“Why all the hate?”
“Why? You honestly can't guess? You think I don't know how in love with her you were? Are?”
“Were,” he stressed. “Definitely 'were'.”
“Right. Well, she doesn't count, okay? Mistakes don't count.”
Woah. He'd put a lot of labels on his time with his stepsister, but 'mistake' wasn't included. Stupid, rushed, foolish, hot, haunting and hurtful, sure, but never would he consider it a mistake. “Jan...” he began, intending to remind her of the fact that she was still his stepsister.
“I know, I know,” she murmured. “She's still family, and I still have to respect her, and yadda-yadda. But I don't have to like her, Logan. I don't have to pretend like she didn't rip your heart out of your chest and show it to you before she side-stepped out of your life, and the consequences. I don't have to like the fact that you've never met anyone, because of her. And I damn sure don't have to pretend like you don't hide your best friend from her because you once told her a stupid lie about being my boyfriend.”
“It's not because of her.” This conversation was going to shit in more ways than one. And he didn't hide her, exactly. He spoke to Sophie about Jan sometimes, but she always seemed uncomfortable – probably because he'd lied about being in love with her once upon a time. Damn, he was a stupid asshole.
“Oh no?” She snorted, a small disbelieving laugh escaping her. “Why haven't you settled down then? You're twenty-eight years old, Logan. I'd like to have some kiddies call me Auntie Jan before I die.”
“Auntie Jan?” He laughed, the early morning sun blinding him for a moment so that he didn't see the cyclist before almost being run over. Quickly jumping back out of the way, he concentrated on what Jan had said. “And no, you don't have to like her. But she is not the reason I don't have kids. I don't want kids. I don't want a relationship.” He not so tactfully ignored the whole hiding Jan line of conversation.
“Hmph. If sister Sophie stood in front of you, begging for your seed, and your hand in marriage, I bet you'd agree so fast even your head would spin.”
“Jan,” he deadpanned. “Today is not the day to discuss how I may or may not feel about my sister or anyone else. Go fix your own shit, and leave mine alone.”
“Fine,” she sighed. “Sorry. I'm just...she just. Okay, I'm stopping. Paul is just leaving now...bye dear. Shit.”
“I take it you're still not on speaking terms.”
“Apparently not.”
“Go,” he told her. “Catch him before he leaves. Tell him you're sorry.”
“I'm not sorry. The guy was a snob.”
“Not the point. Just go.”
She heaved a breath before whispering “fine” and hanging up.
If only everything was so easy to fix with an apology. He'd been successful at not thinking about Sophie for months now, and all it took for her face to invade his waking mind was one call to Jan. Thanks for that, he thought. As if I didn't already have enough crap on my plate today.
Paul was getting the nine a.m. train – where to was a secret, but Jan was sure there would be some good news in it for Logan. He knew Paul was a business man, dabbling in all sorts from stocks to art galleries and even a baseball team once, but what any of that had to do with him he couldn't fathom.
The March air felt like a balm to his hungover frame as he walked the short distance to his office. The elderly matron-like woman he'd hired shortly after firing Sara smiled in a no-nonsense kind of way as he stepped through the door. “Good morning Mr. Castle. I have your appointments set up for the morning, and there's a coffee waiting on your desk.” She rifled through some papers, procuring and removing a selection of interest. “Mr. Wainright called again in regards to his annex build and said he got the go ahead from planning. Mrs. Wainright called immediately after and said she's not happy with the plans and wants some amendments made for a larger reception, and then someone by the name of Auntie Jan called to say, and I quote, 'the fan is still on, and there's no sign of shit anywhere'.” She gave him an odd look, raising both eyebrows comically.
“Thank you Mrs. Bainbridge, that will be all for now.” So Jan had made up with Paul. That was good to hear, though she didn't need to call his office to embarrass him. Bitch. He'd find a suitably embarrassing way to pay her back. Perhaps he'd send a singing-telegram to tell her she was STD free during her lunch-break at her job as a nursing assistant in a retirement home. The thought warmed him, and he made inquiries, soon finding one reasonably close and competitively priced. Sorted.
~
Sophie
“Not there, you incompetent imbecile!”
Sophie cringed as Alexis went through the guy for a short-cut. They'd been moving in the larger furniture and Alexis was having heart-failure at every wrong move the guys made. “Alex, go take a break. Have a cigarette.”
Her short-term partnership with Alexis had worked out so well that both women had decided to go into business together, starting up their own interior design company. Sophex Designs was the newest little design company in the city at the moment, and both girls were often scrambling to keep up with the workload. Today, they would finish this job for the snooty Mr. and Mrs. Renoud, and before taking so much as a day's break, would flit to the suburbs for a redec for a family friend of Alex's.
“Guys,” she announced, as Alexis stormed outside, cigarettes and lighter clutched tightly in her furious little fists, raven hair swinging as she went. “The couch goes along that wall,” she pointed to the long wall of the living room, directly opposite the huge fireplace. “And that large picture goes above it.” They'd been working 'round the clock and Sophie could see the exhaustion on the workers' faces. Alex made allowances for tiredness no more than she made allowances for error, and so it was up to Sophie to smooth the rumpled feathers of these guys before they walked out on them, like the last crew had.
