by J. M. Madden
Guilt gnawed at him. He didn’t like thinking that way. Miller and Harrison and Stafford hadn’t deserved to die. If they had any say in the matter, they would probably all be here, no matter how wounded they would be.
At least they weren’t in unending, uncontrollable pain, though. Every day was a trial, and he wanted to get off the fucking merry-go-round. It was what he was living for. Force himself to go see Miller’s family and get the fuck out.
He still wasn’t sure how he wanted to approach them. He’d called the number to the house, then hung up when someone young and female had answered, probably Miller’s younger sister. Logan didn’t feel like he was strong enough to go out yet. The address was mapped on his phone, marking the place eighteen point three miles away where his best friend’s family lived.
In a way, he was excited to see them again. Several times over the years he’d spoken to the family and visited, and they were on a first-name basis. He’d been to Miller’s home. Eaten their food. Joked around with his mom, a single parent, and his sixteen year-old sister. The thought of looking into Lisa Miller’s face and trying to explain to her why her boy was gone absolutely gutted him. They’d been notified officially, of course, but it was his moral responsibility as Miller’s commanding officer and best friend to explain to the family why their boy hadn’t returned home.
What answers could he give? He was still wondering what the hell had happened himself.
One minute they’d been joking around like they always did and the next, he’d been swiping pieces of brain matter off his face, trying to understand why his ears were ringing. Just that quick their lives had shifted and gone in a different direction. Most of the time Logan felt like his compass needle was still spinning.
He missed his battle buddies. They’d done everything together and now that he had the toughest mission before him, they weren’t here to support him.
Walter Reed had released him last October. In February, just a few months after he’d gotten out of the hospital, he’d talked to Harrison’s family in Florida. They hadn’t known what to do with him standing on their front porch. In the end they hadn’t invited him in, which he was okay with. Rex Harrison had been his friend, but he hadn’t been as close as Miller.
After Florida he’d flown directly to Milford, Kansas, where Charles Stafford had been from. Charlie’s father had railed at him, calling him every name in the book for not bringing his only son home. Charlie’s mother Charlotte had cried and melted into her husband’s arms, and Logan had felt like he’d hurt them unnecessarily. They’d received the official notice months before, and his presence had only resurrected more pain.
The next day, though, when he’d been packing his bags, Charlotte had invited him out for coffee. The situation had been stilted and painful, but in the end, they’d been able to laugh about some of Charlie’s antics. He’d been the joker of the team and Logan felt like he’d been able to leave Charlotte with some good memories of her handsome son.
Miller’s family was completely different. In a way, Logan felt closer to them, even now, than he did the remnants of his own family. He knew that Lisa had a volatile temper, and that she could quite literally beat him for losing her son. Logan didn’t want to hurt her. Didn’t want to hurt either one of them. He’d rather get blown up again than cause them any more pain.
He had to talk to them, though. Putting it off wasn’t going to make it any easier.
The weight of the guilt he was carrying was going to kill him before he could do it himself.
For a moment he allowed himself to feel how utterly alone he was in the world. If he killed himself now, literally no one would mourn him. His father had disowned him, his mother was too hung up on his father, his brother was probably tweaking in jail and his sister...well, she was gone.
Marigold might miss him, a little. But she’d probably chalk it up as just another veteran suicide, eventually. He would be one of the twenty, or whatever the number was now, a day that just disappeared from life. No more pain, no more loneliness.
A small voice inside him wondered if that loneliness wasn’t partially his own fault. After he’d gotten out of Walter Reed last year, it had taken a while for him to even leave his efficiency apartment. It had been so hard adapting to life after the military. People just ran around like idiots, feeling self-important as they carried their designer coffees into jobs that no one cared about. There was no place for him to fit in.
There was counseling, of course. He’d gone a few times, trying to get what he could out of the experience, but it left him feeling even more isolated. They wanted to pump drugs into him, saying that his childhood issues, his combat trauma and survivor guilt were what they called Complex Post-Traumatic Stress. C-PTS. He’d never heard of it before, and he wasn’t sure he believed in it. Certainly not enough to take happy pills. Logan realized very quickly that he would rather be clear-headed and morose than drugged and oblivious. It was bad enough he had to take pain pills.
Marigold came to mind, with her bright green eyes and dark hair. Logan had a feeling that she would have a field day playing in his brain once she got through school.
Sighing, he swiveled to face his laptop, but those eyes taunted him. The hurt he’d put there didn’t sit well with him, but he wasn’t sure how to approach her to apologize.
He looked at the phone on the bedside table. It was silent. It was always silent. The most excitement he’d had recently was when a telemarketing company had added him to their roster. Though he hadn’t driven for more than a year, and had no vehicle, he listened to the warning that his car warranty was about to expire.
TV sucked. The one time he’d turned it on he’d gotten so sick of the political ads he’d turned it off immediately.
When there was a knock at his door, he almost didn’t believe he’d actually heard it. The knock came again, motivating him up out of the chair. He crossed the room and peered through the peephole.
Those brilliant, smiling green eyes he’d just been thinking about looked back at him. Fuck, what was she doing here?
