by S. M. Smith
Logan starts to back away shaking his head at us before turning around and sprinting off onto the field. I can’t help but watch how each of his flawlessly defined muscles work together to carry him across the field as if he were flying. Even in his training gear, he’s still a marvel to watch.
“Dreamy, isn’t he?” I turn to find Ollie watching me with an entertained look on his face.
“I’m sorry?”
“You just sighed. And I think there might be some drool right,” he takes a finger and points to his chin, “there.” The humor in his eyes mortifies me.
“I did not.”
“You did.” He tones down his amusement and steps back to lean against a steel beam. “He’s pretty smitten with you too, I hope you know.”
Oh, no. “I’m not smitten. And neither should he be.”
“I don’t think that’s a fair statement.”
I turn, trying not to gape at Ollie. He blushes as if I just scolded him.
“I’m just saying, I don’t think it’s fair of you to tell Logan how he should feel,” he stammers. I immediately feel guilty.
“I’m not trying to dictate how he feels. But if he does have anything but professional appreciation for me, then it…it complicates things.” I turn my focus back to Logan and the group of guys he’s standing around. Logan’s gaze floats to meet my eyes for just a fraction of a second before he redirects his focus back to where it belongs, and it’s in that split second that I know that we’ve passed the state of complication.
“I get it, you know.” Ollie pushes himself off the wall and shoves his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker pants. “Logan’s a hard person to get close to, but when you break into that inner circle of his, you’re there for life.” The weight of his words lands on my chest and makes it hard to breathe. I’ve broken into that inner circle, as Oliver put it. Logan wouldn’t have told me about Cassady and Drew if I hadn’t. And while I feel like being in his inner circle is definitely helping me to get my job done, I fear how close I’ve really reached Logan. I’m too close, I know it, but every fiber in my being tells me that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Ollie and I watch quietly as the little huddle breaks into formation, and passing drills commence. We watch as the boys run the same drill a few times, each time the ball being passed to a different player. When the ball zips Logan’s direction, he leaps up in the air to catch the high ball and lands on his toes before taking off toward the end zone. When a whistle is blown and the play is killed, he takes a compliment from Jimmy before his eyes briefly meet mine. The look is so quick that had I blinked, I would have missed it, but it reminds me that he’s very much aware of my being here.
“I’ll be right back.” Ollie turns to jogs along the sidelines, stopping Javonte to ask him a question. I watch the interaction, unable to hear what is being said, but when Javonte shoots a grin to the field before turning back to Ollie and nodding enthusiastically, I know it has nothing to do with me. But it does make me wonder if it has anything to do with Logan. That thought makes me suspicious of Logan, until Ollie returns, placing his phone back in his pocket. He comes to stand beside me again, taking back up a defensive stance.
“I’m sorry about what I said. It’s not my place to talk about Logan like that.” His face is genuinely contrite when he turns his head to look down at me. I can’t place my finger on what it is exactly that tells me that I can relax about Logan around Ollie, but whatever it is, puts me more at ease.
“Well, I guess I really should be thanking you.” One of his brows lifts in confusion. “If it weren’t for you, I never would have had the pleasure of getting to see Logan Lassiter square dance.”
“You mean they actually did that?” Ollie’s broad arms drop as he turns to me in complete bewilderment. The shocked look on his face makes me giggle.
“Yes! And Logan went right up there with his family and performed like he’d done that dance a million times before.”