A three day job ended up costing them a week because they'd had to do all the heavy lifting themselves, and sub-contract the carpentry work since their carpenter, Jake was still on the outs with them both after Alexis' last outburst of fury.
“Alexis,” she called, entering the side yard where she could see her partner and friend pulling furiously on a cigarette, her cheeks sucked in and her eyes closed in bliss. “You can't explode like that anymore,” she told her sternly, her face set. “We can't afford the time to look for another crew.”
“If they'd just do their jobs without needing a fucking map, we'd be good to go!” she informed her, crossing her arms, the smoke from her cigarette drifting upwards from where it dangled between her fingers.
“Calm down,” Sophie instructed. “Deep breaths, remember?” If these guys quit on them, they were up shit creek without a paddle. “Have you seen your shrink lately? I think your OCD is in over-drive.”
“Don't,” Alexis held up a hand. “Don't even mention that toad. Do you know he's started charging me more? Danger money, he calls it! It's ridiculous. I only smacked his face once, and that was after he called me a crazy bitch.”
Sophie doubled over in laughter. “I didn't think he was charging you to begin with.”
“He wasn't! But he said he will now.”
Both women sniggered. Alexis' ex-brother-in-law was a psychiatrist with his own very lucrative firm. He'd been seeing Alexis on and off for years, helping her deal with the lingering guilt about her sister's death. So far, all he'd managed to do was instil an attraction so deep that Alexis went to see him even though she came out feeling guilty about wanting to see him, which made her seek more therapy, which caused further guilt. On and on it went, and more and more frustrated she got.
“Come on,” Alexis told her. “I'll buy them some greasy food. They'll like that.”
Alex could appear hard as nails, but underneath, she was all mush and emotion. The only one who apparently saw it besides her, was Dr. Cain, her psychiatrist, ex-brother-in-law and source of frustration. Which was why Sophie was her best friend, and Joshua Cain was the o
bject of her fantasies.
As they wandered into the local cafe in search of a greasy sandwich to take back to the guys, Sophie happened to glance at a man sitting alone at a table with his back presented to her. The shape of his shoulders, the dip of his chin reminded her of the one man she tried valiantly not to think about – her stepbrother, Logan. She shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with her turn of thought, and told Alex she would wait outside.
Once away from the interior of the cafe and the figure that reminded her of Logan, she could breathe again. It was silly really, but sometimes the smallest thing could set her off, and she knew that tonight would be one of the nights that she'd have to leave her phone in the office. The urge to call him, to hear his voice, even if she said nothing, was strong. She wanted to hear his deep voice whisper her name. To tell her everything she'd missed in his life since she'd walked out on him just over a year ago.
Stupid, really, when she thought about it. Sure, he was her only source of solace for a while, but the nights when she'd wake up in a cold sweat, dread filling her mind and fear stiffening her limbs were few and far between now, and she got through it like she got through every thing else. On her own.
The times of needing him to talk her down were gone, or so she liked to tell herself. In reality, sometimes she still reached for a phone that wasn't there, to dial a number she wasn't sure even worked, to speak to a man who no longer cared. It was her own fault, of course. She'd pushed him away and spent too long ignoring his texts. By the time she'd read the letter Barbara had found amongst the last remaining bits her mother had left behind, it was too late.
Time was a fickle thing, and back then, when she'd imagined her mother's disgust at their attraction to each other, she'd thought it would all be okay. With time. But when she'd found out the truth, that her mother had always known, despite their bungling teenaged attempts to hide it, and that she'd not only approved, but encouraged them to explore it, time was the thing that kept them apart.
With a sigh, she turned just as Alexis strode out the door with an arm-load of sandwiches and chips for the guys. “Ready?”
She nodded. “Let's go suck up.”
~
The sun was still pouring into her small courtyard when she arrived home, clutching a take-out box and a folder. She would eat at her little metal bistro table and go over the proposals for a new contract in an office. Offices were tricky, because you never knew if the owner wanted calm beige nothingness, or striking bold individuality. In this case, the new owner wanted boring old beige in each room. Basically a rinse and repeat job. Oh, how she longed to put a unique stamp on a hotel or restaurant.
A small nest had been built in the corner of her courtyard, and Sophie delighted in seeing the baby birds alert and hungry, chirping for their parents to come home and feed them. Zoning out for a moment, she thought of her own mom and dad. Her dad had been the type of man who would come home from a hard day's work and sweep her mother into his arms as if he hadn't seen her in months. Her mother was always the soft type, and Sophie knew she'd inherited those traits from her.
Suddenly needing to feel close to her again, she trotted into her bedroom and rifled through her closet until she found the letter. Creased from being folded and re-folded, the ink smudged in places by tears and damp fingers, she held it close to her chest for a moment, before sinking down onto the end of her bed, and unfolding it with shaking fingers.
My dearest girl, it read.
It's been eighteen years since I brought you kicking and screaming into the world, your father smiling proudly beside me as I flung insults and fists at his head. I have watched you grow from a tiny little sleeping bundle into an energetic and beautiful young girl, and then into the wonderful woman you've just become.
