by Lia Lee
“I don’t give a damn about her rights,” he replies, raising his voice. “As far as I’m concerned she forfeited any rights when she turned her back on us.”
He’s angry and hurt, and I want to help him. It’s what I’ve studied and trained for all these years. “It’s hard to believe that any mother could turn her back on her own child. But it happens. You can’t blame yourself.”
“Huh. Seems to happen a lot in my family,” Logan scoffs. “I did just fine without a mother most of my life. And Rose will, too.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, puzzled. “You have a mother… isn’t Rose staying with your mom right now?”
Logan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as though he’s developing a headache. “Yes. But she only came back into our lives after Rose was born. After thirty years of buggering off on me, she suddenly she took an interest in child-rearing when she learned she had a granddaughter. Go figure.”
The pain that Logan’s hidden inside himself is overwhelming and my heart aches for him. To have been so betrayed by the very people that should love you the most. “What about your dad? Are you in touch with him?”
“My father,” Logan says slowly, “… was shot and killed in a street fight when I was ten years old. That’s when my mom ran off—she couldn’t handle his death or the fact that I reminded her of him. Been pretty much on my own since then. I met Jolene in a group home a few years later. We were both more or less orphans, so we stuck together for awhile. The rest is history.”
By now my mind is reeling, shocked at the terrible revelations that he’s sharing with me. I’m in tears, and I want to take all his pain away; show him that there’s someone he can believe in and trust.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked…” I choke back a sob. “Forgive me.”
Logan pulls us both to sit up and cradles me in his arms, though it should be me comforting him. I bury my face in the soft flannel of his shirt, crying.
“Shhh… it’s alright,” he whispers. “Can’t change the past. I’d rather look to the future. And you’ve got your whole future ahead of you. I’m sure it’s going to be a bright one.”
His words sound like he doesn’t plan on being around to see it, and the thought of a future without him cuts through my heart like a knife. I have to tell him how I feel.
“Logan,” I say, lifting my tear-tracked face to meet his. “I love you. I want you to be my future.”
Chapter Eight
Logan
This was a Bad Idea
I rest my chin on her head as I stroke Quinn’s soft blonde hair. I think of her silky skin and juicy tits and eager pussy that I’ve plundered relentlessly for all these weeks, and I’m paralyzed with guilt. It’s driven through my spine like a steel rod and pinned me to the ground with three simple words.
I love you.
She can’t possibly understand the meaning of real love. Hell, I don’t even know if I understand it. I can’t say that I’ve ever known it, or given it. Her words are those of an impressionable, love-struck girl who’s been seduced—by an idea, by a sad story, and by a careless man old enough to know better. Old enough to be her father. My guts twist as I picture Frederick—happily dispensing advice and friendship over a wooden fence, blissfully ignorant to the fact I’m defiling his beautiful daughter practically under his nose.
This has gone too far. Revealing my pathetic past was just the latest mistake in a long line of mistakes. It’s triggered Quinn’s compassion and a false sense of intimacy, and it has to stop right now. For her own good. That bright future can’t be dragged down by an emotionally damaged piece of baggage like me. What was I thinking taking up with a woman half my age anyway? That’s my problem. Thinking with my glands instead of my brain.
I gaze out the darkened windows of my truck and realize I haven’t answered her. She’s waiting to hear the same words in return, and I can’t give them to her.
“God, you’re sweet,” I say, and I kiss the top of her head. “I don’t deserve you.” Quinn snuggles closer and squeezes me tight. I hope that’s enough of an answer for now, but I’ll have to tell her the truth sooner or later. That it’s done. Over. And she’ll hate me for it.
“Can we go back to your place now?” she asks. “Since we have it all to ourselves… I want to go to bed with you.”
“Good idea,” I say, not because it’s a good idea but because I need to get us out of here and back to the real world. We’ve been stuck in a fantasy far too long already, and there’s no room for fairy tales in real life.
