I want it so much I make myself sick with it—but it’s you I want to hurt. Only you—no one else—and there’s just enough you inside me that I could. I could kill you, painfully and violently, without even thinking twice—and this is the important part, so you’re going to want to pay attention,” I tell him, squeezing my fingers around his trembling chin and giving it a jerk when he tries to look away. He’s afraid of me and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me happy. “If you ever contact me or even think about Jane or any of my family again, I’ll come back here and the guards will let me in and I’ll stomp your fucking head in.” Shoving his face away, I straighten, glaring down at him. “And I’ll take the whole ten minutes to do it. That’s what I came here to say.”
Turning away from him, I retrieve my chair and set it back on its legs before pushing it in, under the table, like I found it. “One other thing…” Hands wrapped around the back of the chair, I give it a squeeze. Pretend it’s his neck. “As soon as I leave, you’re going to tell the guard where you buried those women—every single one of them.”
“Am I?” My father’s expression sours, like a sullen child who’s about to lose his favorite toy. “And why would I do that?”
“Because I remember everything you taught me. That there are worse things than dying…” I tell him, a cold smile playing across my mouth. “And those things come pretty cheap in a place like this.”
Letting go of the chair, I take the trip to the heavy steel door. Banging the side of my fist against it, I step back when I hear the key turning inside it’s lock. “My father has something to tell you,” I say, as soon as the door swings open. Pushing my way past the guard, I leave my father behind without a backward glance.
Forty-Nine
Jane
I stayed at Emmett’s longer than I intended. So long in fact that by the time I pull Tobias’ Porsche back into its designated parking spot, it’s dark outside. In the elevator, I lean heavily against the wall and punch the button for Logan’s floor. He won’t let me stay, probably won’t even let me inside, but I have something to give him before he leaves.
A letter from his grandfather.
Stepping out of the car when it hits his floor, I walk down the hall to stop in front of his door. Lifting my fist, I knock. Imagining him looking at me through the peep hole, I shift from one foot to the other. When he doesn’t answer, I think briefly about just shoving the letter under his door but I don’t because I don’t want to deliver it the same way his father’s letters are delivered.
Instead, I take the stairs to my floor, resolved to return the keys to the Porsche rather than keep them any longer than I have to. Knocking on Silver’s door, I plan out what I’m going to tell her, that I had something important to do and that my car is stranded at Gilroy’s and I ducked in early this morning to borrow a car without asking because she was sleeping and I didn’t want to—
Unlike Logan’s door, Silver’s is answered almost immediately after I knock.
It’s Tobias.
He’s home.
“Oh.” I feel my fingers tighten around the keys in my hand, “I…” lifting it, I dangle the fob between us while I scramble to gain my bearings, make some sense, because if Tobias is home, that means that Logan isn’t.
It means he packed up and left.
He’s gone.
Tobias’ face falls into a frown. “Jane?”
“I borrowed your car.” Snapping out of it, I give him a lopsided grin. “I’m sorry I didn’t—”
“You don’t have to ask,” he tells me, pulling the keys out of my hand to toss them back into the bowl. “And you don’t have to kno
ck either. You want to come in—Silver’s in the shower and the kid’s got me elbow deep in pasta carburetors.”
“Carbonara,” Noah shouts from the kitchen, making Tobias laugh.
“No, no…” I shake my head. “I don’t want to intrude,” I tell him, plastering a bright smile across my face while backing away from the door. Turning away from him, I make it halfway to my apartment before I hear their door click shut. A second later I feel a hand fall on my shoulder.
“Jane—” Gripping my arm gently, Tobias stops my retreat and turns me around to face him. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” As soon as he has me turned to face him, he drops his hand to shove it into his pocket. “I don’t know if you know or not, but I’ve commissioned Patrick and Declan to build a house as a surprise for Silver. We’re way off on the build—probably a year or better but I was wondering if you’d maybe sit down with me sometime and give me some insight into what you think Silver would want in a house.” He gives me a sheepish smile and lifts a hand to run it over the top of his head in a gesture that reminds so much of his brother that for a minute I can’t breathe. I don’t know how I’m still standing. “I want to build her dream house. I want it to be perfect for her and you know her best, so I just thought maybe—”
“Silver doesn’t know about the house?”
When he gives me a confused look and shakes his head, I throw myself at him, my arms around his neck, so hard it nearly knocks him over. “You’re a good man, Tobias,” I tell him, squeezing him so hard he grunts out a surprised laugh. Letting him go, I drop my arms and take a step back. “And yes, I’ll help you.”
Letting me go this time, Tobias watches while I unlock my door and let myself into my apartment. Shooting him a small, over the shoulder wave and smile, I push my door open and cross the threshold, letting my purse slide off my shoulder and onto the floor. Shutting the door behind me, I lean against it with a sigh, eyes closed.
Logan is gone.
He left.
I lost him.
As soon as I think it, I shake my head.
No.
I’m not giving up.
On him.
On us.
I’m not going to wait for fate to intervene again.
I’m going to find him and bring him home. Conner will know where he went. I’ll make him tell me. I’ll go after him. Tell him he’s not going to get rid of me that—
“What are you doing?”
My eyes pop open and I let out a little yelp when I hear his voice.
Logan is sitting on my couch, his feet kicked up on my coffee table, my laptop open and balanced on his thighs.
“You’re here. I mean—” It’s a stupid thing to say. So stupid, I start over. “How—how’d you get in here?”
“I abused my building super privileges and used my key.” Fingers flying over my laptop’s keyboard, Logan flashes me a quick grin. “I figure that makes us even.” Giving the keyboard a few, final clicks, he closes it and sets it aside to stand. “There—no more clown porn.” When I don’t laugh at his joke, his grin falls flat. “When I woke up you were gone.”
