by Gina Watson
Logan swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He listened intently to what his father had to say. In the back of his mind something wasn’t adding up. One of his professors had said that Logan’s mind was like an active volcano—constantly churning. It was certainly churning now. But he still wasn’t catching on.
He hopped down from the bar stool and started pacing the length of the kitchen. And then, just that quickly, he had it. He whirled toward his father, hands fisted in his hair, and his father sat there calmly sipping his Coke and nodding, silently confirming Logan’s suspicions.
With a hoarse voice Logan said, “For fuck’s sake, I’m almost thirty years old! All those years of feeling like an intruder, an outsider, like I was forcing myself on you and your family, and I could have felt accepted had you cared enough to tell me, cared enough to open your mouth just once. Shit.” He fisted his hands, hoping that would keep him from striking out. “Why the hell bother to tell me now?”
“Catherine had wanted me to tell you. She wanted to tell you right after we adopted you, when she noticed you feeling that way, as you say, like an outsider. She’d said it was wrong of me to not tell you and that I was only thinking of myself. Catherine has always been stronger than me. She never once considered herself in all of this. She became so angry about how I handled it all, she left. There were other issues surrounding our separation. The business caused me to spend long periods of time away from home and then of course the affair and well… it was the nail in the coffin as they say.
“Of course she was right.” He wiped at his face with his hand. “I was worried about scandal. If word were to get out about the affair people would talk. There was the contracting business and I had a family and your adoption to consider. Back then I didn’t figure it would matter so much, and we all loved you and accepted you, so I’d thought with time you would come to consider us your family.”
“I didn’t know you were family!” Logan’s voice was louder now. “Sure, I was yours in the courts, but an obligation is one thing, DNA is quite another. There are more freedoms afforded to one over the other. I couldn’t exactly let it be known if I were unhappy with my situation.”
“I guess you’ve noticed your mother and I are together again. She wanted me to tell you. Hell, I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.” He took a swig of his soda. “Were you so unhappy, son?”
“No. Never.”
He wasn’t unhappy. He was trying to come to terms with the fact he’d lost something he’d never be able to get back.
“You guys were great, but I longed to belong in a way…I wanted to fit in with my brothers, be part of a clan. Be a natural part of…” He waved his hand to encompass the house and the property and everything that stood for the St. Martins. He’d wished again and again for the brown hair and the blue eyes. He hadn’t wanted the stigma of his parents’ murders to constantly surround him, but it had. His brothers had mollified him and still did at times. The entire community had handled him like Belgian lace, and he’d been treated differently from the others. He’d wanted to be treated the same, to get into trouble the same way. To be corrected the same way. To be a real St. Martin. Whenever he’d been in trouble, it was always dismissed as something Logan was working through. Logan knew they were not to blame for the way they treated him; anyone would do the same for a kid in his situation. And they’d done the best they could. But he’d always wanted more. And less. He’d wanted to be just one of the St. Martin boys.
“It’s time to put it out in the open.”
His father’s baritone voice made Logan jump. He gasped, “What? You can’t be serious.”
“We have to.”
Logan feathered his hands through his hair. “No. Why would we do that to the family, now, after all this time?”
“I want to make it right for everyone involved.”
“Let me clarify something for you—you said the situation was scandalous at best. You said Catherine left you because of the way the events played out. Is that the way of it?”
His father eyed him intently, as he always did during what the family referred to as a Logan interrogation. “Yes.”
“Do you or do you not think this will further alienate me from my family? Especially Cory. They will blame me for all kinds of shit, and he will blame me for the day his mother left him.”
“They won’t. I know my children, all seven of them. They love you, Logan. We all do.”
Logan closed his eyes and exhaled. He couldn’t believe what he was going to say, but the words came pouring out of his churning heart. “It’s not often I’m wrong, but I was wrong about this. I spent twenty years thinking that if I just had the St. Martin blood running through my veins, I’d be accepted and there would be nothing in this world that could sever that connection. I was mistaken.”
Using controlled, precise movements, Logan picked his keys up from the counter and walked out. His father called to him, but he didn’t look back. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was responsible for all the problems in the St. Martin marriage. He knew it had been especially hard on Cory since he’d been there to witness his mother’s abandonment. That thought was eroding Logan’s gut like acid. He thought of all the people affected by him and knew he couldn’t go back to Whiskey Cove. Not now. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Not once they knew what he’d been responsible for.
All this time he’d thought he was someone else—the product of love of a family that he now discovered never existed. Now he was supposed to shift gears and accept this new information and apply it to his person, to his life? Fuck that. He was done placating everyone. He was pissed at all of them. Though he knew it was completely irrational, he was even pissed at his brothers for what they’d gotten that he hadn’t—the feeling of wholeness all their lives, the innate knowledge of who they were in relation to those around them. He’d never have that. He’d be more of an outsider now, now that he knew he shared St. Martin blood, than he’d been when he’d thought he had nothing in common with them. He’d be cast out, as was only right for what he’d caused to happen.
He lifted his face to the moon and laughed. He hadn’t been a part of his birth parents’ family and he hadn’t been part of his adoptive family. How fucking mixed up was that?