She searches the floor for her discarded panties and skirt as I start the engine, and I’m already rehearsing the painful words I’ll need to say to her in my mind. She’ll be furious, and Rose will be heartbroken. She’s gotten very attached to Quinn, but it would be just too awkward to have her babysit anymore under the circumstances.
Quinn settles against me as we drive home, and I ache inside knowing what I’ve done to her and that I’ll never feel her warmth or her kisses again. The fact I have to break it off doesn’t mean I won’t miss her. Our sex has been incredible because I’ve taught her everything she knows; molded her into my own private temple virgin. I’ve ruined her, and for that, I feel guiltiest of all.
“It’s good that you’re patching things up with your mom,” Quinn says out of the blue. “So that Rose can know her grandma. I didn’t know mine.”
“Me neither.” The question takes me by surprise. I barely knew my own parents, much less grandparents. If I had any, they certainly never came around. I don’t really want to talk about it, and I’ve already told her more than I wanted to about my shitty childhood. “You’ve never mentioned your mother,” I add, not wanting to pry but seeing an opportunity to change the subject.
“She died. In a car accident two years ago.”
Shit. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you close?”
“Very. She was kind and beautiful. We miss her very much.”
I don’t doubt it if she’s anything like her daughter. “Sounds like you have some good memories. That’s more than I can say.”
“You can still have good memories if you try.” Quinn looks up at me. “You should try, not just for Rose’s sake, but for your own. Before it’s too late. You never know how much time you have.”
We ride in silence the rest of the way back to Scottsdale, her profound words puncturing the self-made armor around my tortured soul. She’s right, but I’m still too stubborn to just forgive and forget. Quinn may be young and inexperienced, but she has a bigger heart than I’ll ever hope to have. I know she’ll be a great mother someday for some lucky child. Luckier than Rose or me.
I turn onto our street, and my pulse quickens at the unsettling sight of strobe lights from a police cruiser up ahead. Quinn sees them too and straightens herself for a better look.
“I wonder what’s going on up there?” she says.
As we get nearer, my stomach drops into my toes when I realize it’s parked in front of my house. “What the fuck…” I swear under my breath.
“Oh my God, there’s my dad.” Quinn cups her hands to her mouth in horror.
I pull over, and not only is Frederick standing on my lawn talking to the cops but Lila as well. “And there’s my mother,” I say, equally freaked out. Where the hell is Rose?! my panicked mind screams. The lights are on inside the house, and the door is wide open. I jump out of the truck and make a beeline for Lila. Frederick spots Quinn get out of the passenger side and moves off to intercept her. He’s going to be furious, but I can’t get involved in that altercation right now.
“Where’s Rose?” I shout. Lila turns, and with a wave of relief, I see she’s holding Rose bundled up in a blanket, half-asleep.
“Oh, Logan, thank God you’re here,” Lila cries.
“What’s going on? Why didn’t you phone me?”
“I did. It went to voicemail,” she says defensively.
I swear and grab the cell phone from my pocket. Dead as a brick. Fuck. “Wha
t the hell is going on?” I ask the cop.
“Sir, there’s been a break and enter. Your neighbor witnessed it and called us to investigate,” the young constable explains. “Whoever it was has left the scene. A window was broken, but no other apparent damage. If anything’s been stolen, make sure you report it to us immediately.” I look over at Frederick, who is questioning Quinn over on their side of the lawn. Shit. He thought she was babysitting. We’re sprung for sure, and I hope he doesn’t own a shotgun.
“It was Jolene,” Lila pipes up. “She came to my place, demanding to see Rose. She was furious that you’d moved but still had my address. Luckily Rose was already in bed, so I told her I didn’t know where she was and asked her to leave. She’s crazy, Logan. Her eyes were wild, and she was screaming her head off.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. But how did she find the house? You didn’t give her this address did you?” I asked, my voice rising in concern. Lila’s mouth was easily loosened with a few glasses of wine, but surely she wouldn’t be drinking when she had Rose in her care? She knows I’d revoke the grandma card in a heartbeat if she did.
