Tailspin (Better Than You)

  “She’ll come around,” she says, and then she’s gone. My phone vibrates and I pull it out to see that it’s Chief. Before I can say a word, his deep voice resonates through the line. “You’re in too deep,” he says stiffly. “I knew you shouldn’t have used your real name. It’s messing with your head, isn’t it?”

  “No, sir. It’s not.” I should say more, convince him that everything’s all right, but I’m at a loss for words because I know he’s right. I’m lost.

  I can hear the breath he takes before he says, “What do you have Crowley doing? Whose address is he looking for?”

  “It’s a friend…of Brody’s. Close friend. I think he has more to do with the drugs than Brody does.” It’s not an outright lie; I’ve been wondering about his involvement in everything since I met him. Brody doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to head things up. Danny does.

  I need air. As I head out of the bar, I can hear papers shuffling from Chief’s end. “So you’re telling me you can still handle this?”

  “Yes. It’s insulting that you’re questioning me, Mitch.” There. That sounds more like me.

  Chief snorts. “Alright, kid. Don’t fuck this up.”

  The line goes dead the same moment I step outside. The hot air is barely a relief to the stuffiness I felt inside, but I take in a deep gulp of it anyways. Just as I’m looking up from the ground and letting it out, I see the most amazing and terrifying thing ever. It’s Logan’s car, and it’s moving, parking in the spot she always used to park in. I’m beginning to convince myself it’s just a hallucination, a mirage created by the heat rippling around me, when the door opens and her thin legs swing out. The sound of the door shutting brings my gaze up to her face and I can’t help but stare. Because, even from here, I can see the bruises, the wrongness of what used to be flawless. She’s still beautiful, despite what he’s done to her, and the urge to run to her like a fucking psycho is running through my head.

  She walks to me, so slowly I think I might die in the process, and stops just a foot away. And it hits me, right then and there. She’s alive, she’s living and breathing and here, in front of me, her melted honey eyes staring deep into mine. Slowly, like reaching a hand out to a wild animal, I press my fingertips to the curves of her face; her cheek, jaw, lips. I can feel the heat of her breath as I trace my fingers along the slope of her upper lip. The fact that she’s breathing at all still has me stunned into stupidity. The need to have her in my arms is too strong to deny, so I wrap them around her and pull. She falls against me, filling all the gaps I never noticed were there. Thin, shaky arms wind around my waist and it’s like they’re squeezing my heart, too, because in this hug, in her touch, I know everything I need to know. That she needs saving, and I’m going to be the one doing it. No matter what.

  Soon her body is shaking and warmth is spilling onto my chest. I hold her tight, close my eyes when I feel her fists against my back. It might be wrong, but I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have her against my bare skin, to have her fists clenching for a whole different reason. Trying to dispel those images, I shake my head, murmur into her ear that everything will be alright. That I’m right here.

  Eventually she tops crying. I push her away gently and take her small face into my hands. Stare deep into her eyes that I swear I could never get enough of. “I thought you were dead,” I tell her. She flinches slightly but doesn’t break eye contact. I try to convey with my eyes how much that idea hurts.

  Then she laughs, a sarcastic, empty sound. Her hand comes up to wipe away the moisture that’s collected underneath her nose. “Unfortunately, I am most definitely still alive.”

  Is she joking? She’s got to be joking. But I can see in her eyes she’s not. “God, Lo. Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” With a sigh, I let go of her face and step back. I run my hands through my hair, frustrated and angry and sad. “You gave me the wrong address on your application.”

  Logan looks down, pushes around a rock with the tip of her black converse. “Guilty,” she says quietly.

  “I went looking for you.”

  Her head pops up, something like anger in her eyes. But what she’s angry about is beyond me. “Why?”

  Why did I go looking for her? Is she serious? I stare hard into her eyes. She’s serious. “What do you mean, why? Your boyfriend hit you and then dragged you out of that house by your arm. Shit, Lo, I thought he was going to kill you.” I don’t mention the gun. She was too out of it to have seen that and I don’t want to scare her.

