Logan's Redemption

by Cara Marsi

  He glanced at his watch. “A little early for lunch, isn’t it?”

  She grinned. “But not too early for a surprise.”

  “What are we doing here?” Logan asked thirty minutes later. He and Doriana sat at a red light in one of the city’s worst districts.

  Memories crushed Logan, making his chest tighten. He’d grown up two blocks away. The harsh, unyielding neighborhood had gotten worse in the years since he’d left. Despair and hopelessness reeked from every corner like the garbage piled up in the streets. Even the city seemed to have forgotten the miserable wretches who lived here.

  Doriana pulled up in front of a sorry-looking building with a crooked sign proclaiming it a nursing home for the old and sick.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  She cut the engine and turned to him. “This is your Christmas present.” Excitement colored her voice. “I hired a private eye to find him.”

  “Find who?”

  Doriana grabbed his hand where it lay on the console between them. “Your father. He’s here. In this place. It’s my gift to you.”

  He struggled to breathe over the roaring in his ears. His father. The sorry bastard who made his life hell. He could rot for all he cared. “Oh, God, Doriana. You don’t know what you’ve done.”

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “What’s wrong, Logan?”

  “You found my father. That’s what’s wrong.”

  “But he’s your father. You told me you didn’t know where he was.”

  “I told you I didn’t care if he was dead or alive. I didn’t ask you to find him.”

  Doriana paled. Logan took a calming breath, hating himself for hurting her. Hating himself for the trembling that churned his stomach at the thought of seeing his father again.

  “I’m sorry, Doriana.” He cupped her face between his hands, needing her touch and her spirit to chase the ghosts that damned his soul.

  His head pounded with ugly memories. The beatings that left him bruised and worse. The verbal abuse heaped on him day after day for years.

  “Logan?” Doriana grasped his wrist. Her huge chocolate eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  He kissed her then, taking her full lips with a savagery he couldn’t control. Only Doriana could exorcise the demons that plagued him. She resisted at first. Then her body softened against his and her mouth opened to him, giving him her trust.

  And he was using her. He pulled away. Their heavy breathing mingled with the traffic noises on the busy street.

  “What was that all about?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

  “Take what out on me? What’s wrong?” Her lower lip trembled. “I wanted to give you something for Christmas that would make you happy. But I’ve hurt you instead.”

  “Sweet Doriana. You didn’t know.” He gathered her into his arms. The wood console dug into his thighs. He welcomed the pain as atonement for the shame and guilt he’d carried for so many years.

  She hugged him close, then pushed away to stroke a slim finger along his cheekbone. “You need to see him. He’s dying. Cancer.”

  Her dark eyes seemed to dig into his very heart. He couldn’t let her down. And he couldn’t ignore the perverted curiosity that made him want to see what had become of the old man. Maybe it was time to banish the devil from his soul.

  “I’ll go see him,” he said. “For you.”

  “No, do this for you.”

  He released a breath and looked around at the menacing surroundings. “You can’t stay alone in the car. Wait for me inside.”

  They got out of the car and Doriana locked it, making sure to set the car’s alarm. Logan held onto her elbow, guiding her up the steep steps into the dreary-looking nursing home. The odor of urine and disinfectant and death assaulted them. Logan wanted to retch. Bored-looking staff milled around the reception desk. Even the workers’ uniforms were yellowed and grungy.

  “Stay here,” he said, motioning Doriana to a cracked leather chair.

  A middle-aged woman who reeked of cigarette smoke watched him approach the desk.

  “Jerry Tanner’s room,” he said.

  Giving him an annoyed look, she pulled out a small file box and thumbed through it. “Room 207. Elevators are down the hall on your left.”

  The odor of human waste stung Logan’s eyes when he stepped out of the elevator on the second floor. He put a hand over his mouth. He’d been in worse conditions. He could handle it. But he’d rather face a desperate enemy than the man in room 207.

  Logan trudged down the hall. His rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the linoleum like perverted music sending him to his own execution. When he reached the room where his father waited, he held onto the doorframe until the wave of nausea passed. Squaring his shoulders, he marched in.

  A skeletal figure on the rumpled bed turned at the sound of Logan’s footsteps. Father and son stared at each other. The old man’s once-handsome face was shrunken and ravaged. The eyes that had glowed dark green were glassy with crusty deposits at the corners.

  “You came,” the old man said in a raspy voice. “I prayed you would.”

  “You prayed?” Logan said with a bitter laugh. “Why?”

  “I drove you away,” his father said.

  “You did.” Logan fisted his hands at his sides and moved farther into the room.

  The old man’s watery gaze locked with his. Logan resisted the impulse to look away.

  “When I lost your mother I lost everything,” Jerry Tanner said.

  “I lost both my parents when she died,” Logan said.

  His father clutched the yellowed bed sheets with a bony hand. “I made a mess of things. Wish I could change it.”

  “It’s too late now.” Sadness welled up in Logan. He wanted to hate this man, but a part of him cried for what might have been.

  His father’s gaze raked over him. “You’ve done well. I can tell.”