“No.” Lila shakes her head emphatically. “But there was a pile of mail by the door that I’d collected from your old place. I’d readdressed it all and… she grabbed it and ran off. I’m so sorry… I had no idea she’d turn up.”
“Of course you didn’t.” How could she? I’d never even told her Jolene was out of rehab. I take Rose from her, a sleepy whine issuing from inside the blankets.
“I got Rose up and drove over here. I was afraid Jolene would set the house on fire or something,” Lila continued.
I wouldn’t have put it past her. In spite of the messy outcome, Lila had made a good call. “Looks like everything’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You go on home, I’ll put Rose to bed.” I turn to the officer. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be sure to call if anything is missing.”
“Goodnight, sir,” the cop says and returns to his cruiser.
Lila wrings her hands, clearly distressed by the whole ordeal. “Screwed up on my first try as a grandma. I’m so sorry, son.”
Son. She’s never called me that, and I’m not sure I want her to start. Choosing booze and her lowlife lovers over me for nearly three decades hasn’t earned her that privilege. I’ve been calling her by her first name for as long as I can remember. But she’s trying, and I’d rather have her in my daughter’s life than whacked-out Jolene.
“You’ll give me another chance, won’t you?” she asks anxiously.
You never know how much time you have. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say. “Goodnight, Lila.”
Lila gives me a relieved smile. “Goodnight, Logan.”
I turn away and start toward the house, the first seeds of forgiveness beginning to sprout. I have to start somewhere. But as I see Quinn and her dad still arguing, my guilt meter spikes off the chart, bringing me back to reality. I’m involved whether I like it or not, so I walk toward the pair of them to set the story straight, and at least thank the man for calling the police.
“Frederick,” I say with a nod. “Thanks for calling the cops. What did you see?”
Frederick VanderKemp turns his slightly hollowed, reddened eyes on me. For a second I think he’s going to punch my lights out. He’s got every right to, but I don’t think he’ll do it with a small child in my arms.
“I was reading, and happened to look out the window just in time to see some woman trying to break into your house—kicking at the door and shouting,” he snaps. “I thought Quinn was in there—since she’d told me she was babysitting tonight. When the lady put a rock through your window, I feared for their safety and called the police. You can imagine I was upset to find no one home.”
“Rose was at her grandmother’s. I’m sorry for the disturbance,” I apologize, then look directly at Quinn. Is she going to tell him or am I?
“I’m sorry I worried you Dad, how many times can I say it?” Quinn pleads to Frederick. “I should have called you when I got to the library.” She turns to me and meets my gaze. “Thank you for stopping to give me a lift, Mr. Brenner. It was silly of me to get my babysitting dates mixed up. But I certainly needed the extra study time. I’m so glad you saw me walking home.”
She’s lied to him. I do a mental re-run of what she’s just said. She came to my house, found out she wasn’t needed, went to the library, I saw her walking home, I gave her a lift. Completely untrue, but plausible. I hate deceiving the man but have to give Quinn credit for thinking on her feet. Under the circumstances, I’ll let it ride. This night’s had enough truth-or-consequences.
Rose stirs inside her blanket and starts to whimper. I need to get her inside.
“Anytime, Quinn,” I say, validating her lie for the time being. I notice her visibly relax and shoot me a silent thank you.
“I met your mother,” Frederick says. “She said it was your ex-wife that tried to break in. Perhaps you should consider getting a restraining order.”
“Good advice. I’ll look into that,” I say, nodding. It’s late, and I’m done explaining my complicated life any further, to her or her father. Ex-wife. I look into Quinn’s eyes and see the unspoken accusation there. I’d told her the truth about Jolene and me. It was just Lila’s way of legitimizing things by using that term. If she didn’t believe me, it didn’t matter. She’ll have enough reasons to hate me as it is. “If you’ll both excuse me, I have to put this young lady to bed. We’ve all had enough excitement for one day. Goodnight.”