  She rolls her eyes. “He’s not a murderer, Nathan.”

  Unbelievable. Here I am, worried out of my fucking mind and she’s playing it like it’s not a big deal. She’s defending him. I feel like I’m going crazy. “Right, he just hits women for fun,” I say sarcastically.

  “He thought I was working, and then he saw us on the patio. He jumped to conclusions, got mad. He has a very bad temper.”

  The way she says it, like he’s inclined to temper tantrums, like a fucking two year old who doesn’t know any better, makes me want to punch a wall. Or him. “That doesn’t make it right and you know it,” I say, pointing at her. I lower my finger when she glances at it disdainfully. “Why are you defending him? Why are you with him?”

  “Because he’s all I’ve ever known. He’s all I have. I’ve told you this.”

  “I still don’t get it, Lo. Believe me, I’m trying to understand but it’s so fucking hard.” I want her to understand the lengths in which I will go to save her, but in order to tell her that, I have to lie. At this point it doesn’t matter. I need her to know something. “I called the cops,” I say, taking a step towards her and grabbing her elbows.

  “What’d they say?” she asks, voice thin and wobbly.

  “That there was nothing they could do. Wouldn’t even send out a car.” That much isn’t a lie, not all of it at least. “Of course, it didn’t help that you gave me the wrong address, that I could only find out your boyfriend’s first name,” Lie. “and that your mom was barely coherent enough to recognize your name.” Her body tenses after that last sentence and I know I’ve said too much, crossed an invisible line.

  “You talked to my mom?” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s a strong accusation.

  I have to back up, explain myself. “Yeah, I didn’t know what else-”

  “You had no right, Nathan! You have no right!” she yells, stepping away from me in the process.

  “Lo, I was just trying-”

  But she interrupts me again, refusing to hear my side. “No! Just stop!” She puts her hand out, palm facing me, a literal sign to stop. I halt my forward advancement and wait. “This is my life, Nathan. You can’t just go knocking on doors, snooping around. There’s a reason it’s hard to find me!”

  Angry doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling, but I know that she’s right. I’m trying to claim her like I’m a fucking dog and tearing down set boundaries in the meantime. If she doesn’t want my help, than so fucking be it. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t care. “I was worried,” I finally say.

  “I’m sorry, Nathan. Nothing like that will ever happen again,” she says, voice clinical, detached.

  Are you sure? I want to ask, but I don’t. Instead I say, “Give me your phone,” and reach out towards her.

  “Why?” she asks, eyeing my hand skeptically, like it might turn into a venomous snake and bite her.

  I sigh, feeling a little bit agitated and a lot overworked. “Just do it, Lo.” After digging through her giant purse, she places it in my open hand. I tap the keys and bring it to life. “I’m putting my number and address in here. If you ever, ever, need me, call me. I don’t care what time or day it is.” Once I’m done, I push the phone back into her hands.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  I stare at her, confused, wondering why it is that she seems so disbelieving and reluctant towards help. Or the idea that someone might care. What happened to you? “Doing what?” I ask instead.


  Averting her eyes, she flips the phone in her hand. “Helping me.”

  Rather than answering her right away, I close the distance between us again, wrap my hands around her tiny face and pull softly so that our eyes meet again. I want nothing more than to wrap my hands over every part of her, consume her and make her forget whatever it is she is trying so hard to hide, but right now I settle for drawing into her mouth as close as I possibly can without actually touching. “Because I care about you, Logan,” I whisper into her lips. “I care about you a lot.”

  “But you shouldn’t,” she barely says, her reservations already softening. I begin to imagine what I could do if I had more time, if we were somewhere better than the parking lot of a bar, and then I kiss her. Soft at first, exploring her hesitant lips and allowing her to grow used to the feel of mine. As soon as she opens up to me, her mouth parting just the slightest and her body expanding to further accommodate mine, I press hard against her mouth and then pull away. It might be vindictive, but I hope she understands that I’ll only push so far. The rest is up to her.

