Sin Bin

by Maureen Smith

  She pressed the answer button and brought the phone to her ear. “Logan?”

  “Hey, Jup—” He broke off abruptly. “What’s wrong?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. “Nothing’s wrong,” she croaked. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.” His voice was sharp with worry. “What’s going on?”

  “N-Nothing.” She struggled to sound normal. “I, uh, just left the adoption center where I volunteered. They threw me a surprise going-away party. It got me all weepy and emotional.”

  Logan was silent. He didn’t believe her.

  “I have pictures from the party. I’ll send them to you.” The words came out in a rush. “Wait till you see the cake they got me. It was decorated like the solar system. It was so cool. The detailing was just amazing. And it was chocolate…” She trailed off weakly and took a shaky breath, trying to steady nerves that felt like they’d been scraped raw.

  There was another silence.

  “That town has a lot of ghosts for you and me,” Logan spoke low in her ear. “You seeing ghosts, Jupiter?”

  She swallowed tightly and nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.

  “I think it’s good that you’re leaving Las Vegas,” he continued in an almost hypnotic murmur. “You need to go someplace new. Get a fresh start.”

  “Yes,” she whispered around the knot in her throat. “I agree.”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “Um…somewhere on Rainbow Boulevard. You know where that is?”

  “Of course, angel. I know those streets like the back of my hand. How far are you from home?”

  “About thirty minutes.” She opened her eyes, looked around and let out her breath slowly. She felt much steadier, the last vestiges of anxiety seeping away. The deep rumble of Logan’s voice was making her feel safe. Protected, even.

  “I’ll keep you company on your way home,” he told her.

  “Mmkay.” She hesitated, then added shyly, “Thank you.”

  “Anytime, Jupe.” His tone was soft, almost tender.

  She opened the glove compartment, fumbled out several tissues and blew her nose. “So, um, what have you been up to?”

  “Just got back from the gym.” She heard a jangle of keys in the background. “Got any of that chocolate cake left?”

  “Yeah.” She sniffled, amused that he would ask about cake after working out. “It’s in the backseat.”

  “Good. Save me a piece.”

  She gave a teary laugh. “It’s gonna be hard and dry by the time I get back to Denver.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll nuke it in the microwave.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck, Logan.”

  He chuckled. “Let me be the judge of what’s yucky.”

  “All right. If you insist.” A faint smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. “I think there’s still a part of Jupiter left.”

  “Awesome. My favorite planet.”

  Her smile deepened as she stared out the window at the gathering darkness. “Leaving Las Vegas,” she mused half to herself. “That’s the name of an old Sheryl Crow song.”

  “Is it?” She could hear the answering smile in Logan’s voice. “It’s also the name of an old movie.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember that. With Nicholas Cage, right? That creepy guy?”

  Logan snickered. “He’s washed up now, but Santino says he used to be a good actor.”

  “I’ve heard that.” Meadow put the phone on speaker so she could talk hands free. Then she turned on her signal and carefully pulled back onto the road. “By the way, nice goal last night.”

  “You saw the game?”

  “Yeah. I had it on while I was packing.” She smiled. “You’re really good.”

  Logan chuckled. “Why do you sound surprised?”

  “I’m not. I knew you were good. I mean, you were the number one draft pick, and I remember what an amazing skater you were when Mr. Tavárez took us ice skating that time.” She smiled at the memory. “Where’d you learn to skate so well?”

  Logan was quiet for a long moment. “My mom taught me when I started walking. She used to take me ice skating around the holidays. She was really good. I remember her joking that she must have been an Olympic figure skater in a past life. She probably was.”

  Meadow could hear the sadness in his voice. It made her want to hug him.

  Before she could say anything, he changed the subject. “So you’re coming back on Friday, right?”

  “Right.” She felt again that instinct to reassure him. “I’m leaving around midnight and driving through the night. It’s an eleven-hour trip, so I should get to Denver by noon or so.”

  Logan grunted. “I don’t like you being on the road by yourself at night. Why don’t you leave on Thursday morning instead?”

  “Because I want to avoid most of the daytime traffic. And my dad will be disappointed if I leave a day earlier than planned. He’s already been grumbling about me going back to Denver a whole week before my new job starts.”

  “You need that week to unpack and get settled,” Logan pointed out.

  “That’s what I told him.” She sighed. “I think he understands. It’s just hard for him to let me go. It was different when I went off to college because he knew I was coming back. But now I’m leaving, probably for good.” Another wistful sigh escaped. “So many changes…”

  “Change can be good,” Logan reminded her.

  “I know. But I still feel a little guilty for leaving.” She slowed for a red light. “At least he won’t be alone. He has his girlfriend—”

  “Girlfriend? What happened to your adoptive mother?”

  “She died of brain cancer.”

  “Damn,” Logan said quietly. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

  Her throat tightened. “It was devastating, but losing her brought us even closer together. Aunt Rosalie was there for us, too. We couldn’t have gotten through that time without her.” Meadow drove through the intersection. “Have you ever requested your records, Logan?”