“Hold on,” he said, shuffling back enough to open the door. He peered around the edge. “Marigold. What are you doing here?”
She lifted her brows, looking curiously at the door. “Well, it’s a beautiful afternoon and I thought I’d get you out of the crappy hotel room. Have you moved at all since I left you here Friday?”
He scowled, not liking how transparent she thought he was. “Yes, I have, actually.”
She rolled her expressive eyes. She wore her glasses today, as well as a pair of blue jeans that seemed painted on her they were so tight. “For more than getting ice down the hallway?”
His face must have revealed guilt because she laughed. “Come on. If you’re going to be out here you might as well see the city.”
Logan stared at her for a moment. “Do you mind waiting for me downstairs? I’m not dressed.”
The humor faded from her expression and something more aware settled in. Her irises dilated and he wondered, somewhat regretfully, what she thought he looked like without his clothes. “Believe me,” he said quickly. “You’re not missing anything.”
She blinked and her cheeks flushed with color. Quickly, she backed away from the door. “I’ll be downstairs in the pick-up loop. Take your time.”
Logan shut the door firmly, wondering what the hell he was going to do. The woman was stirring emotion he didn’t want to deal with, let alone have.
Marigold thought he had agreed to go with her, but it took him a while to get downstairs. The front desk clerk kept giving her the side-eye through the big window to the left, but Marigold wasn’t moving. There was plenty of room for other vehicles to get around her if they needed. Maybe he just didn’t like her car.
When Logan eventually appeared, her heart thudded with excitement. Though he was too old in the eyes, there was something about him that drew her. She had been praying for John to find out information as much as Logan had, just so that she had a
reason to see him again. Then, she thought, fuck it. She was a grown ass woman. If she thought Logan actually meant what he’d said, she wouldn’t have bothered, but she truly believed that he had fears of becoming attached, then being hurt again. He had told her as much with the no commitment crap. And if she put herself in his shoes, so to speak, she would probably have fears of being a burden on someone. Without his even speaking the words she knew his injuries were catastrophic and would be something he would have to deal with the rest of his life.
The blue ball cap shaded his face as he settled into the car, the crutches going alongside his legs. It was cold out and he’d bundled into his gray wool coat. There was a navy-blue sweater beneath the coat, and blue jeans. He wore those brown boots a lot, and she wondered if he needed the support for his ankle joints.
“We can put those crutches in the back if you need more room,” she said.
“I’m okay,” Logan told her, glancing out the side window at the attendant, then back at her.
Marigold didn’t think he turned his head away to hide from her as much anymore, and she appreciated that. The scars on his face were bad, but not hide away from the world bad.
“I’ll admit, I’m surprised to see you,” he said. “I thought I made my position clear.”
She looked him in the eye. “No commitment, I know. But I was worried about you. I doubt you’ve eaten anything decent for a while, so I thought I’d take you to a local watering hole. It has incredibly good food, and you’ll be supporting a veteran.”
His jaw tightened, and he stared at her for a long moment, before eventually giving her a reluctant nod. “Fine.”
“But before we do that, I thought I’d show you a few highlights of the city.” She smiled at him and lifted her brows, trying to lighten his mood. She’d jerked him out of his lair and he wasn’t necessarily happy about it, but he could lighten up a little.
“I’d appreciate that. Not sure I’m up for hiking the mountains yet, but maybe another day.”
She snorted, appreciating the attempt at humor, though it was self-denigrating. “That’s fine. This is a car tour. No hiking needed unless you want to get out and look around.”
Marigold turned toward downtown first. They were only a few blocks from the capitol building. When they idled by, she pointed. “If you stand on one of those steps you’ll be exactly one mile above sea level.”
“Ah, very cool,” Logan murmured. “I always wondered where that point was.”
Marigold huffed out a laugh and waved a hand. “Now you know.”
She turned down a couple of streets and began to head north. “Denver is a very artsy city. You’ll find so many different art museums, from fine art to street art. This is one of my favorite areas so far. It’s called RiNo, for River North.”
The little car purred her way through traffic and Marigold thought that Logan might be appreciating what he was seeing. A couple of times he craned his neck to keep something in sight as long as possible. Then she slowed and flicked on her blinker, waiting for cross traffic to pass. “I think this is my favorite street in Denver, so far. It’s called Art Alley.”
They idled down the street, looking at design after design on the walls of the buildings. “Okay,” he breathed, leaning forward in his seat. “This is pretty cool.”
Marigold grinned, so glad that she’d brought him here. “Supposedly there’s a street festival in the fall. New artists come in and paint new murals. Sometimes they go over the existing ones, so I’ve taken pictures of all of these before they’re lost.”
“This really is amazing. I admire anyone with creative inclinations. I definitely don’t have them.”
“I do a little bit,” she admitted. “I love that there are classes everywhere, here. I’m signed up for a couple this month.”
They drifted along with the rest of the traffic, not in a rush to get anywhere.
“Do you like books?” she asked. “There’s an amazing bookstore not too far from here.”
“I do like books,” he admitted. “You?”