He slammed the flat of his hand against the truck. There was no way he could go back to his old life.
Ah…But then there was Jessie. And Michael. God knew he loved that boy, but his mother drove his senses to the brink with her milky skin and her fiery copper hair. Logan loved her easy companionship. Did he love her with a forever kind of love? He wasn’t sure. Hell, just now he was sure of nothing. But his mind was never far from thinking of her, so he knew if he didn’t yet love her, he would very soon. Or maybe he’d just admit to himself what was already a reality.
Yet he couldn’t be selfish when it came to them. She wanted the best for Michael, wanted a role model for him, someone the community respected. Someone who would help Michael grow into a caring and respected man. Logan could understand that. The kid was great and deserved the best in a father. The best in the man who loved his mother. Logan could love Jessie, maybe better than any other man. But what kind of role model would he be? What kind of respect would he have once the community knew about his past? Sure, his dad would face the initial blowback, but then they’d look at Logan. Jessie didn’t deserve the crap that would be attached to him. In all honesty, she didn’t need more problems of any kind. He wanted to make her life better, not worse. And now it looked like better meant he needed to be out of her life.
He got in his truck and drove. Drove along interstate highways and isolated swamp bridges until he finally stopped in Tallahassee, Florida, to rest. He pulled in at a McDonald’s and fell asleep. When he woke it was ten o’clock in the morning, so he pulled up to the drive-thru window for coffee. Then he headed east, stopping only for fuel until he reached the beach cabin on the eastern coast of Florida, in St. Augustine. It had belonged to his parents. To Dave and Anne.
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br /> Logan pulled up to the cabin that sat at the water’s edge and killed the engine. He had so many good memories that centered around this little cabin. He remembered catching kingfish with his father and learning to gut, clean, and grill them. They’d take the kayaks out and come back with a haul. One time Logan had caught a twenty-eight pounder. They’d flown kites and eaten rainbow snow cones, his father always gobbling his snow cone too fast, resulting in him grabbing his head and crying out, “Brain freeze!”
Logan started to walk the beach. He had no idea how long he walked. At sunset he turned and walked back. When he reached the beach house, he climbed the steps leading to the large deck and collapsed in an Adirondack chair. Exhausted in body and mind, he fell asleep on the back porch.
He awoke to rain stinging his face. He squinted one eye open and stared directly into the overhead sun. He’d always hated sun showers—to him each party seemed only partially committed to their purpose. He blinked and sat up.
“Fuck!”
His back screamed from the position it had been subjected to for over twelve hours. But that was nothing compared to the way his mind roared at the reality his father had unleashed two days earlier, at the decisions he had made then and those he’d made twenty years ago.
And at the decisions Logan himself had made, decisions he swore were the best for all involved.
6
It had been two days since Jessie had heard from Logan. It was bad enough she couldn’t stop thinking about him, but she also had to endure Michael’s incessant questioning regarding his whereabouts. She’d caught her son crying and when she asked what was wrong, he’d asked her why nobody wanted to be his daddy. It had crushed her to tell him she didn’t know, but she wanted to always be honest with her son and the truth of it all was, she’d no idea herself if Logan would ever be back. She’d texted him twice, called both his cell and the brewery, but she couldn’t reach him. She’d thought maybe something had happened to his dad or one of his brothers, and that’s why she’d decided to go to The Good Doctor Brewery.
They were doing a brisk business when she pulled up. She wondered if he was in there and choosing to ignore her. She wasn’t usually so quick to think the worst, but she was emotionally charged around Logan and couldn’t silence the thoughts. She felt the bile rise in her throat as she wondered what she could have done or said to upset him, something bad enough that he hadn’t simply told her goodbye in person. She wanted answers, but she refused to create a spectacle. She took several deep breaths, exited her car, and walked in on shaky legs. She did a quick survey, but saw no sign of Logan. A tall guy with shaggy light brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a bunch of tattoos worked the bar. She headed toward him.
The handsome bartender greeted her and asked, “What can I get you?”
He had a mouth shaped like Logan’s, and his slightly crooked smile with the large white teeth was familiar. “Um, I’m looking for Logan. Do you know where he is?”
The man whistled noisily through his teeth, then dropped two shot glasses on the bar, saying, “Gonna need something stronger than beer.” He pulled a bottle of platinum Patron from below the counter, along with a bowl of limes. He filled the glasses and slid one in front of Jessie. “Bottoms up.”
She wasn’t sure what she was in for, but she said, “Oh, what the hell,” picked up the shot and slammed it, finishing it off with a lime wedge.
The attractive man watched her and winked. “Atta girl,” he said. He held her stare for a long moment. “You must be Jessie.”
“I am.” Who was this man?
He extended his hand. “Cash St. Martin. Logan’s most responsible brother.”
Ah, she thought, that explains the similarity. She was tempted to ask most responsible for what, but she didn’t know how he’d take the question. After another couple of shots, however, she probably wouldn’t care. She shook his hand and as she recalled the salsa incident, her lips curved upward. “Nice to meet you.” Her smile was replaced with a frown when she recalled why she was there. “Do you know where he is?”