Ollie shakes his head in awe, and about that time, a cacophony of helmets meeting helmets explodes on the field across from us. I hear a pained grunt and an expletive that would make any sailor proud. Ollie and I turn in unison to see cornerback Blake Johnson pushing himself off Logan, who is laying on his back, one knee bent and one leg out straight. Ollie and I both take off to rush to his side, but when Coach Carrey starts yelling I stop in my tracks.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Off my field, Mooreland.” I turn an exasperated look to the head coach only to see the man pointing a heated finger toward the door I came in from. Glancing at Ollie, he nods as if understanding my need so I turn and hold my head high as I try not to let my stilettos catch in the AstroTurf. When I find myself back in the hall, I glance around for a window or something to watch from, but the only window into the field is on the door and it’s too small to really see much of anything. I start to pace the hall, way too worried about what is going on with Logan for me to think clearly. When a phone starts ringing, I barely register it’s my phone until a kid in a Rattlers polo and pressed khakis looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. I catch the call in time and pull it to my ear. A throaty cough and some wheezing meets me from the other end of the line and I pull the phone away just long enough to see who has called me.
“Walt? Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”
A throat clearing and slurping of what I assume is water precedes his greeting. “Hey, kid, how ya doing?” His voice sounds like he’s been cheering on the Spartans from his favorite nosebleed seats for days on end.
“Walt, what’s wrong? You don’t sound well.”
“Well, thanks, kid. You don’t sound all that fabulous yourself.”
“When both the men in my life are not one hundred percent, I think I have the right to be a little concerned.” I only catch my words well after they come pouring out of my mouth.
“Ah, I’m fine, Allie Cat. Just some coffee going down the wrong tube. What’s wrong with Logan?”
“Not sure. I didn’t really see what happened. I think he took a hard hit, but I got kicked off the field before I could really find out.”
“I’m sure he’s fine, Allie. We both are.” Walt’s throaty cough catches, starting another fit.
“Walt, please tell me you’ve got an appointment to see Doctor Estes soon. I don’t like the sound of—” I’m cut off by another cough. While Walt struggles to catch his breath, my heart skips a few beats and a text chimes in. I check it to see that Logan is requesting my presence in the locker room. Walt stops coughing for a moment and I feel my attention split between him and Logan.
“I’m just fine, kid. I do have an appointment to see the doc, but it’s not ‘til next week. I’m sure he’s just going to tell me that I’ve just got a chest cold and to take it easy for a bit. I’ll be fine. You just take care of our boy, Logan. Alright?”
I can’t help but hesitate. I really should hop on the next flight back to California and drive his happy hind-end to the doctor’s clinic myself, but when Ollie comes to the end of the hallway, clearly looking for me, I let it go for the time being.
“Okay, Walt. I’ll call and check in on you a little later.”
“No need, Allie Cat. I’m fine. Scout’s honor.”
“You weren’t a Boy Scout, Walt.”
“Never should have told ya that. Go on, Allie. I love you, kid.”
“I love you, too. And I’m calling Dr. Estes to confirm your appointment. Bye.” I hang up before he can argue with me and turn to Ollie. “Is he okay?”
Ollie nods and quickly checks our surroundings. “I’m here to sneak you in. Come on.” He turns and heads down a long hallway with many doors on either side. We pass at least a dozen of them before he takes a left and tucks me in an alcove. “Wait right here.”
I give him a curious look but he ignores me and double checks the hallway we turned down. A moment later, he returns and rushes me through a dark purple door. A cheap smelling vanilla scent burns my nostrils the moment the door opens. Gym bags hap
hazardly litter benches, socks and shirts hanging out like they’re trying to escape the horrid smells coming from a few of them. The lockers that line the walls look like they were recently painted a pretty plum color with shiny black numbers to indicate their owners. When I see locker number eighty-six, I’m not at all surprised to see it neat and tidy. The thought that Logan would be just as conscientious of his workspace as he is at home is just further proof of his consistency.
“Ollie, what happened?” I finally ask, remembering I’m being snuck in to the locker room.
“He took a hard hit. Twisted up his ankle.” He rounds a corner and a large picture window opens to a view of Logan sitting on a padded table with an ice pack as large as Hank sitting on top of his left leg.
“Oh my gosh, Logan.” I don’t even wait for Oliver to move out of the way or care if anyone hears me as I tear into the room. “Are you okay? What happened?” I feel like a broken record as the panic in my chest rises to my throat, threatening to spill tears over my cheeks. I don’t even want to evaluate why I’m suddenly so scared. Professional concerns for us both. Yes, that must be it.