  “My records?” There was an edge to his voice.

  “From the time you spent in foster care.”

  “Santino received them when he adopted me. Since he worked for DFS, he was able to get my complete records. He said he would show them to me whenever I’m ready.”

  “Oh.” Meadow hesitated. “When do you think you’ll be ready?”

  He took a few moments to answer. “I don’t know.”

  She nodded understandingly.

  “What about you? Did you request your records?”

  “Only recently.” She let out a small breath. “For the longest time, I didn’t want to see the paper trail. I’d spent years repressing my childhood, trying to put the past behind me. Even while working for DFS, I never attempted to access my records. But shortly after I left, I caught a really bad respiratory infection and had to get a chest X-ray. It was revealed that I had two previously broken ribs.”

  “Jesus,” Logan muttered darkly.

  “I didn’t remember sustaining those injuries, so it was pretty shocking news.” She swallowed. “That’s when I decided to start seeking some answers. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much success.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’ve only received a partial file with not much information, and I keep getting the runaround. One time I was told there’s a backlog of requests. Another time I was told that my complete records couldn’t be found because I’d been out of the system too long.”

  “What the fuck?” Logan growled. “You were a caseworker for DFS, and you still have to deal with bullshit red tape?”

  “I know. It’s crazy.” Meadow frowned, frustration rising in her. “My old supervisor could have helped me, but she got laid off shortly after I did.”

  “You might have to hire a lawyer. You can use mine. He’s the best.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Meadow said ruefully. “Which is why I could nev
er afford him.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just say the word and I’ll put him to work. He’ll take care of you.”

  “Okay. I’ll, um, let you know.” She bit her lip. “Thank you, Logan.”

  “No problem. What are friends for?”

  She smiled softly, her insides warming at his kindness and generosity. “Do you have people, Logan?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you have a team of high-powered fixers at your disposal?”

  He gave a low chuckle. “I don’t know about all that. I mean, I have an agent to manage my career and endorsements; a publicist to clean up my messes; an accountant and a broker to look after my investment portfolios. And, yeah, I keep a lawyer on retainer to protect my legal interests.”

  “So in other words,” Meadow teased, “you have people.”

  “I guess I do,” he said with a sheepish chuckle.

  She had never been more acutely aware of their socioeconomic differences. It was sort of depressing.

  “So tell me more about your volun—” Logan broke off at the sound of the doorbell.

  Meadow immediately pictured a scantily clad woman waiting on his doorstep. “Do you have company?”

  “Nah. That’s my dinner. Hold on a sec.” He put the phone down while he went to answer the door.

  When he came back, she asked lightly, “What’d you order?”

  “Some Cuban food. Arroz con pollo with a side of plantains.”

  “Mmm,” she breathed. “Chicken with rice and plantains. That sounds delicious.”

  “It is.” He was smiling. “It’s a great little restaurant. I’ll take you there sometime.”

  “How about Saturday for our dinner?”

  “Nah. I made reservations somewhere else. Somewhere fancy with white tablecloths and candles.”

  Her stomach did a crazy flippity-flop. “Um, that sounds like a date.”

  “It can be whatever we want it to be,” Logan said, low and husky.

  Heat trickled along her veins. She unconsciously pressed her thighs together.

  “So, um, how many games do you have left in the season?”

  “Five.” He sounded amused. He knew the effect he had on her.

  “I can’t wait to tell Aunt Rosalie’s son that I’m friends with you.” She put emphasis on the word friends. “Cameron loves hockey and is a huge Denver Rebels fan. You happen to be his favorite player. He idolizes you.”

  “Smart boy. Can’t wait to meet him.”

  She laughed, shaking her head as she heard the hiss of a beer bottle being opened. She imagined him wrapping his lips around the top of the bottle, tilting it back and filling his mouth with the cold brew. A shiver curled through her.

  “So,” she said, trying to sound casual, “have you talked to Inez?”

  “Who?”

  “Inez Gutierrez. Ana’s sister. Have you slid into her DMs to ask her out?”

  “Nah,” he drawled. “I told you I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

  Meadow felt inexplicably relieved. Which made her feel foolish and confused.

  “Tell me about your volunteer work at the adoption center,” Logan said invitingly.

  While he ate his dinner, she talked about the agency’s important work and the special people she’d gotten to know as a volunteer. Logan listened intently, only interrupting to ask questions or to laugh warmly at her anecdotes.

  Before she knew it, she was pulling into the driveway of a two-story stucco house with a Spanish tile roof. Both her father and Wendi were back from work.

  She picked up her phone and took Logan off speaker. “I’m home now.”

  “Already?” He sounded disappointed.

  That made her smile. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

  “No problem. I can keep you company on your drive back to Denver.”

  His offer had her melting into a mushy puddle. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll be driving through the night, remember? If you stay up talking to me, you’ll be no good at practice in the morning. Plus you’ll be coming off back-to-back games—”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “No way, Logan,” she said adamantly. “You’re an athlete. You need your rest. We can talk for a few hours, but that’s it.”