Chapter Nine
Quinn
The Truth Hurts
My fingers are cold from hours of working my mouse over the pad next to my laptop. Dad told me months ago to go ahead and buy an ergonomic computer desk and chair, but I never got around to it. The awkward angle of my wrist on a flat tabletop makes my hand go numb. I give it a shake and slide it under my knee for a few seconds to warm and bring some blood back into it.
I feel like I’ve been chained to the damn computer all week, burying myself in my studies to avoid thinking about anything else. Because that anything else tends to always be Logan Brenner.
I haven’t spoken to him since the night of the break-in, and I’m feeling sick over what happened. I squirm with guilt at the phony story I told my dad, but thank goodness Logan went along with it to keep our secret safe. But I worry about this Jolene who is crazy enough to break into his house. Are Logan and Rose okay? Did Jolene do something worse than breaking a window? Did she steal Rose’s things and they’ve just been too busy dealing with it to call me? She sounds like a horrible person, and I can’t understand how Logan could have hooked up with a woman like that. He’d said they never married and I believe him.
But I have no answers to my questions because he won’t talk to me. When he didn’t call me the next day, I panicked and went to his house. I knocked, but no one came to the door. I’ve tried calling him, but only get his voicemail. I can’t seem to catch him at home; each time his truck pulls up out front, it seems to disappear just moments later. I haven’t seen Rose either since I haven’t been asked to babysit—that hurts most of all.
Everything’s a mess, including my head. All my studies of the human psyche, of behavioral baselines, brain chemicals, and mental states, wants and needs as defined by Maslow’s Pyramid, can’t help me make sense of my own situation. Why is he doing this? Have I done something wrong? I did everything exactly the way he told me—how could it be wrong? Each passing day without contact makes me feel like I’m dying inside. I told him I loved him; didn’t that mean anything to him?
I think back to what I said to Rochelle—how I’d worried about being just an object, a one-night-stand. I thought Logan was different than those horny college guys. Could a man make a one-nighter extend to almost two months of nearly constant sex? And then just turn his feelings off like a light switch? No, I can’t make myself believe it. I won’t believe it. Human emotions just don’t work that way.
Unless… oh, no. I try
not to let the idea take shape, but it forms in my head anyway, like a squirt of ink dropped in the pool of my thoughts and spreading darkly outward. What if Jolene has come back? Not to harass him, but to beg Logan to give her another chance, reconcile for the sake of their daughter? Told him she still loved him? Maybe he still loves her deep down—his harsh words against her merely a defensive mask to conceal his own pain. A classic maneuver that was definitely written in my psychology textbooks.
I picture the woman, though I’ve never seen her, on her knees pleading tearfully with him to forgive her, and my guts twist violently. Because I know Logan is a kind enough man to do it. He’ll do anything for Rose.
I push away from the table, knocking my chair over as I run to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before I throw up, bitter bile scorching my throat as it spews out of my mouth and splashes into the bowl. The hideous sound of it hitting the water makes me retch a second time, though nothing comes out.
God, I feel awful. I must be coming down with something; there are certainly enough colds and flu going around on a campus as large as ASU. But I know my misery is really of my own making—my feelings for Logan that I’ve let consume my every waking moment. I’ve never had a relationship like this before, so I don’t know what to say or how to act. I feel used and lost and empty. Is this what love is supposed to feel like? If so, it’s horrible. It’s definitely not roses and rainbows and unicorns. Maybe I don’t know what love is, after all.
I crawl to the sink and clean myself up by brushing my teeth to scrub the foul taste from my mouth. I feel exhausted and decide I should flop onto my bed and take a nap, for just a few minutes of blissful unconsciousness where I don’t have to think about anything. But then I hear the sound of an engine outside. I look out the window, and my heart does a backflip when I see Logan’s truck pull up to the curb. I have to talk to him, and this might be my only chance.
I race down the stairs and out the front door. I’m barefoot, but I don’t care that the lawn is prickly or the sidewalk gritty. I only care about seeing him.