“Shit, yeah!” Alex trilled. “I am so down with that freaky shit.”
“We can't leave until we find someone,” Sophie snorted. “For Alex to take home and screw.”
Lord, he prayed. Please grant me patience, 'cos if I pray for strength, I'll kill the next fucker who shuffles forward. He aimed a death stare at Dale who backed away with a look of innocence on his face.
“Woohoo!” Alex yelled, twirling as another song she apparently loved came on over the jukebox. Fast losing patience, Logan appealed to Sophie's sense of reason. “Soph,” he whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver as his breath tickled her. “I don't think it's safe for Alex to take home some guy she hasn't even met yet.”
She leaned back to look him in the eye, wobbling slightly. “You may have a point,” she admitted, swaying. “Besides, Doctor Cain would probably kill her.”
“Doc– Never mind, I don't want to know. We need to get her to leave.”
Nodding in agreement at last, she whispered something in Alex's ear, and Logan watched as the other girl's eyes went wide. “You did? Where? I want to smack his face again.”
“Come on,” she slurred, holding on to Logan for balance. “It's really late, we're really drunk, and we have work in the morning.”
“Work,” Alex blew a raspberry, little strings of drool dribbling down her chin before she wiped them away with a laugh. “Work is such a party pooper.”
~
Sophie
Teetering in her heels, Sophie clutched Logan's arm as he walked her home after seeing Alex safely inside her apartment, where she flopped onto her couch fully dressed and was snoring before they pulled the door closed behind them. Feeling a tad more sober, and therefore less insane, she started to apologize for the way she'd spoken to him tonight, and then decided to keep her apology to herself. It wasn't like he hadn't deserved it, marching into the bar and demanding she leave like some overbearing father figure.
Nuts to that, she was a fully grown woman and she could keep her own hours, thank you very much. If he was worried about Dale, he didn't know her very well, did he? She would never have the nerve to pick someone up in a bar and bring them home for a night of debauchery. No, Alex was way more ballsy than her, and she doubted even she would have went through with the mad plan. They were just blowing off steam.
“Soph,” he whispered as they climbed the three flights of stairs to her apartment. The elevator was out of order again, yellow striped tape cordoning it off. “We need to talk.”
“No, Logan,” she sighed, thanking him with a nod for holding her up when she almost fell up the stairs. “We really don't. That's not what I'm for, anyway. Is it?”
He didn't speak again until they were inside. “I'd like to be able to talk...” he drifted off, leaving the statement hanging there like ripe fruit.
Kicking off her shoes, Sophie sank down into her couch with relief. Her head was spinning. When something cool touched her hand, she almost screamed. Logan had gotten her a glass of water and stood over her with two white pills in his hand. “Take these,” he ordered in soft tones. “And drink that water. You'll feel better for it in the morning.”
Nodding, she accepted the pills and swallowed them along with the contents of the glass. “I don't get you,” she whispered, dropping her head into her palm, feeling the arm of the couch give slightly where her elbow was propped. “One minute you're all like, 'all I want is sex' and ignoring me for days, and the next you're here, acting all sweet and Logan-like.”
“Logan-like?” He snorted, sinking down onto the couch beside her. “What's Logan like?”
With a soft “hmm,” she cocked her head to look at him. “Logan is like the best friend I ever had. He's witty and kind, generous and loving.”
“And you're saying I've lost my sense of humor, is that it?” he winked.
“No.” She blew a harsh breath out, her lips flapping and making him laugh. “It's like there's two Logans now. One is the Logan I've always known and the other is this twisted angry version of him. Sometimes I see the old you, Logan. Sometimes you can be sweet. But mostly?” She looked away, hating herself for thinking it, feeling it, saying it. “Mostly you're this dark brooding shadow of the guy I knew, and even though this new you has some serious sexual magnetism...I hate him.”
“You hate me?” He seemed hurt, genuinely so. Sophie felt like the worst sort of hypocrite. Even as she hated him, she loved him, but she could never let this new Logan know that.
“I hate who you've become,” she admitted, at last.
“You made me this way,” he announced.
“Bullshit,” she rasped, wishing she smoked. She could do with something to relieve the stress of this conversation. “I hurt you, sure. But I didn't hurt you any more than I hurt myself, Logan, and I'm still me.”
“I'm still me too,” he whispered, the sound soft and emphatic. His hand reached out and swept a lock of hair from her face, his fingers trailing down her cheek. “I just can't afford to be hurt again. Not by you.”
She understood. Really, she did. She got that she'd turned them both inside-out and upside-down with pain. She knew – she still carried it with her, for God's sake, but it was time to lay this entire charade to rest. “I can't do this,” she whispered, begging him silently to understand. “I know that means I'm forfeiting the contract, and I know the consequences of it. But I can't, don't you see that I can't? Mom would never forgive me for it.”
“Christ, Soph, we've talked about this. I'm sure your mom would want you to be happy.” Exasperated, his mouth tight, he sighed.
“I'm sure she would, too. But who could ever be happy being a whore?”