  “No thanks to you,” Logan said.

  Tears wet the old man’s cheeks. “I deserved that.”

  Some of the anger and pain that had plagued Logan since he’d fled the city all those years ago seeped out. “What happened to you?”

  His father’s thin lips twisted. “Bad liquor and even badder women. Did you come to cheer my death?” Dry, hacking coughs racked his fragile body. He motioned toward the glass of water that rested on the table next to his bed.

  Logan grabbed the glass and stopped. The last time he’d touched his father he’d wanted to kill him. Had almost killed him. That night set off a chain of events that had come full circle today in this place with the stench of death all around them.

  Shrugging off the painful memories, Logan bent to help his father sit up. Fighting the urge to recoil from the old man’s wretched body that smelled of decay, Logan held the glass while his father sipped. His father waved the glass away and slid back onto the pillow, turning a sly gaze on Logan.

  “Got your revenge now, huh? Seeing me die. You should have killed me that night.”

  “I thought I had,” Logan said.

  “Would have been better if you did, boy. Can’t blame you for hating me. I made your mother suffer.”

  “I don’t hate you. Not any more.” The words slipped out, but Logan couldn’t deny the truth. Some of his rage and need to strike back had dissipated into the choking atmosphere. He felt freer than he had in a long time. And all because of the woman who waited downstairs.

  “Why did you come back?” his father asked.

  “Work,” Logan said. “And a woman.”

  “There’s always a woman.” The old man’s eyelids drooped.

  “You have a grandson,” Logan said.

  His father opened his eyes. His face lit up and Logan saw a shadow of the man Jerry Tanner had once been. “Where?” His father tried to pull himself up before falling back onto the dirty pillow.

  “Here, in the city.”

  “You do right by him.�
� His father’s eyes began to drift shut. “Want to meet him.” He closed his eyes. His shallow breathing and the whirr of the machines hooked up to his body were the only sounds in the room.

  Logan stared down at his father. Hard to believe he’d spent most of his life consumed by hatred for the pathetic man lying before him. But he hadn’t turned out like his old man, or had he? Despite his success, Logan had no one, just like his father. It was too late for Jerry Tanner, but not for him. With one last glance at the bed, Logan walked out of the room.

  An attendant directed Logan to the manager’s office. Despite the living hell his father had put him through, he couldn’t let his own flesh and blood die in this rat’s nest. He’d make sure his father’s last weeks were comfortable. It was the least he could do.

  Doriana stood when Logan entered the reception area. Anxiety clouded her eyes. He touched her elbow and led her out.

  “Are you okay, Logan?”

  The concern in her voice made his heart trip. Maybe Doriana cared for him after all.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, anxious to be free of the despair that clung to the building like mud. He’d arranged to have his father moved to the best nursing home in the city. He could afford it. And maybe the guilt he’d carried all these years would finally leave.

  As Doriana eased the car out of the parking spot, Logan stared at her profile, the firm chin and proud Patrician nose. Her black hair swung free and loose around her face, as if begging for him to tangle his hands in the silken strands and bury his face in the smooth skin of her neck. Inviting him to taste the salvation she offered.

  “Doriana, it’s okay.”

  “I wasn’t sure.” She kept her attention on the narrow street as she maneuvered the car. But she couldn’t hide the slight shaking in her voice.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I have a lot to think about.”

  “Did your father have something to do with your leaving?” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel and she kept her gaze straight ahead.

  “Yes.”

  They’d come to a red light. She looked at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  His gaze locked with hers. “I need to talk about it.”

  “Let’s go home,” she said.

  “What about work?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  * * * *

  The afternoon quiet of the house helped settle Doriana’s pounding heart. “I’ll make tea.” Shrugging off her coat and tossing it onto a chair, she headed for the kitchen. Some instinct propelled her to keep busy, to keep her fears and insecurities at bay. Did she want the truth? What if Logan admitted he’d never loved her, that her memories of their time together were a myth?

  “I don’t want anything,” he said, grabbing her arm and stopping her. “Sit down before I lose my nerve.”

  Doriana started to protest, but when she saw the hollow look in his eyes, she went to the living room sofa and sat down, clasping her hands on her lap to stop their shaking.

  Still wearing his leather jacket, Logan paced the room. “I never knew a time when my father didn’t drink. I think my father loved my mother, but he was never happy. I don’t know why.” Bitterness and hurt colored his voice.

  “Oh, Logan,” Doriana said. “I’m so sorry.”

  He turned to her, his features tight. “I don’t want your pity. I didn’t want it then and I don’t want it now.”

  She nodded.

  He leaned against the mantle and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. His harsh, unyielding gaze bore into hers. “In his drunken stupors my dad threw things. Sometimes he put his fist through the wall. Once he broke all of my mom’s best china. I never saw him hit her, but she’d have bruises on her face and arms. She always denied that he’d put them there.” Logan’s face twisted with grief. “I should have protected her.”

  Doriana fought tears. She wanted to go to Logan, to comfort and hold him until the pain went away, but he needed to talk. “You were just a child.”

