by J. M. Madden
A blond dog with a lot of hair had also wandered up to them, sniffing their legs. “That’s Carmella,” Shannon continued, “and there are a couple of cats running around as well, so watch your step.”
Logan moved forward cautiously, watching where he put the tips of his crutches.
“Marigold, if you occupy Wyatt for a moment, I’ll show Logan where John is.”
“Can do,” she said with a smile.
She was about to turn away when he grabbed her hand and turned her around. Knowing eyes were on him, he dropped a quick kiss to her surprised mouth. “Back in a bit,” he winked.
Marigold seemed a little shocked at the interaction, but she smiled softly at him. “Okay.”
Logan’s smile faded as he followed Shannon across the big room and into a beautiful kitchen, then through a door and onto a ramp down into a garage. It was a two-car garage, one side taken up by a four-door Jeep, and the rest of the space was taken up by man-cave ‘stuff’, and something covered with a big tarp. There was a TV on one wall broadcasting a football game, and a couple of neon beer signs. At the other end of the bench was a massive gun safe, the door open. Logan wanted to peer inside, but that would be rude.
John sat at a wooden workbench, the pieces of an M4 scattered on the surface. He wore a pair of glasses, but when they came in he ripped them off his head and tossed them aside.
Shannon chuckled softly and turned to look at Logan. “Would you tell him that he doesn’t look old with the glasses on?”
“You don’t look old with the glasses on. If anything,” he continued, grinning, “the gray hair at your temples makes you look older.”
“You fu...fudger! Who asked you?”
They all laughed as Logan went down the ramp into the space. John waved to the fridge at the base of the ramp. “Go ahead and get a beer. And grab me one, too.”
Logan did as he was told then moved to the bench, handing one of the beers off to John. There was a stool at one end of the bench he swung around to sit on. Oh, hell. Wouldn’t be sitting on it long.
John must have noticed because he pointed at the far wall. “There are regular nylon folding chairs over there. That might feel better.”
Logan swapped out the chairs. The new one didn’t hurt his legs nearly as bad. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“What are you working on?” Logan already knew because he’d used the weapon as well, but he thought it would be a good conversation opener.
“This is an M4,” John said, as if instructing a class. “It fires a 5.56 mm round and is the shortened version of the M16A2...”
“I know that,” Logan laughed, interrupting him. “What’s the issue?”
John grinned at him. “No issue. I’m just cleaning it. Harper and I went to the range the other day and I hadn’t gotten back to it. It’s actually closer to an M4A1.”
His interest piqued, Logan leaned closer. “Like Special Forces uses?”
John nodded once, showing him the barrel. “Don’t tell the government. I tweaked the trigger and changed this out to a heavier duty version.”
Logan grinned. “That’s badass...”
“So, how did it go?”
In that five-minute period of time, he had allowed himself to forget what had happened an hour ago. “Did Marigold tell you what we were doing?”
“Nah,” John said, continuing to clean the barrel. “You said you had one more situation to deal with. I assumed you were dealing with it today.”
Logan sighed, resting the beer on his knee. “Yes, I tried.” He told him about the op when he was injured and his team was killed, talking to the family, and Lisa’s blow-up. Then about Ashley’s conversation.
“And you’re struggling with the guilt.”
“Basically,” Logan admitted. “Everything she said is true. I did get him killed, and I think I was looking for absolution. I may not have recognized it when I went there, but I did when she pointed it out.”
“You’re never going to find it,” John told him softly, letting his hands rest on his lap. “It doesn’t come from an exterior source. I’m gonna sound like a fucking shrink for a minute, but it needs to be said. It comes from inside you. It’s a process you have to go through to allow yourself to let go of the guilt. I can tell you exactly how many men died under my command, starting with the first grunt in Desert Storm to the last in Iraq.”
John frowned and looked down for a moment, an odd smile twisting his lips. “I’ll be damned,” he murmured. He shook his head, looking back at Logan. “What you have to remember is you were under orders to find insurgents. That was your entire job. Unfortunately, your job demanded sacrifice. But it’s not to be borne only by you. The military has responsibility as well.”
“Yeah, I know.”
It just didn’t make him feel any better right that moment.
And it didn’t make him feel any better moving forward with Mari. Hell, when had he even thought there was a forward?
“How do you move past it?” he asked. “The guilt.”
John sighed. “You just keep moving through life. It’s just like the suicidal thoughts. You keep moving through, day by day, and try to keep yourself occupied with other things, other goals. Eventually you’ll realize those thoughts don’t happen as much anymore, then they never happen.”
Logan nodded, trying to sort through his emotions. “I don’t feel suicidal like I did before. When I came out here, I was bad, I’ll admit that, but since then so much has changed. This week has been life-changing. I have family now, and a relationship I find myself...” he hesitated, searching for the right word, “enjoying. I don’t want anything to change.”
John reached out a fist expectantly and Logan bumped his knuckles. “That’s good to hear. Just so you know, though, you’ll still be expected to see our counselor when you hire on.”