I cannot express how proud I am of you, nor how proud your father would have been, had he been here today to wake up on your eighteenth birthday, as I just have. I'm sitting here now at my dressing table, waiting for the sun to rise a bit higher in the sky so that I can shake you awake and wish you a happy birthday.
I wish your dad could have been here today. But circumstances forced his absence upon us and though I have moved on, my heart will always belong to him. I know you think me silly and blind but I know that you too have given your heart away. To Logan. I've seen it in the way you watch him on those rare occasions he is home. I don't know what happened to make him move away, but I know nothing short of death can ever keep two people apart for long.
It is my wish for you, on your eighteenth birthday that you find the courage to tell him how you feel, and not worry about how anyone else feels about it. Life is short sweetie, live it. If it is his reaction you worry about, don't – it's plain to see to anyone that the boy loves you. If it's my reaction that stops you, please know that I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather see you with, than the boy who has stolen your heart. Leave Harry to me.
Happy birthday, baby. I hope you've had a great night. I will be leaving this under the lamp in the living room for you, but you know how Harry is...turn it off before bed.
Love you so much,
Mom.
As events had unfolded, her mom had never gotten the chance to leave that letter out, and in the wave of cleaning that followed her and Harry's deaths, when Sophie had just wanted things out of sight, it had gotten swept into the darkest corners of the closet, where it sat and waited for its time to be found. Barbara had sent it on to Logan, and upon her request, she'd retrieved it to forward on to Sophie's new city apartment.
For six months, Sophie had sat in that apartment, not even reading the letter, afraid of what it might say. The day she moved into this newer, nicer apartment, she'd found it where she'd left it, in her jewelry box. She'd forgotten the letter entirely, and read it for the first time, on her birthday this year, just short of two months ago.
She couldn't have planned it any better. It was a birthday letter, after all. The last one her mom had ever written to her, and seeing the date, along with her name on the outside of the envelope confirmed it before opening. Silly things like that, her mom had done for her, never knowing how dear the memory of them would become in the years after.
The fact that this letter brought more heartache than freedom was not her mom's fault. If things had gone to plan and she'd read it on the night of her birthday, she might have heeded the advice offered and gone after Logan. But the intervening years along with the fact that they were no longer even on speaking terms just turned it into a lament, rather than a letter.
Feeling tears burn her eyes, Sophie quickly refolded the letter and kissed the paper before placing it neatly back in the closet. Too little, too late.
~
Logan
Ur a shit
The text came in as he was eating dinner – an omelet and fries – sitting on the couch and watching some sitcom on TV. So, the singing-telegram had done his job.
Glad to be of service, he replied with a smirk.
U know that old letch in the home thinks I'm sum sort of whore now. Thanks for that.
Ur welcome.
He rose and rinsed his plate before placing it in the dishwasher. He had to shower. He had a date with Micheala – or maybe she was called Michelle, who knew – tonight and he wanted to wash the day from his body before having to wash the night from it in the morning. His phone buzzed as he removed his clothes. Taking it out of his pocket, he saw another text from Jan.
Paul will call u in the morning. He has news.
What about?
Can't tell u. It'll spoil the surprise.
Damn her. He'd finally managed to forget whatever it was Paul wanted to see him about, and now Jan had to bring it up again. With a frustrated groan, he stepped under the powerful spray, letting the hot water wash his cares away. Micheala slash Michelle would help in that department, he was sure.
Chapter Two
“Logan, you didn't need to do that.” She took the flowers from him, her delighted smile telling him he'd played this on
e just right. Flowers sometimes made the difference between blue balls and a raging orgasm. Flowers in this case had just earned him at least an invite for coffee later.
“I wanted to,” he told her honestly. He wanted to give her flowers because he wanted to increase his chances of ending up between her thighs before the night's end. And what delectable thighs they were, slender and long, shapely and showed off in a mini-dress of pale pink that complimented her blond hair to perfection. He ignored the voice inside his head asking him why he always seemed to gravitate towards blond women. It didn't matter. Everybody had a type, right?
“You are so sweet. Just give me a minute to put these in water and I'll be right back. Sit down,” she gestured to a scatter-cushion covered couch in the living room. “Mikey's sitter should be here in a minute.”
Feeling like he should, he asked, “how is the little guy?”
“Oh,” she stopped walking and smiled at him. “He's great. You know I had a meeting with his teacher last week and she said he's the brightest boy she's ever had the pleasure to teach.”
~
An hour later, Michelle still gushing about her intelligent son, Logan had to admit even getting between her thighs was looking less and less appealing. Obviously she was on the look-out for a new daddy for little Mikey, and Logan couldn't think of anything he'd enjoy less than playing parent to her child.
He didn't dislike children, no, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear every last detail from his reading level to his penchant for superhero pajamas. The Beer Bunker was filling up faster than ever these days, holiday season coming up and all that, and he was surprised when Blaise stopped by on his way to the stage. “How's that sister of yours, Logan, man? Haven't seen her in an age.”
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