“You're not a whore.” Shock punctuated his statement and he pulled her to him in a quick hug before setting her aside once more. “You're not a whore, Sophie.”
“Then what would you call me? I let you in to my apartment last night, and with no compunction, I let you do to me what you wanted. I would have slept with you, right here,” she slapped the cushion. “On this couch. If you had wanted me to. And all for a contract. For money. No,” she shook her head, scooting away from his reach and striding – still somewhat wobbly – into her bedroom. “This is it, Logan. I've given you my answer and it's final.”
~
Logan
He left feeling like the worst sort of asshole. Somehow during the duration of the evening his plan had been turned on its head, and he felt the familiar ache in his chest that meant he'd fucked up. Again. No matter how many times he'd warned himself, nor how he'd planned to keep some emotional distance from her, she'd still wriggled her way into his heart. She always had. She was right – she hadn't changed. But he had. He didn't even deserve her anymore.
He stopped at the end of her stairs, slumping onto the third step from the bottom, holding his head in his hands. With a surge of anger, he drew out and punched the wall with his already injured knuckles. There was a meaty thud and his knuckles reopened, soaking the bandage through. In a detached sort of way, he watched the red bloom in the midst of all that white. Nothing. He felt nothing. He doubted he ever would again.
Chapter Eight
Sophie
Her desk was a mess. Alex had come in this morning – still tipsy, if you were to ask Sophie – and proceeded to toss the contents of Sophie's desk looking for something or other. Receiving nothing but a grunt in response to her demand that Alexis tidy up after herself, she resigned herself to spending half the morning sorting out paperwork.
“What's the status on the hotel contract?” Alex turned towards her, sunglasses blocking the streams of light from her sensitive eyes. “Are we good to go next week? Shit, we really need this one.”
“Um, about that...” Sophie slumped into her chair, preparing herself to give Alex the news, when her phone buzzed, sounding like an angry wasp in her black leather briefcase. “Hold on.” Any distraction was a good distraction as far as this conversation was concerned.
Gd morning. It's Tuesday.
Ignoring the increased tempo of her stupid fool heart, she swiped the message and sent it straight to the trash. Seconds later it vibrated again.
Don't start this again. Talk 2 me.
What about? she replied, with a sigh. Why was he texting her? Was she not clear enough when she'd told him to forget the whole thing.
Ur designs. Need them faxed over by lunch. Other than that. How's ur head feel this mornin?
Logan, we talked about this last night. I can't do it. Contract is off the table.
Like hell, he replied. She could sense the anger in him. Job is still urs. Take it. No strings.
No strings? He didn't expect her to dish out for him? She found herself wondering what had changed, and if the old Logan was in charge this morning. If he was, she'd better take advantage of it now, or find herself frantically trying to explain to Alex why they had no contract.
Designs will b with u by lunch.
Gr8. Now tell me how u feel this morning.
Like I've been run over by a beer truck.
Serves you right. Talk 2 u later.
Confusion creasing her brow, and a soft smile teasing the corners of her mouth, she looked up at Alex, who still glared at her expectantly. “We have to have the designs over by lunch time. Do you have their fax number?”
“Somewhere,” she growled. “That's what I was looking for earlier.”
~
Logan
The clock on the wall chimed dolefully as he finally sat down to a hot meal and a steaming cup of coffee. It seemed like forever since he'd had the stomach for more than a few mouthfuls of food and had to wonder if it was because deep down he'd known he was being unfair. So she'd run from him – from them – after all that had happened. He had to remember that she was a lot closer to her mom than he'd been to his dad. Certainly closer than he was to his own mother.
She'd been scared. Feeling like they'd done something terrible, when the truth was, it only seemed that way because of her assumptions of how her mom would react. Sure, she might have been shocked and disgusted at first, but with time she would have accepted it. He was sure of that. As for his father, he'd told the old man his intentions that night, and despite his objections had been willing to at least give it a shot.
Could he go on punishing her – punishing them both – for the entire shitty situation? No, he decided, chewing thoughtfully, the steak tasting like ambrosia. On a whim, he checked his phone and found a text from Sophie. She must have sent one while he'd been showering or making dinner. With a silly grin, he read it.
Have not heard back from Mr. Hoster RE altering the load-bearing wall in the grand foyer.
Disappointment turned the steak to ashes in his mouth. What had he expected? For her to suddenly realize she was in love with him because he'd decided not to make a whore out of her? Snorting in self-derision, he quickly replied, keeping it about business as she seemed to want.
I'll talk 2 Paul in the morning. Will have 2 go over plans to ensure structure is not compromised.
Of course. Let me know.
He swallowed a mouthful of coffee, wincing at it's bitterness. Spooning two sugars into it, he thought about asking how her day had been, but decided if she'd wanted him to know, she'd have told him, rather than sticking to this God-awful civility they had going on. Longing to talk to her about more than business, he waited, and a half hour later, when he'd settled down in front of the TV, he was rewarded by the vibrating of his cell.
What u up 2?
Nada. Watching the idiot box.
I don't understand why u watch so much TV and then call it that.