Logan nodded, not surprised, and not averse to the idea either. And he wasn’t surprised John knew he was going to accept the job, either. He would be stupid not to.
“Let me show you some of my other toys,” John said grinning as he swung his wheelchair toward the safe to his right.
19
Marigold’s attention was torn between the beautiful boys in front of her and the garage door, where Logan had disappeared almost half an hour ago.
“They’ll be back in a little bit,” Shannon told her, catching her watching.
“I know,” Marigold sighed. “I just worry. That woman was so mad, blaming Logan for everything that happened to her son.”
Shannon sat at the table across from her, a big bowl of applesauce in her hand. The boys saw the treat and began clamoring for the first bite. “You have to imagine how that woman feels, though, seeing the only man that survived the bombing. It was shocking for her, I’m sure. Logan didn’t call or notify her before he went out?”
Marigold shook her head. “I don’t believe so.”
“Then it was a total blindside. He maybe could have approached it a little better.”
Yes, she was probably right.
Within two minutes the applesauce was gone. It actually took Shannon longer to clean the boys up with a wet washcloth than it had taken them to eat the snack. She lifted both boys out of the high chairs and let them go. Marigold laughed because they looked so silly, their short little legs moving as fast as their tiny tennis shoes would carry them toward the toy area.
Shannon motioned to the couch and they sat, within eyesight of the boys. “So, you and Logan seem to be hitting it off.”
Marigold grinned, removing her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Yes, we are. I’ll be honest, the first time I saw him I felt something click in me, like something engaged. I’ve never felt anything like it before, Shannon.” She replaced her glasses and looked at the woman she was beginning to consider her friend. “I’ve been in relationships before but never been so invested in the other person’s happiness. It hurt my heart when I heard that woman yelling at Logan, and I wanted to go
kick her ass.” Marigold scrubbed the angry tears from her eyes. “And I’m not that kind of woman. I’m pretty chill with everyone, but I wanted to jump out and protect him.”
Shannon nodded in understanding. “I’ve done that before, but you have to remember that he has to fight his own battles. And it might not be as pretty anymore. Mentally, he’s the same and he wants to do everything he used to, but physically he’s changed. They’re not lesser men, though. Let him figure out how to do it.”
“Yeah,” she said slowly, “I get that. I worry about his mental health, though, too. My mother...” she hesitated, wondering if she should even bring it up.
“What about your mom?” Shannon asked, her voice incredibly kind.
Tears started in Marigold’s eyes, and she couldn’t help but respond to that kindness. As the kids played with their toys, she told Shannon about losing her dad first, then her grandpa and her mom, and her suspicions that her mother had allowed herself to die.
“Oh, dear,” Shannon breathed, leaning close to wrap her arms around Marigold. She took the hug and appreciated it for what it was, but then she pulled back. “So, when he says these offhand things about ending it all, I think I’m a little more sensitive.”
“Possibly,” Shannon agreed, “but wouldn’t you rather be too sensitive than not sensitive enough?”
“Yes, of course. I just... he worries me.”
“And you need to tell him that. Don’t bitch at him, necessarily, just tell him your thoughts. Maybe he doesn’t even realize how often he says something like that.”
That was possible, she supposed.
And she was thinking about it on the way back to Marshall House a little while later. When they entered the kitchen, it was dark, but Nancy was sitting at the table, sipping from her aluminum cup. “There you kids are,” she giggled. “Aren’t you cute together.”
Marigold grinned and crossed to lean against the edge of the table. “How was bingo, tonight, Grandma?”
“Dreadful,” she snapped. “Didn’t win a damn thing. I haven’t won anything since my W.C. passed on.” She peered up at Logan, standing beyond Marigold’s shoulder. “W.C. was my lucky piece. Every night before I went to Bingo I would rub his package.” She made a circular motion with her open hand. “And I would win!”
Marigold giggled. “Wouldn’t that be his money you won, then?”
Grandma waved a hand. “Sometimes I would split it with him, but more often than not he would just tell me to hang onto it. He had his own side deals going to bring in extra money.”
Marigold laughed, her gaze connecting to Logan’s. He was grinning too and shaking his head.
“W.C. sounds like a very cool guy,” he told Nancy.
The sparkle in her eyes dimmed. “He really was. I miss him dearly. I miss all the silly things we did together, and the meals. I even miss the cross words we had,” she said softly, reaching for her cup. “But I wouldn’t have missed being with him for anything.”
Marigold reached out and rested her hand on the older woman’s. “Are you okay?”
Grandma nodded. “Just a little tired. I’ll head to bed in a little while and read for a bit.”
“Sexy books tonight or bible books?” she asked with a giggle, remembering the book shelf in Nancy’s bedroom near her bed.
“Oh, definitely the sexy books tonight. It will help me dream of my W.C.,” she grinned. “You kids have a good night.”
Without saying anything, they headed up the stairs to her apartment. Logan didn’t even pause at the door to his room. Once inside her place, they hung their coats and took off their shoes. “Want a cup of tea or hot chocolate?”
Logan shook his head. “I might do a glass of water.”
“Gotcha.”