  “Ready to work?” I ask, as if nothing just happened between us. “Tonight’s Friends Night.”

  Logan clears her throat and steps away, disappointment flashing across her face before it’s replaced by a practiced smile. “I totally forgot. Yay for Tuesday!”

  Just like that, the moment is gone. We’re back to this push and pull, this dance around the truth we’ve been in since day one. Her secrets, my secrets, holding us down, away from moving forward. Throughout our shift, I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of her, afraid that she’ll disappear if I look away too long. At one point our eyes meet, a room full of bodies between us but something so desperate and heated in her gaze, despite the space. I can feel Kait watching, but it doesn’t matter. What everyone thinks they know will be wrong anyways. Logan looks away first and I follow suit, getting back to the business of liquoring up a bunch of half-naked, egotistical college kids. It’s hard to imagine that I was one of them not too long ago. I feel old, so old and tired and just old.

  Just as it starts to slow down, I see Logan approaching me from the side. I know what’s going on before she even opens her mouth. I can see it in her face, in the way her hands are trembling and her shoulders are sagging. She’s in pain, she’s crashing, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “Nathan, hey,” she says when she finally reaches me. “I was thinking, since it’s kinda slow, that maybe I could cut out early?” There’s a forced innocence in her voice. She’s trying to sell me.

  I can play this game too. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask, concern oozing out of my pores. I hope she feels bad.

  She waves a hand in the air, like a grandmother would wave away an offer for help. This whole thing is so fake it makes me want to puke. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just feeling a little achy still from the flu. I can stay, though, if you need me to.”

  Fuck this. I grab her arm and pull her farther away from the bar, towards the stock room, where it’s quieter. “What’s the matter, Lo?”

  She rubs away my touch. “Nothing, Nathan. God. I’m just really tired, that’s all.”

  “Are you going back to Danny’s place if you leave here?”

  “Um, yes? It’s where I live.”

  “Then no, you can’t leave early,” I say and watch as her eyes widen and her mouth parts in surprise. Those lips were parting earlier for a whole different reason and I’m not going to pretend like it fucking didn’t happen. Like I don’t care. “The more time you spend away from there, the better. In fact, if you want to come in tomorrow night, I have some paperwork that needs to be done. You can sit in my office all night. And the next night, too. You never have to bartend again. Do you know how to use a computer?”

  “Nathan,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “First of all, stop rambling. And yes, I do know how to use a computer. What do you think I am, a cavewoman?” She holds up two fingers. “Second of all, I have to go home eventually. If I don’t…”

  The sentence is left hanging in the air, unfinished, but it’s enough. It’s as close as she’s ever come to saying something true. It makes everything worse. “Shit, Lo. Just stay here, stay with me.”

  The second I think she might agree, she asks, “So can I go home or not?”

  It’s so hard to care for someone who doesn’t want it. It makes me feel stupid, desperate, in over my head and out of control. It makes me angry. “Yeah,” I say, and I let go of her arm which I didn’t even know I was holding. I shake my hand out to get the feel of her skin off of me.

  Then she’s gone. Flying out of the bar like a bat out of hell.

  Soon after, I leave the bar, too. I wait for Emily in the parking lot of the wine bar she’s working at, trying to decide whether I should just tell her everything or not. Part of me wants to just get it all out there, out of my head and my chest because I feel like I might explode with it all. But then I think about putting this all on her, burdening her with my shit when I’m supposed to be the parent, and I know that I can’t say anything.

  Emily has other plans, though. She drops into the car with a tired sigh and glances over at me. “We need to talk,” is all she says, and I know I have no choice because when a girl, any girl, says those words, it’s her way or the high way.