  “I’ve told myself that a thousand times,” he said. “But it doesn’t help. I don’t know why my mother put up with him. Maybe she hoped he’d change.”

  Doriana dug her fingers into her palms. “Maybe she loved him and didn’t want to give up on him. And I’m sure she loved you very much.”

  He nodded. “My mom shielded me as best she could. But I hated being home. School was a refuge to me. Until I was old enough to hang out on the streets.”

  He took deep breaths. Doriana suspected he was working to hold his emotions under control. A door slammed outside. The mantle clock ticked softly in the quiet room.

  Logan’s intense gaze lasered hers. “When my mother died, my dad started on me. At first it was just verbal abuse. Then it turned physical. I stayed away from home as much as possible. I drank. I joined a gang, did some street fighting.”

  He gave a short bitter laugh. “I was becoming my father.”

  “I had no idea,” she said softly.

  “You saved me from myself,” he said with a small smile. “I remember the day we met. You were so sweet and innocent. And sexy. You were from a better world. I began to hope again.”

  “Oh, Logan.” Her throat thickened with unshed tears.

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “But you can’t escape who you are. One night after we were together, I went home feeling good about myself. You did that to me. I should have known it couldn’t last.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Dad was drunker than I’d seen him in a long time. I tried to ignore him, but he was itching for a fight. He hit me hard.”

  Logan’s features tensed and he glanced away. “This time I hit back. A lot. We had a drag out fight. Things got broken. But we didn’t let up until he was on the floor bleeding.”

  He looked at her then. She put a hand to her mouth to keep from crying out at the raw pain in his eyes.

  “I thought I’d killed him,” he said. “And I was glad.”

  Doriana’s stomach quivered. “You ran away, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “I threw some things in a bag and took all the money I could find. I didn’t stop until the money ran out, in Tucson, Arizona.”

  She gulped deep breaths. Her muscles ached from holding herself so stiffly. “And later when I went to our meeting place to tell you I was pregnant, you weren’t there.” Tears for all the wasted years threatened.

  She had to stay calm, for Logan. “What happened when you got to Tucson?”

  Some of the tension left his features. “I stayed at a shelter where I met a priest, a good man. I told him my story. He made a few phone calls. Found out my father wasn’t dead.” Logan looked deeply into her eyes. “I should have stayed here and owned up to what I did, but I got scared and ran. I’m not proud of that. Once I knew he was okay, I couldn’t come back. I may not have killed him that time, but I would have eventually. I couldn’t chance that.”

  “So you joined the Army?”

  He nodded. “If I’d known you were pregnant, I would have come back. But I thought you were better off without me.”

  Joy tempered with sadness mingled in Doriana. Logan would have come back for her. Wanting to believe him, she went to him. He opened his arms and gathered her close. They clung to each other.

  He stroked her hair. “I didn’t want to leave you, Dorie, but I had no choice.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Tears slipped down her face and dampened the front of his shirt. “So sorry for everything.”

  “It’s over, Doriana. It’s in the past.”

  Swiping at tears, she pulled away to look up at him. “It’s not over. Not yet. No matter what he’s done, he’s your father. You need to forgive him. For your sake.”

  “I’m working on it. Let it go.”

  She knew not to press him. She suspected he hadn’t told her everything, that he held part of himself back. But it was a start.

  “Logan, why didn’t you tell me about your father then? Maybe I c
ould have helped. My father would have helped.”

  “Come on. You and I were in different worlds. You wouldn’t have understood.”

  She turned, hiding the hurt in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He cupped her chin, turning her toward him. “I never meant to hurt you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  Longing shimmered in the depths of Logan’s eyes. He’d loved her once. Could he love her again?

  She’d been safe for too long. The past and the future didn’t matter. There was only now, this moment and this man. She brushed her hands over his arms, her gaze never leaving his. His muscles flexed under the smooth leather of his jacket. Did her eyes tell him what was in her heart?

  He pulled her to him and kissed her, slow and deep. She snaked her arm around his waist and smoothed her hand along the firm muscles of his back. His soft groan fueled her heady sense of power.

  “I never stopped wanting you,” he whispered against her mouth.

  He lowered his head to rain light kisses along her neck. She trembled with need and with the knowledge of what he could do to her. At nineteen Logan had been an incredible lover, taking her to dazzling heights of passion that fulfilled her every fantasy. He’d satisfied her like no other man ever could.

  “I’ve waited a long time for you.” He skimmed his fingers over her breast. She shuddered and arched against him, lost in his heat.

  She clutched at his waist, afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her. He tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her with an urgency that matched hers. She moaned into his mouth.

  His breathing ragged, he pulled away to stare down at her. “Doriana?” His eyes held the question she’d longed for.

  Molten desire surged through her. She took his hand and led him out of the room. The bright Christmas decorations swirled by in a blur of color as they headed for the stairs.

  She began undressing him before they hit her room. She pulled his jacket off and flung it onto the hall floor. Logan half carried her into her bedroom, kissing her with a hunger that set her on fire. Wild with wanting him, she unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it from the waistband of his pants.