They settled onto the couch and when he opened his arm, she leaned against him with a sigh. “What a day,” she breathed, recounting everything they’d done in her head.
He snorted, but it sounded exasperated rather than humorous. “Agreed. I’ll be honest, today didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, Logan.”
“It’s not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry about. It was my fuck-up.”
She drew back to look at him. “You need to stop taking on all this guilt. It wasn’t your fault you got hit with an IED.”
“I know,” he admitted, “but I should have gone to talk to her sooner.”
Marigold shook her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You’re alive and her son is dead. Period. I hate to be so blunt, but she was looking for an outlet. She needed an outlet.”
Logan blinked and stared sightlessly out the far window. “Yeah, I know you’re right. It’s just incredibly hard to let it go.”
“I do understand that,” she said, reaching for his hands. “But I’m here with you now, and I have no plans to go anywhere.”
“Why not?” he asked abruptly, giving her a hard look.
“What?”
“Why are you with me?” he asked her, his blue eyes dark with some emotion. “I’m a seriously fucked up dude. Honestly. My family is a damn daytime soap, my personal life is not much better. I’m permanently disabled and I’m going to need a lifetime of care. Why would you even consider being with me?”
Would he freak out if she told him she loved him? And that he felt like the half of her soul that she hadn’t even noticed was missing? “Because you keep life interesting,” she said instead, taking the coward’s way out.
Logan’s expression chilled a little and she thought he seemed a little disappointed. She wondered if she should have just admitted everything to him? It was crazy, because they’d only been together a week, a little less. It just seemed longer. And not in a bad sense. Being with him made her very happy. It made her feel...settled inside, like she’d been waiting for him.
“I like, love,” she said carefully, “the direction this is going. I want to pursue it and see where it takes us.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression guarded, before he nodded. “I do, too. You’re very easy to be around,” he said quietly, “and I feel like I should fight against it to keep myself safe, but I really don’t want to.”
Marigold gave him a serious look. “I need you to be straight with me, though.”
“About?”
She drew in a breath. “If you’re getting thoughts of hurting yourself, I need to know about it. My mother pretended everything was great until she broke, and I never had any indication that she wanted to hurt herself. I know this is a big ask, but you have to try. I can’t be blindsided by that again.”
Logan nodded once, his gaze steady. “I swear to you that I will. Right now, even with what happened today, I still feel moderately solid. It helped to talk to John, and he gave me some ideas to distract and redirect my thoughts. I also have to have counseling if I hire onto LNF.”
Marigold sat back, startled. She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised by his openness or the fact that John had given him the guidance. “That’s really good,” she said eventually. “And completely right. I haven’t even been to school yet and it sounds like good advice.”
Logan gave her a smile. “You’re important to me, Marigold Lee, and I will be here for you.”
Tears filled her eyes at the words, and she wondered when she’d gotten so emotionally invested. As soon as he had walked in the door of the office, she thought, and something in her heart had clicked.
Logan pulled her into his arms, tight against his chest. Marigold took the comfort, happily, feeling her worries ease away. She drew the scent of him in, the laundry soap and body wash, and knew that she would recognize his scent anywhere. Already she recognized it on her sheets, and she loved the contentment it brought her. As soon as she drew him in, she knew everything would be okay. He didn’t have to be a big, brash alpha male to be her hero.
They settled in to watch trash tv. When they realized they hadn’t eaten anything for dinner, she headed downstairs to look for
a snack. She found Grandma’s flat cookies and made up a tray with a plate of them and two big glasses of milk.
Logan laughed as he set the tray on the coffee table. “I am totally okay with this,” he said, reaching for a glass and a cookie.
They had a quiet night, and by the time they went to bed, Logan seemed to have accepted that he may not get resolution when it came to the loss of his teammates. Marigold held him as he told her stories about each of them, and others that he’d lost.
“I would have loved to meet Jana,” she whispered into the night.
“I think the two of you would have gotten along very well,” he said with a sigh.
“And I think my mother would have loved you, as well,” she whispered. Logan drew her in against him, breathing into her hair.
They slept for a while, and she wasn’t sure what made her open her eyes, but when she did, she could feel Logan’s heat behind her. He gave a hard body twitch, like he’d been hit, or something. Then another. But when she tried to draw away, his arms tightened around her.
“Logan, wake up.”
When he didn’t release her, she pulled at his hands. “Logan!”
Finally, he let her go, jerking to consciousness. “Mari, are you okay?”
She nodded, sitting up beside him. Leaning over, she flipped on the small table light. “I am. Are you okay? You must have been dreaming or something.”
“I was,” he admitted, running shaking hands over his face. His eyes were hazy with sleep, but he was blinking back to consciousness. “I was back in the sand and Miller was yelling at me to get my head down. But I was getting shot.”
Marigold ran her fingers down the length of his arm to hold his hand. “You’re not out there anymore. You’re here, with me, in Denver. More specifically, you’re in my warm bed,” she grinned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. With a quick glance, she saw it was after two in the morning. Damn, she’d been sleeping really good, with the heat of his body behind her.