  I tell her everything. About the academy and going undercover and making friends only to betray them and Logan and how I want to help her, fix her, and how I’m just so trapped and confused and stuck inside this life that wasn’t supposed to be mine. Both the life with Joshua and Emily and the life with Brody and Logan and Danny. I don’t mean to tell her that part, afraid that she’ll think I don’t want them, but she doesn’t say anything about that. What she says surprises me.

  “Not everything is so right and wrong, Nathan. Logan doesn’t know what she needs. Don’t give up on her.” Then she pats my knee, reaches behind her for the seatbelt and turns up the radio. That’s it. We’ve been sitting here for over an hour, me going on and on and dumping all of my problems on her and she simplifies everything into a few short sentences. Now I feel like a fucking girl.

  17

  March 25, 2009

  The drive home is silent, except for the radio. I expected a lecture from Emily, about making better decisions or lying to her less or something, but she just sits quiet and looks out the window at the same scenery we pass every single day. The silence has always been worse. I think she knows that and is doing it on purpose. She doesn’t seem mad, but she definitely doesn’t look happy. It’s just another one of those times where nothing I do is right.

  “Is there anything you want to talk about?” I ask as I park the car in the driveway.

  She finally looks at me and shrugs. “Not really. Unless there’s anything else you’re not telling me.”

  I haven’t told her much about Logan, just that she needs help. If Emily knew that Logan was a girl with a drug addiction, a deadbeat mom and a boyfriend who uses her as a punching bag, I’m afraid she’d tell me what I already know; that I’m in over my head. “No. There’s nothing else.”

  Emily smiles. “Then we’re good.”

  “Okay. We’re good,” I agree before stepping out of the car. Emily follows close behind up the walkway to the front door. The porch lights come on, sensing our approach, and I look up, maybe out of habit but maybe because I sense something, too, and that’s when I see her. Sitting on the front porch, small and timid, like a baby and I’ve just been storked. “Logan?” I whisper, stopping in my tracks.

  Emily bumps into me from behind and stops, too, hands on my back. “Logan?” she asks with shock. “Like, Logan, Logan?”

  I don’t answer her; just stare at Logan, afraid to move my eyes in case she might disappear. Wondering why she’s here, if it’s because she’s hurt, I do a search of her face and the visible parts of her body. But there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong. She just seems really uncomfortable and unsure as she stands and takes a tentative step to
wards Emily and me.

  “Hey, um.” She starts fidgeting with her hands. “Sorry to just show up like this. I’ll leave.” Her eyes dart to Emily. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  Before I can reply or try to stop her, she’s walking away, across the lawn and down the sidewalk. “Hey, Lo, Wait!” I call out, following behind her. But she doesn’t stop walking. In fact, she’s kind of running now and I’m running after her because she’s here, here, at my house, and I need to know why. “Logan, damn it, stop running!”

  I lunge for her, because rationality has taken off along with Logan and the need to get her to stop running, in more ways than one, is stronger than anything else. My body crashes into hers as my arms wrap around her waist, and then we’re suspended in air for what feels like an eternity. Just before we hit the ground, I twist so that my body takes most of the impact. We land hard, the force causing her to let go of a loud oomph as we both fall to our backs.

  When I hear her breathing return to normal, I finally speak. “Did you come here for help, Lo?”

  She’s quiet a moment longer, neither one of us turning to see the other. “I didn’t mean to be an inconvenience,” she says softly. I’m confused as to why she would think she’s been an inconvenience already, but then Emily’s face pops into view, blocking out the dark, starless sky, and I begin to understand how us showing up might be confusing to Logan, who doesn’t know about my family.

  “Nathan? Are you gunna hold her down all night or invite her in?” Emily asks.

  I wish she would disappear, because this is kind of nice. “I don’t know, this is pretty nice,” I say with a smile, tugging Logan closer.

  Emily rolls her eyes and reaches for Logan’s hand. The warmth of her body disappears just as suddenly as it appeared. “Come on. It’s late and I’m sure the neighbors aren’t super happy about this little early morning meeting,” she says as she leads Logan away by the hand, who turns to me with this help me look that makes me laugh.