“Twisted ankle and pulled calf. Nothing big, just swollen.” He sternly nods to Ollie, who leaves the room but starts pacing the locker room scrolling on a tablet I didn’t realize he’d been carrying until now.
“Logan, I’m so sorry—”
“He was right.”
“Who?”
“Carrey. I was distracted. I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was.” His jaw locks as he looks through the picture window over my shoulder at Ollie. The crinkle of a plastic bottle draws my attention to the hand that has a death grip on an innocent bottle of Gatorade. “Oliver’s married.”
“Okay,” I acknowledge slowly, wondering where this is going.
“He shouldn’t have been flirting with you like that.” Relief momentarily floods me as I realize his implications. I start to take a step toward him, but he tenses up and his hurt eyes meet mine. He isn’t just mad at Ollie, and that brings the sting of Mr. Inman’s insults back to the surface.
“He wasn’t flirting. He asked me how things were going with you and I was telling him about the square dance.”
Surprise flashes over his face before his jaw locks again. “You were laughing at my square dancing?”
“We were laughing at the idea of you square dancing. It’s highly uncharacteristic of you, even you have to admit.”
He takes a big gulp of his drink and adjusts on the table. The ice pack moves with him, the crash of the cubes slipping around thundering through the silence. His chest rises and falls as a myriad of emotions cross his face.
“I don’t like it.”
“Us talking about you? He cares about you, Logan. You can’t get mad at me for wanting to talk to him about you. I’d understand if you got upset if it was Coach Carrey or Mr. Inman, but it’s Oliver.”
“Exactly.”
Frustration bubbles up inside, making me want to throw my phone on the floor in a fit. “Why are you so concerned that someone you love is going to sell you out?”
As the words leave my mouth, the memory of Logan’s betrayed look when he saw Drew at the dance flashes through my mind and I know that he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t even have time to take back my words before he sits up and determination comes over his face.
“You’re done for the day. Go get some rest.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “When are you going to get it that he loves you and is just as pained by his actions as you are?”
“I said you’re done, Allie.”
I don’t even argue with him at this point. There is no argument. He’s going to hold on to the betrayal of his brother until the end of eternity and there’s nothing I can do about it.
***
As much as I truly believe the words I spoke to Logan earlier, I still feel the inherent need to apologize to him. I also figure if I ever want to put this article on my resumé, I need to make up with him and get back in his good graces. Just as I’m about to knock on his condo door, the door opens hastily and a freshly clean Logan looks startled to see me.
“I should have called,” I say at the same time Logan blurts out, “I’m sorry.”
We stand there in an awkward silence for longer than should have been necessary. He shoves his hands into his jean pockets and leans a shoulder against the door jamb, favoring his injured ankle, while I cross my arms and look at anything other than his staring eyes. The humid evening air is starting to cool off enough to be tolerable, but it’s the longing stare he won’t turn away from me that makes me sweat. I’d love nothing more than to say, “screw the article,” and allow myself to wrap my arms around him and soak up his eternal strength. An ache in my core misses the feel of his arms around me and I have to look away to even consider pushing the pain aside. Besides, I’m supposed to be upset with him. After he kicked me out, I hid upstairs in the press box and watched the rest of the Rattlers finish their practice. But even the sounds of helmets crashing together or the familiar shouts of Jimmy calling plays couldn’t soothe my bruised ego.
“Allie?”
I finally look up at him and all the hurt and anger I had from this afternoon dissipates into thin air.
“I’m sorry, too,” slips out before he can say a word.
His half-smile is back just before he tips his chin down, checking out his shoes. He looks back up at me through his lashes and I feel that ache inside again. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were right. I am afraid that someone is going to sell me out. But the sad thing is, I honestly don’t have anything to be sold out on.”