“Oh…” I shake my head. “I—”
“When I woke up, you were gone and Declan Gilroy was trying to break my door down because you snuck into work at the crack of dawn and left a cryptic note on your computer and he was pretty sure I had you tied up in my bathroom.”
Shit.
“Logan—”
“You were gone, Jane.” He stops talking, looks away from me, brow furrowed. “Gone and I thought—”
“Jenny.” My hand flies to my mouth and my eyes widen because I’m mortified that I’d been so careless. So thoughtless after everything he shared with my last night. “I’m sorry—oh my god. I didn't even think… I should’ve—”
“What?” When I say Jenny’s name, he looks at me, face collapsed into a scowl like he has no idea what I’m talking about. “No.” He shakes his head, running his hand over the back of it in frustration. “My father left a note on my car—at the bar Thursday night. He—” He drops his hand and looks away again. “He knows about you—us. He knows about us and he left a note and then you left a note for Declan at work and I thought…” He can’t finish it. He can’t tell me what he thought but he doesn’t have to. I know because I can see it, all over his face.
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. I just keep standing here, in the middle of my apartment because I don’t what else to do. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, Jane.” He takes a rough swipe at his face and sighs. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It’s me. I’m the messed up one here. I’m the one who’s—”
Leaving.
He doesn’t have to finish that one either.
Twisting my fingers together in an effort to keep myself from bursting into tears, I nod. “Tobias is home.” Somehow, I manage to get the words out without choking on them.
“I know.” He looks miserable when he says it.
“When…” I can’t say it. I have to take a deep breath and start over. “When are you leaving?”
“I should already be gone,” he tells me, confirming everything I’d been fearing since I knocked on his door when I got back. “I shouldn’t be here. I should—”
“No.” I shake my head, stepping away from the door, moving toward the couch because I know what this is. Why he’s here. This is goodbye and I refuse to hear it. Refuse to accept it. “No—you’re not leaving. You can’t. Silver and Tobias just had a baby and Noah adores you—he needs you. Your family needs you,” I tell him, remembering all the things I told his grandfather about him. How wonderful he is with his nephew. What a good man he is. What a good brother. “You can’t leave them. You can’t leave—” me. Instead of letting it out, I swallow the word and shake my head again because I’m the reason he’s leaving. I’m the last reason he’d stay. “If it’s me you’re running from then I’ll leave. I’ll move to—”
“I said I should, Jane—I didn’t say I was going to.” He frowns, suddenly catching the last of my tirade. “Wait—do you want to leave?”
“No, I don’t want to leave.” I whisper, shaking my head, not daring to believe that he said what I thought I heard. “You said I should…”
“Yeah.” Logan skirts the coffee table to stand in front of me. “I should… but sitting here, waiting for you to come home, I came up with a really terrible idea.”
My heart is squeezed up into my throat and I have to swallow hard against the bulk of it so I can speak. “How terrible?”
He grins at me. “Pretty fuckin’ terrible.”
“I love terrible ideas,” I tell him. “Let’s hear it.”
“Okay…” he reaches for the hands I’m trying to tie into knots and gives them a squeeze. “How about we both stay.”
It takes me a few seconds to put it together. Understand what he’s telling me.
Asking me.
“Both of us stay?” I look around the apartment. “Here—together?”
“The here is optional,” he says, nodding his head while he reaches up to push the hair out of my face. “But I’m pretty pro-together.”
“It’s sounds horrible.” I tell him, giving him a watery laugh. “Let’s do it.”
“You’re crying again.” Frowning, he brushes the pad of his thumb against my cheekbone. “I don’t like it when you cry.”
“I already told you, Logan you’re just going to have to get used to it—” Turning my face into his hand, I smile. “You make me feel big things.”
“I love you.” His expression softens, the hand on my face slipping down to cradle the back of my neck. “I know that sounds insane, but there it is. I love you, Jane. I’ve got some scary shit inside me but I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never be him. I know that now. I’ll never—”
“I know,” I tell him, lifting myself onto my toes to press my mouth against his. “I love you. I trust you.” Pulling back, I give him a nervo
us grin. “I have to tell you something. About where I was. I went to see—”
“My grandfather.”
“Are you mad?”
He gives me another crooked grin. “No.” Framing my face with his hands, he leans in to press his lips to my forehead. “I’m not mad.”
“He wrote you a letter,” I tell him, for the first time wondering if it was a good idea. “I have it. Do you want to read it?”
“No…” he shakes his head at me, brow slightly furrowed, his ice blue gaze roving over my face like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it. “Not right now.”
“I didn’t read it.” I shake my head and he laughs because he knows how hard it was for me not to. “Is it okay that I meddled?”
“It’s more than okay.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. Pressing it into my hand, he kisses me again. “I’ve decided I like it when you meddle.”
Looking down, I see what he’s given me. It’s the key to his apartment. “Does this mean I get to snoop whenever I want?”
“Yup,” he tells me, the hand wrapped around the back of my neck tightens slightly while his thumb strokes the side of my neck, his mouth skimming over my wet cheeks before pressing itself against mine. “Thank you.” he whispers, pulling back just enough to give me a smile.
“For being a snoopy busybody?” I joke, smiling back.
“Nope,” he says, pulling me even closer, his hand slipping into my hair to cradle the back of my head so he can kiss me again. “Thank you for saving me.”
Epilogue
Logan Five months later…
Rolling over, I reach for her and come up empty. Frowning a little, I reach further, running a hand under the covers next to me.