I call it that cuz I feel like an idiot watching When Harry Met Sally by myself.
It was the only thing on that didn't involve reality shows or celebrity interviews. It was a great movie – for couples – but watching it by himself was making him long for things he could never again have. Like Sophie, for one. Maybe he should have swallowed his pride and his anger and just searched the city from top to bottom until he'd found her. But he'd tried to brazen it all out, even going so far as to stop trying to get her to talk to him.
He knew her like the back of his hand. If he'd sent her a few more texts, she would have replied. Eventually. But like a moron, he'd given up, and that as much as anything else had led them to where they were now. Strangers. He missed her.
The hole in his chest had begun to close up this past week, and despite his objections, Jan was right. He did want her to love him back. Revenge no longer seemed like the ultimate goal, because between their first meeting when the mad plan was hatched, and their last, when she'd shot him down, his goal-posts had shifted, firmly placing her in between.
Confession?
He stared at the text, wondering if she was looking for a confession from him, or wanted to confess something to him.
Okay...
I'm watching it 2.
His laugh echoed around the mostly empty room. Lifting his feet to the coffee table, he snuggled deeper into the couch. It was stupid, but he felt connected to her in that moment, both of them sitting on the couch, watching a movie, albeit in different apartments.
U always were a sucker for a rom-com.
Meg Ryan is such a babe.
You're such a babe, he typed, before his senses prevailed. He pressed back-space until the words, and the desperate longing behind them disappeared. In their place, he settled for a smiley face.
Oh, u like her, huh?
I like a lot of things.
~
End credits rolling, and feeling lighter than he had in over a year, Logan switched the TV off and shucked his clothes, climbing into bed.
G'night, he sent before turning over with a grin on his face. Sophie Ellis might never be his the way he wanted her to be, but she would never be anyone else's like she was his. Friendship would have to be enough. He wasn't prepared to lose her again. Not for anything. The soft tick-tick of his alarm clock soothed him to sleep.
~
Sophie
Her sheets a damp tangle around her waist, she shot up, screaming. No, it wasn't true. She wasn't gone. No. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she reached for her mom's hand. It was snatched away at the last second, a truck coming from nowhere, smacking into her mother's delicate frame. “Sophie!” she screamed, the sound of snapping bones and tearing flesh echoing in the darkness. Her mom was dead.
Panic built up inside her as she came fully awake, rocking back and forth, biting her nails and whimpering in the gloomy bedroom. Blood-filled eyes glared at her from the shadows, everywhere she looked. The meaty sound of metal hitting flesh, breaking bones like toothpicks and tearing limbs like paper haunted her. Breathing in stilted gasps, she bit down on her fisted hand, her knuckles sliding against her teeth again and again until they were raw and sore.
Fuzzy static filled her ears as she rocked, her vision seeming to narrow down and fade around the edges. A high pitched screech tickled the back of her mind, imagination running wild. She grieved as if it were fresh, tears streaming down her face. She could see herself, happy and laughing – kissing Taylor's slightly damp lips and feeling Logan's arm around her shoulders as they walked home. His dad had already been dead by that point and her mom had held on just long enough for her daughter to witness her last breath.
A full-throated cry erupted from her dry lips as she reached for her cell where it stood like a shining beacon in the darkness of her mind. Logan. She had to talk to him. Fuck this doing it by herself shit. She needed him. She always had. Too many nights she'd sat in the drenched sheets of her bed, wishing he were there to soothe her racing mind and her broken heart. Giving into her selfish impulse this once, she dialed his number, rasping a tortured “hi”, when he answered, sleep still seeming to have claimed most of him.
“Soph? Is that you? What's wrong?”
She could only gasp, the desperate sounds of her mom's last ventilator-assisted breaths repeating in her mind over and over, stuck on some awful loop.
/> “Sophie, talk to me baby. Tell me where your head is at.”
“Back there,” she whispered, tears tickling her chin as they plopped onto the balled up sheet clutched in one hand to her chest. “It's always there.”
She could hear his sheets rustle as he moved, perhaps sitting up or turning over. “No,” he told her firmly. “You're not back there. You're here, understand? You're in your apartment in the city. You're not there. She's not there.”
“She is,” Sophie argued, flinching with every remembered breath. “She's here. She's always here.”
“Listen to me,” he whispered, his voice breaking into a hoarse croak. “Your mom isn't there, baby. She's in a much better place. You think she'd come back to hurt you like this? You're hurting yourself. Stop. Please, stop.”
“How do you know?”
“How do I know what?”
“That she's in a better place? How can you know that?”
“Soph,” he began after a long moment of silence in which she imagined him trying to argue theology with her in the middle of the night. A glance at her bedside clock told her it was four-oh-four a.m. “I know she's in a better place because...anywhere has gotta be better than here sometimes, you know?”
His tone was absolute. He completely and utterly believed what he was saying to her. It helped calm the racing of her heart. Shivering as the sweat dried on her clammy skin, she sighed. “I'm sorry, Logan. I shouldn't have called.”
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