TWENTY-ONE
Logan
Seven. Seven torturous days went by without seeing her, hearing her voice, or knowing how she was. I would gladly take Tyka’s beating over this hell. She was in the hospital, and others visited, but I felt too heavy to even try.
Then she was back. I heard the door click shut and saw Delara step out, giving me a tentative smile before walking away. Again, I found myself unable to knock on Kaylan’s door. Fearing I’d just bring more pain, I backed off to my room.
Later, at dinner, she rolled in with a wheelchair. Dressed in a long gown that seemed too formal for her liking, she still managed to look radiant. She smiled, but it seemed to falter whenever she caught me staring, which made me eventually just focus on my plate.
Delara suggested a movie night and Kaylan was up for it. “You can’t drink, though, can you?” Leora noted.
Kaylan shook her head, her smile briefly slipping.
“I can make some mean mocktails,” Amelia jumped in, lightening the mood.
Us guys just exchanged looks. I noticed Zarek watching Leora with this enchanted expression. It hit me—I was doing the same with Kaylan. But while Leora returned Zarek’s gaze with affection, Kaylan looked back with something like dread. It stung, realizing that my attention didn’t comfort her, but instead, it seemed to torment her.
‘You’re my nightmare.’
I hadn’t mentioned Kaylan in my recent sessions with Dr. Mendoza, but I was certain she’d start connecting the dots between what Kaylan might be sharing and my own erratic behavior. Recollecting my last appointment, after that destructive spar with Ronan, Dr. Mendoza had been disturbingly blunt.
???
“Let’s discuss your sparring session with Ronan Hayden,” she suggested, nudging her glasses up with a finger.
I raised an eyebrow. “Who’s been gossiping, doctor?”
She offered a noncommittal shrug. “I’m informed of any behaviors that deviate significantly from your baseline.”
Guilt and discomfort washed over me.
“So, why didn’t you fight back, Logan?” Her voice was calm, but the question stirred a storm within me.
Why? Because I felt I deserved it. Because pain was the only sensation that seemed real as fists collided with my face. Because I had grievously hurt someone who had only tried to help me. I kept these thoughts to myself.
“Because it made me feel less numb,” I said.
We moved on. She steered the conversation towards my history with Sebastian, and I reluctantly followed. Somehow, my animosity with Sebastian was the last thing on my mind, and seemed trivial.
“I think you’re blaming yourself more for Eli’s situation than you blame Sebastian. You see yourself as equally responsible, don’t you?” she probed.
I considered her words, then shook my head stubbornly. “No, he was older. He should have known better. He failed us.”
“He was a year older, right? You were born in July 1988, and he in November 1987. That’s barely a year, actually. He wasn’t any more responsible than you were.”
“But he took on the fucking role!” I snapped.
She merely nodded, her expression unchanging, not even flinching at my outburst. She leaned forward slightly, her voice steady and firm, maintaining her professional composure despite my frustration. “Logan, when you say he took on that role, are you implying that he was in charge? Or are you expressing your anger about expectations that were perhaps unrealistic given your ages and circumstances?”
Her question caught me off guard. It cut deeper, challenging the narrative I had clung to for years. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the chair creaking under the weight of the moment.
She continued, her tone measured and thoughtful. “It’s easy to assign blame when we’re hurt, especially to those we believe should have protected us. But here’s something to consider: the difference between blame and responsibility lies in intention. You blame someone when there was deliberate intent to cause harm. But without that intent, it’s responsibility, not blame.”
I frowned. “But he knew, he knew about Eli and didn’t tell me. How do you justify that?”
Dr. Mendoza adjusted her glasses again, a subtle gesture that gave me a moment to breathe. “I’m not justifying his actions, Logan. I’m trying to help you see that sometimes, people make decisions based on what they think is best at the moment, even if those decisions are flawed. It’s possible Sebastian believed he was protecting you in some misguided way. That doesn’t mean he had bad intentions.”
Her words hit a nerve, and I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “He still screwed it all up,” I muttered, but my voice lacked its usual heat.
She nodded. “He may have made mistakes, but does that mean he deserves your blame? Or is it possible he was just as overwhelmed and unprepared as you were, but he carried his own version of the responsibility?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “The pain doesn’t just go away, you know? I lost Eli. Nothing changes that.”
Dr. Mendoza’s voice softened. “You’re right. The pain doesn’t go away, but carrying anger toward Sebastian might be making it harder for you to heal. Have you considered what forgiving him—not excusing him, but forgiving him—might do for you?”
I looked away, staring at a nondescript point on the wall. Forgiveness seemed like a foreign concept, especially forgiveness for Sebastian. “I don’t know if I can,” I muttered.