Marigold appreciated that he was at least responding to her. “I love them, though I tend to read a lot of fiction, urban fantasy in particular.”
He gave a nod like he actually knew what urban fantasy was. Maybe he did.
They drove for a few more minutes until she pulled along a street and pointed out a series of windows. “This is the Tattered Cover Lodo, or Lower Downtown. It’s an amazing store. Would you like to check it out?”
He gave her a nod. “I would, actually.”
She maneuvered close to the front doors and idled. “Can I drop you off here?”
“Find your parking spot, Marigold. There are cars behind you.”
Sighing at his obstinacy, she turned down the street. There were several pay lots nearby, but she wanted to get as close as possible for Logan and his stubborn ass. She managed to snag a compact space about a quarter of the way down from the store. Damn, that was lucky.
Marigold was surprised that he even wanted to go in. Logan seemed to be in his own little isolationist bubble. Maybe this was his attempt to placate her, or something. She wasn’t upset that he hadn’t wanted to move into Nancy’s house, just disappointed. It would have been good for him.
She slowed her gait to stay beside him as they walked toward the front door. Surprisingly, they were the only ones on the sidewalk at that moment. She watched the placement of his crutches on the ground, watching for stray ice patches. It was pretty clear, and the sun was shining, melting what was left on the sidewalks. When he paused and turned to her slightly, it took her a second to realize what he was doing.
“Marigold, I want to apologize for the other night. I’m not... that felt like a commitment to me. The house was fantastic and Nancy seems to be a doll, but I’m just not ready to engage further.”
She shrugged, trying not to show her hurt. She scuffed at the sidewalk with the toe of her boot. “That’s fine, Logan. I was just trying to help a guy out. No commitment stated, inferred or requested.”
He nodded slowly, dark brows furrowed under his ball cap. “Roger that.”
They took off walking again, but she couldn’t help asking, “What if you find family, though?”
Logan gave her a narrow-eyed look from beneath the cap, crutches swinging. “I guess I’ll see when and if it happens. As of right now, I don’t think John will find anything.”
The massive bookstore was not especially crowded, though Marigold knew it was a matter of time. When they entered through the front door and went up the steps, Logan had to stop and stare. It was a beautiful old building, and her favorite of the four locations. It called to her heart.
Union Station was a popular shopping area, with some fantastic restaurants nearby. Marigold had come here on a few dates. The excellent food helped make up for the not-so-excellent companionship. And the bookstore was to die for. She spent a lot of time here, in this particular store. Sometimes she brought her laptop just to sit and soak up the calm ambience. She had a feeling when school started she would be here even more.
“Okay, you weren’t kidding,” he said softly. “What a cool space.”
Crutches planted firmly on the hardwood floors, legs moving, he headed toward the history section. Marigold didn’t feel like she needed to babysit the man, so she headed toward the magazine section. Shannon had sent her down several times with petty cash to load up on gun magazines for the reception area and the guys’ break room. No Vogue or Good Housekeeping for the LNF offices, she thought with a snort.
Then she headed to the urban fantasy section. Logan was also in fiction, now, and she wondered what he liked to read. Looked like westerns. Hm. She watched as he walked down the hardwood aisle, crutches hanging from his arms. He could walk without them, but his gait was stiff, like he’d been sitting in one position too long. But he could move. The crutches appeared to be insurance when out in public.
That was good to know.
They hung in the bookstore for a
lmost an hour and a half, settling at the coffee shop to peruse what they might buy. Marigold had picked up a new Ilona Andrews book. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she saw the book on genealogy. “John will find your family,” she promised. “Save your money.”
Giving her a crooked smile, he set the book aside and pulled a different one from the stack in front of him. “Do you know if this is a good one?”
It was a book on the Denver art scene. “It is, but I suggest you get a second one, as well. Or I can loan you mine.”
“If you don’t mind,” he murmured, lifting his coffee cup and looking at the rest of the stack.
She nodded mutely, wondering if he considered a book loan a commitment.
Don’t stir the pot, Marigold!
The thick, dark hair at his ears flipped out a little, like the band of the hat was constricting them. If she had even the slightest encouragement she would run her fingers through it, putting the waves in order. That was way too familiar, though. Glancing down, she watched his hands flip through the books. They were broad and obviously strong, though looked like they’d been through hell, just like the rest of him.
They each left with a bag of reading material. When they got back to the car, he let her take his bag of books so that he could get in the car. He braced the door when she would have shut it and looked up at her. Even in the dimness of the evening his eyes were beautiful. “Thank you for dragging the bear out of the cave. Honestly, I was going a little stir crazy.”
“No problem,” she murmured, doing everything she could to hide her joy at his words. With a trembling breath, she circled the car and settled in behind the wheel. “It’s going on seven. Are you getting hungry?”
“Not too bad. Maybe we can drive around a little more?”
“Absolutely.”
They left the parking space and she turned right, then another right. “This is Coors Field, where the Colorado Rockies play.” She drove for a few blocks. “And this is the Central Market, a trendy shopping area. The Denver Zoo is that way,” she pointed, “and it’s fantastic.”