This is super confusing. He walks around with an enormous weight on his shoulders. It’s so painfully obvious that it makes people give him a wide berth even when they want his attention. Apparently my confusion is all over my face because he pushes the door open and steps out of the way to let me in.
“Please, come in.”
My conversation with Coach Carrey and Mr. Inman comes to mind at that moment and I don’t think this is a good idea. I know deep down that Logan’s intentions are completely honorable and chaste, but perception seems to be everything lately.
“I’m really hungry. Know of any good Mexican restaurants around here?”
His half smile grows to a shy, full one as he steps outside and closes the door behind him.
“Do I know of any good Mexican restaurants? Hmph. Haven’t you learned anything about me these last couple of weeks?” His playful tone makes me giggle when he offers his arm out for me with a raised eyebrow.
Less than ten minutes later, we’re sitting across from each other in a booth at Jose’s. Logan orders a bowl of guacamole with his water and I can’t help but smile when his true appetite takes over the moment our waitress sets the bowl on the table.
As soon as he has a mouthful of chips and guac in his mouth, he gives me a guilty grin.
“Sorry. I’m starving.”
“It’s okay. Did you finish practice?” I ask, knowing he didn’t return to the practice field. At least not before I left.
“No. Ollie and I hit the weight room and then Carrey sent in the team PT to have me stretch out my leg.”
“So I’m going to go out on a limb and guess he doesn’t want me on the field tomorrow.” I reach for a chip the same time that Logan does and our fingers brush together, sending an unnecessary jolt up my arm. I pull back and set my hand in my lap without being able to look at him. He pushes the chip basket my way and gives me an apologetic grin as he sits back in his seat. I feel his eyes watch my every move as I take a bite of our appetizer.
“Carrey isn’t in charge. Inman didn’t seem too concerned when he came in to check on me, so I doubt you’ll have any troubles tomorrow.”
“Are you even cleared to practice tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
I crunch on a couple of chips as I fight back the urge to ask him not to practice tomorrow. He’s too much of a key play
er to push through something like an off-season conditioning when he could be resting. Knowing Logan though, I’m sure he’d just go back to the ranch and find some work that needs to be done. He wouldn’t rest because I doubt he knows how to.
“So what did you deduce from your observations this morning?” Logan asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“That your boss is a jerk.” I didn’t realize I’d said that thought out loud until the waitress pulls the plate she was about to set in front of me back and gives Logan a look that asks if she should give us a moment. He shakes his head and she tentatively sets our dinners on the table, scampering off as if she wants to avoid any food that might start flying.
Logan waits with an expectant look on his face before he digs into his dinner. “Want to explain how you came to that conclusion?”
I swallow and pick up a chip off my plate of smothered nachos. “Let’s just say my initial meeting with him and Carrey this morning wasn’t a bed of roses.”
“Allie.”
“It’s nothing, Logan. He made some assumptions that I don’t appreciate, that’s all.”
His eyes narrow as he continues to ignore the food he was so excited about just a few minutes ago. “What assumptions?”
“It doesn’t matter, Logan. I made it clear that we’re both professionals. He can believe what he wants, but I know the truth. Therefore it doesn’t matter.”
If Logan has any molars left, it’s a miracle. When he glares at me, the words spill out of me before I can stop them. “Inman thinks I’m sleeping with you to get my story.”
“Excuse me?”
“Like I said it doesn’t matter.” Tearing my eyes away from him, I give my full attention to the plate in front of me while my appetite shrinks up and blows away.
“It matters to me.” Logan dips his chin and his shoulders relax. He shakes his head as he pulls his gaze up, tormented sea blue-green eyes meeting mine. “I didn’t realize…”
“It doesn’t matter to me because I know the truth, Logan. I know the kind of man you are and you’ve never given me any reason to assume you’d accept that kind of behavior from me. Let Inman think what he wants.” I shrug it off knowing that there are enough Inmans out there for my article to get tanked before it even publishes. It’s in that moment my heart sinks at the thought that I’ll never be able to go back to the ranch.