“That’s okay, Logan,” she said, her voice steady but kind. “Forgiveness isn’t a single act. It’s a process. It doesn’t mean forgetting or excusing; it means choosing to release the burden of anger so it doesn’t weigh you down anymore. Forgiveness is for you, not for others.”
Her words made sense, but they also opened a well of emotions I had kept sealed for too long. It wasn’t easy to let go of blame—it felt like letting go of a part of Eli.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, finally meeting her gaze again.
Dr. Mendoza nodded, jotting something in her notes. “That’s all you need to do right now. Think about it. We can explore this more in our next session.”
The session ended shortly after, leaving me with a lot to unpack. The weight I carried for so long suddenly felt different—not lighter, not yet, but maybe not as immovable as I thought. Maybe it was time to start unpacking it, piece by painstaking piece.
Kaylan
“Honestly, we could totally be Avengers if we had superpowers,” Amelia joked, glancing over at the massive projector screen where Avengers: Infinity War was about to start. We had just finished Thor: Ragnarok , and Leora had been doing her best to explain the saga of the Infinity Stones and other Marvel intricacies to anyone who wasn't up to speed. We were in the movie room in Blackthorn’s second building.
“Iron Man doesn’t actually have powers,” Delara pointed out, adjusting the volume.
“No, but he’s a billionaire genius,” I added quietly.
“That sounds like Sebastian,” Leora said with a smirk, causing a few chuckles around the room.
Amelia rolled her eyes dramatically. “He was a nightmare even when he was flat broke.”
“Oh, right!” Leora turned to Amelia with a sudden realization. “You and Dylan lived next door to Sebastian for a while, didn’t you?”
Amelia nodded, laughing. “Yeah, those were some days. He started calling me ‘sweetheart’ because he overheard me whining to my mom in our front yard about how no one ever called me honey or sweetheart like my dad did for her. So embarrassing. Then Seb took it upon himself to start calling me that.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet,” Delara said, smiling warmly.
“Ugh, please,” Amelia groaned, pretending to gag.
The night went on with just us girls, and I found myself genuinely enjoying it. Delara critiqued the fight scenes with a professional eye, Leora made us laugh with her slightly inappropriate but hilarious comments on the characters’ hotness, and Amelia, with her famously short attention span, kept us all engaged with her endless stream of questions. It was a pleasant break from everything else.
Logan
“That’s a nasty cut, still,” Dylan remarked, his eyes fixed on the small cut on my brow—a souvenir from the sparring session with Ronan. We were all lounging around, drinks in hand.
“Remind me to never pair Ronan with you on an assignment,” Sebastian quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. I ignored his comment.
“Well, did you at least get what you wanted?” Zarek chimed in, his voice tinged with concern rather than curiosity.
I hesitated. The truth was complicated. I had provoked Ronan, hoping to feel anything other than the gnawing guilt that had been consuming me. But the pain had only receded slightly, a brief respite before it would surge back with a vengeance.
I forced a soft smile. “I think I just made an enemy, more than anything.”
Zarek shook his head, his glass paused near his lips. “It’s Ronan; he won’t hold it against you. Trust me, I know the guy.” He downed the last of his whiskey in one gulp, then signaled Kabir for the bottle.
“You sure?” Kabir asked, eyeing the clock. “It’s almost 2 AM.”
Zarek’s eyes flicked up in surprise. “Shit, really?”
Zane tapped on his phone, then turned the screen towards us. “They’re still in the movie room,” he announced. The screen showed the women laughing, drinks and an almost empty popcorn bucket in hand. Kaylan’s smile lit up the display, sending a wave of warmth through me at the sight of her so relaxed and happy.
“Stalker,” I muttered under my breath, earning a mocking smile from Zane.
“Oh wow, Amelia is swaying,” Dylan chuckled, pointing at the screen. “Never thought she could get this drunk.”
Kabir shifted uncomfortably in his seat at his words.
“You’ve never carried your sister home drunk from a party before? Isn’t that like a high school ritual in America?” Kabir asked, turning to Dylan with a raised eyebrow.
Dylan shrugged. “I joined the military by the time she hit high school and started drinking. Never got the chance.”
Zarek suddenly clapped his thighs and stood up, decisiveness in his movement. “Well, I’m gonna go get my woman. It’s pretty late.”
“I’ll come with,” Kabir declared, rising to his feet. Together, they strode out of the lounge, their figures disappearing into the hallway. Zane and Sebastian left a few seconds later.
Silence settled over us. My knee started to bounce with nervous energy, a silent timer ticking down the concerns swirling in my head. How was Kaylan going to get back to this building? She was in a wheelchair and it was late. Would anyone accompany her? Delara lived in the same building as the movie room; she wouldn’t be walking Kaylan back. Leora and Zarek were out of the question too, stationed on the same wing as Delara. Amelia was hammered and I wasn’t sure who would be looking out for her.