  “We’ll see.” There was a smile in his voice.

  She turned off her engine and sighed. “Well, let me go inside. Good luck against the Islanders tomorrow night. I’ll be watching.”

  “Awesome.” His voice lowered to an intimate rumble. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

  She closed her eyes, her heart banging wildly in her chest. “I’ll be there soon.”

  Just before she ended the call, she thought she heard him whisper, “Not soon enough.”

  “Meadow, darling,” wendi called across the backyard the next evening, “come say hello to Auntie Trish.”

  Meadow had been talking to some neighbors when she received Wendi’s summons. She politely excused herself from the group and made her way across the landscaped lawn, stopping often to accept congratulations on her new job. Wendi had thrown her a going-away party that evening, but most of the invited guests were her friends, not Meadow’s.

  Chatter and laughter rang through the warm night, lights twinkling in the swaying palm trees that bordered the fence. Delicious scents wafted from the buffet table piled high with an assortment of catered foods.

  Wendi and her good friend Trish were standing on the wraparound deck drinking cocktails and gossiping.

  Trish was a successful real estate agent in her early forties. Tall and lithe with smooth brown skin and sparkling brown eyes, she bore a striking resemblance to British actress Naomie Harris. She was always super nice to Meadow, always asking how she was doing and giving her career advice. Sometimes Meadow wished that her father had met Trish before Wendi.

  As she approached the wooden deck with a glass of wine, Trish beamed and waved excitedly to her.

  “There you are! Get yourself right on up here!”

  Meadow laughed as she stepped onto the deck. “Hey, Trish.”

  They hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks, then pulled apart and shared a big grin.

  “So you’re really leaving us, huh?” Trish demanded.

  “I’m afraid so,” Meadow said sheepishly. “They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “So I hear.” Trish affectionately tweaked her nose. “I’m so happy for you. I knew it was only a matter of time before some smart employer snatched you up.”

  Meadow smiled warmly. “Thank you, Trish. For everything.”

  Trish winked at her.

  Not wanting to be left out, Wendi asserted, “I never doubted that you would land back on your feet, Meadow. You’re a survivor.” She smiled and gave her a one-armed hug around her shoulders. It felt stiff and unnatural. “Whitni is so sorry she couldn’t be here to see you off.”

  “I know. She texted her congratulations and well wishes.” Wendi’s twenty-six-year-old daughter had accompanied her boyfriend on a business trip to Dubai.

  “Easton is showing her the time of her life,” Wendi gushed. “The company put them up in a five-star hotel and arranged for a luxury car service. The last time I spoke to Whitni, she’d just gotten a massage at the spa, and they had dinner reservations at the most expensive restaurant in Dubai.”

  “Wow.” Trish let out a longing sigh. “I would love to be whisked off on an all-expenses-paid trip to Dubai. Lucky girl.”

  “Isn’t she?” Wendi was giddy. “She says Easton made two million last year and he’s up for another promotion. I told her she’d better hold on to him and hold on tight.”

  “Definitely,” Trish agreed. “It’s hard out here for single women, and it’s only getting worse.”

  “Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you, Meadow?” Wendi patted her arm. “When you get to Denver, one of the first things you should do is join a gym.”


  The barb brought heat to Meadow’s face.

  “Pay her no mind, Meadow.” Trish eyed her enviously. “I’d kill to have your body. Petite with curves galore.”

  “Oh, no, you misunderstood me,” Wendi rushed to clarify herself. “I wasn’t implying that Meadow is overweight or anything. She’s fine the way she is. But as a yoga instructor, I always encourage people to be as fit and healthy as they can be. It certainly wouldn’t hurt Meadow to get more toned. If she wants to attract a high-earning man like Easton, she has to keep herself in tip-top shape and start traveling in the right social circles.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with her social circles,” Trish countered. “Between her volunteer work and astronomy club, she interacts with a wide range of people. Hobnobbing with millionaires doesn’t guarantee a trip down the aisle. Look at me. I sell mansions to high rollers and get invited to the most exclusive parties. I meet plenty of eligible men every day, but I’m still no closer to finding Mr. Right.”

  Wendi scoffed dismissively.

  Meadow gave Trish an empathetic smile, secretly wishing her father was still on the market. He wasn’t a millionaire, but he worked hard and could make any woman very happy. And selfishly, she knew she would enjoy having Trish as a stepmother.

  Wendi sighed as if shouldering some great burden. “So many young black women don’t understand the importance of raising their standards and practicing hypergamy. Instead of leveling up, they scrape the bottom of the barrel to find love. Whitni has friends who will gladly date any broke bum off the street just because he has so-called swag.” She snorted. “As if swag ever paid the bills or put food on the table.”

  Trish didn’t argue the point.

  Meadow sipped her wine and looked around the yard, hoping to be rescued by her father. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found.

  She was startled when Wendi suddenly cupped her chin and tipped her face up. “Will you just look at these gorgeous amber eyes? They’re one of your best features. Why do you insist on hiding them behind these glasses?”

  “Um, I’m nearsighted,” Meadow reminded her.