“I can’t say for sure. I’ve some idea, but nothing certain.”
She didn’t want to listen to speculation. She needed facts. Was Logan in trouble? “Where is he?”
“All I know is Dad asked me to look after the brewery until Camp arrives. Logan evidently received some news from our father that didn’t sit well with him and has gone off somewhere to work through it.”
“But you said you might know where he is.” It didn’t sound like a good situation. It must have had something to do with that phone call he received the other night.
“Well… when he gets really upset, he goes to his folks’ beach house. But I can’t be certain that’s where he is.”
Jessie nodded. “Okay, where is your parents’ beach house?”
Cash shook his head. “Nah, his parents’ beach house.” He filled two pitchers with beer and laid them on the counter.
“I’m sorry, I’m not following.”
“Ah, I guess I misspoke. I thought you were aware of Logan’s background.”
Feeling both anxious and confused, Jessie asked, “What are you talking about?”
Unblinking, Cash stared Jessie in the eye. “I’m sorry, it’s not my story to tell.”
A waitress came to the bar and scooped up the beer pitchers.
Jessie’s eyes pooled with tears. She was frustrated and worried terribly about Logan. “Please, if you will just give me a direction to go in. I need to go after him.”
At her plea, Cash’s lips tightened. “Eastern Florida.”
Her eyes widened. “Eastern Florida?”
Cash was busy writing something on a napkin. “Here’s the address.”
Puzzled, she took the address and whispered, “Thank you.” She turned and headed for the door.
“Jessie?”
She stopped and pivoted toward Cash.
“If you wait until Camp gets here, I’ll go with you.”
She was relieved. “Okay…Thank you. That would be wonderful.”
Cash nodded. “He might not be there, but I think it’s our best option. But it is a ways to go on a hunch.”
It was at that. But if Logan needed her, she intended to be there for him. She arranged for her mother to take care of Michael and checked in with the restaurant. There were the usual squabbles between her chef and her manager but when they realized she was dealing with a crisis of her own—though she never spelled out what it was—they became instantly solicitous and vowed to set aside their differences until she returned.
Jessie wanted to advise them to just sleep together, get it out of their systems already, since hormones and attraction seemed to be their major obstacle, but she’d vowed not to interfere with the personal lives of her staff. Rita, her chef, was quite prickly and had said she’d never date a co-worker, especially someone on the front end. The problem was, she had the hots for Tony. And since she couldn’t have him according to her rules, she made herself and Tony suffer needlessly.
Jessie thought about all the ways love could go wrong on the drive to St. Augustine. There were plenty, even when the couple truly loved and wanted to work out their differences.
It took Cash and Jessie over ten hours to get to the beach house. Cash didn’t say anything else about Logan, so she didn’t pry. She thought Cash’s appearance didn’t do him justice and that his tattoos were in direct contrast to his solicitous nature. Whenever she cried, Cash handed her a tissue and asked if she’d like to stop for anything. He’d asked her repeatedly if she were hungry or thirsty or needed a restroom break. As they pulled into St. Augustine, he told her not to give up on Logan. He further said that Logan had had a more difficult life than most, leaving her wondering why Logan hadn’t told her any of this. Given his demeanor, she’d thought he’d always been the happy-go-lucky type.
They pulled up to the beach house, climbed out slowly, and stretched their limbs after the long drive. Jessie pointed to Logan’s truck p
arked around the side of the cabin. They knocked on the door several times, but their knocks went unanswered. Jessie followed Cash around to the back. Her eyes scanned up and down the isolated beach. Dark clouds overhead hinted at rain as they climbed the stairs to the main deck. Cupping their hands around their eyes, they peered into the windows.
Cash gestured. “He’s passed out on the couch.”
Jessie looked where Cash indicated. She saw a body in cargo shorts, no shirt, face down on the couch. One long leg hung off onto the floor. Cash jiggled the door handle and to her surprise, the door opened. She ran toward the couch, slowing when she spied two empty whiskey bottles and one nearly full one littered around the floor. Jessie tapped Logan’s shoulder. When she didn’t get a response, she applied more pressure and shook him. She called his name repeatedly. Suddenly ice cold splashes of water sprinkled her cheeks.
Cash had dumped a bowl of ice water over Logan’s head.
Logan gasped, rolled over, and yelled, “Mother fucker!” He immediately raised his hands to his temples and squeezed. “Fuck!” He slowly opened one eye and squinted at them. His brow rose as he laboriously opened his unfocused eyes.
Cash spoke first. “Take it easy, buddy.” He placed a helping hand on Logan’s shoulder.
Groggy and hoarse, Logan said, “Cash?”
“Yeah, bro, I’m here.”
Logan clutched his head, groaning. He closed his eyes.
“There’s someone else here too.” Cash looked to Jessie.
She stroked her hand down Logan’s arm. He turned his face into her arm and inhaled. “Mmm, Jessie.”
They waited for him to awake from his drunken slumber. When she asked Cash if he thought another dose of cold water might be helpful, Logan grunted. But eventually his eyes slowly opened and focused. Cash was busy mixing up a concoction in the kitchen, but her call brought him back. He carried a drink that looked to be tomato juice.