My eyes snapped to Dylan. He was her brother; why wasn’t he moving? “Aren’t you going to get Amelia?” I blurted out. Dylan studied me for a beat, an unreadable expression crossing his face before he shrugged nonchalantly, grabbing his glass.
“I don’t need to.”
My eyes narrowed, piecing it together, and then it hit me; Kabir had left with Zarek. “Are Kabir and Amelia…?” My voice trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air.
Dylan chuckled and took a leisurely sip of his drink. “They’re still just best friends. You didn’t miss anything there,” he said, his tone light.
But my knee wouldn’t stop bouncing, my thoughts circling back to Kaylan. Should I leave Dylan here alone? Dylan finally rolled his eyes dramatically at my restless fidgeting. “Jesus, go !” he laughed.
His words were all the permission I needed. I jumped to my feet and almost ran out of the lounge toward the movie room.
Kaylan
“Look, Bucky will also fight!” Leora squealed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Delara gave her a playful shove. “Aren’t you supposed to be drooling over Zarek instead?”
Leora rolled her eyes. “Come on, that’s Sebastian Stan! I adore my fiancé, but we’re talking about Sebastian Stan here.”
“He’s only got one arm,” Amelia interjected, her mouth comically agape.
“Yeah, and the other one’s made of metal. Honestly, he could do great things with just one arm,” Leora retorted dreamily.
“I’d 100% let him do anything he wants,” Amelia agreed, taking a large gulp of her drink and nodding enthusiastically.
Just then, a cough from the doorway made us all whip our heads around. Zarek and Kabir stood there, amusement written all over their faces.
“Oh, hi fiancé!” Leora called out cheerily, slightly tipsy.
Zarek just shook his head, a grin spreading across his face as he leaned down to scoop Leora into his arms. “It’s late, and you’ve had too much to drink, Mi Corazón . Let’s get you to bed, okay?”
Leora pretended to protest but melted into his arms as he whispered something in her ear, both of them breaking into grins as they headed out.
“Time to go, Lia,” Kabir said, extending his hand to Amelia, who pouted at him.
“If I carry you, I’ll need a chiropractor. So, move now,” he deadpanned, pointing towards the door.
Amelia took his hand, a little unsteady, got up and followed him out. Delara and I were left chuckling at their retreating figures.
“Can you help me get into the wheelchair?” I asked Delara as she stood up to assist me.
Before Delara could reach me, strong arms suddenly scooped me up from the couch and gently settled me into my wheelchair. I looked up to find Logan unlocking the brakes before beginning to wheel me out.
I quickly said goodnight to a smirking Delara, puzzled by Logan’s sudden appearance.
“You know, I can wheel myself. It’s not like this thing’s manual,” I huffed, though I was the only one among us who hadn’t had a drink.
Logan didn’t respond right away, just continued pushing the wheelchair, his expression unreadable in the dim hallway light.
“As I told you before, I’m here for you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the faint buzz of the city. The New York skyline was dimly lit by the moon, creating a surreal backdrop as we crossed the glass bridge to our building. I couldn’t help but steal a glance at Logan. He was focused, pushing my wheelchair with a careful determination.
“I don’t need you here for me,” I said, breaking the silence as we reached our floor. He didn’t immediately open my door; instead, he stopped and crouched before me, his expression earnest.
“Anything,” he said firmly. “I promised myself I’d be anything for you.”
A flicker of softness crossed my face, touched by his commitment, but the heaviness of our past weighed on me. My hands rested in my lap, and he gently took them in his, his touch warm and reassuring.
“You have no idea what I’d do for you, Chaos,” he said with a small smile, his use of my bizarre nickname making my heart waver for a moment.
But the reality of what I had done for him—what I had sacrificed—came crashing back. I had traded my parents’ lives for our freedom, subjected myself to my tormentors for his safety.
“Logan,” I started, my voice steady and clear. “Don’t promise to do anything for a whore like me.”
His expression shifted from concern to shock, then to deep guilt. “ Don’t call yourself that!” he protested vehemently.
“But that’s what I am,” I countered. “What do you think the price for keeping you warm was? What part of my body do you think was enough for Noel to secure us an escape car? You called me a whore, right? Whores do that. They sell themselves for assets.” My words were sharp, each one laden with bitter truth. “What do you think I sold to him to get the key to your fucking cell?”
Logan looked utterly devastated, his face a mirror of the pain I felt. My revelation had shattered him, much like he had once shattered me. I wasn’t proud of breaking him this way. He needed to know why he couldn’t be anything for me. The reason I couldn’t be anything for me. Let alone him.