16. Logan
16
logan
I like to think that I’m a self-aware person.
I’ve always been quick to realize when something is not for me. It’s why I was quick to drop sports as a child and left the athletic endeavors to my brother. It’s why I knew after two piano lessons that I was not going to have a future with performance. And it’s why within twenty minutes of being Maeve’s assistant, I realized I’m no help to her.
It started when she yelled at me for handing her the wrong size drill bit. It continued when I audibly gasped when she climbed an exceptionally tall ladder and I thought she was going to fall. Turns out the gasp scared her more than the height. The last straw was when she busted me staring at her ass instead of handing her the curtain rod. She told me to get out of her way and just let her handle things.
Maeve, mad? Rather scary. And rather sexy.
I could watch her all day. Even now, as I’m standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, holding our Chinese takeout lunch, I don’t want to move. I just want to watch her make magic.
She’s so different today. For starters, this is the first day I’ve seen her in regular clothing. She’s always looked like she was ready to jump into a business meeting with her power suits, or even her blazers and nicer blue jeans. Whether it was at the airport, or even this week when she and her crew were starting to work, she was polished and put together. Today’s look is casual—a cutoff sweatshirt and leggings that are hugging her perfect ass. Her hair is in a messy knot on the top of her head and she barely has on any makeup.
She’s even more beautiful than usual.
Or maybe today’s different because her look is paired with her focus on the project at hand. There’s a glint in her eye when she gets an idea. I noticed that her nose crinkles when she’s concentrating. Every part of her process is fascinating to watch. And I hate that I only have a few weeks of this in my home, because I could watch her forever.
Take now, for instance. Since I left to go meet the delivery driver—to whom I paid an absurd amount of money for delivery on Thanksgiving—she has turned on the music. She’s dancing to a hip hop song about shaking your ass that my generation would call old school, but I’m pretty sure if I said that to Maeve she’d pull my insides outside. For a woman who’s as tightly wound as she is, I must say, I’m impressed with her moves. Her hips are swaying to the beat as she looks for something in her tool box. And it’s taking every part of me to not drop our lunches, walk over, wrap my arms around her hips and start dancing in the middle of the room.
I won’t, because I know it will freak her out. I’ve slipped a few times and called her Love, and she hasn’t corrected me. But I know I can’t press my luck too much.
So I won’t go dance with her. I won’t pull her against me so I can feel what I felt that night all over again.
Even if it hurts not to.
Just as the show is getting good, Maeve’s moves have her spinning in a circle, and she nearly falls over herself when she spots me in the doorway.
“What the fuck, Logan!” she screams, hand over her heart. “How long have you been there?”
I push away from the door and walk into the room. “Long enough to see that you held back on me that night we danced.”
She narrows her eyes, trying intimidate me. Unfortunately, it’s not working. “It’s rude to stare. And to bring up nights that were previously agreed upon to never be talked about again.”
“Apologies, Maeve. ”
“Thank you,” she says as she turns off the music. “What do we have here?”
I hold up the bags. “I promised lunch.”
“You ordered for me?”
“I did,” I say, putting the bags of Chinese food down on the table as I find a sheet that isn’t too dusty and lay it out on the floor. “I didn’t know what you liked and didn’t want to interrupt, but it’s Chinese food, which means the rule is to order some of everything.”
“That’s the rule?”
“Of course it is,” I say as I gesture for her to sit at the makeshift picnic. “Now sit. I might be a shit assistant, but I can be a proper waiter.”
She does as I ask while I make a big show of presenting the cartons of noodles, rice, chicken, and dumplings.
“And of course, a Diet Coke to go with it,” I say dramatically, bowing as I hand over the can to her.
“What service,” she says, a hint of a smile coming out. “But Logan, you really didn’t have to do this.”
“I did,” I say, putting out the last of the containers. “Food is necessary. And you working overtime on a holiday should be compensated in some fashion. Why not with food?”
I see the blush creep over her cheeks. And I realize at this moment I’ll never tire of putting that color there.
“Thank you,” she says, grabbing a lo mein box. “I haven’t had Chinese in forever. Jayce doesn’t like it, and somehow I always forget to order it on nights when he’s with his dad.”
“Neither have I,” I say, deciding to start off my meal with steamed dumplings. “It used to be a staple for Kat and I.”
“It’s amazing you two have developed a friendship that’s lasted so long,” Maeve said. “I barely talk to my college friends.”
“Really? Are they not around?”
She shakes her head as she reaches for the General Tso’s. “We all have our lives going on. Marriages. Kids. Divorces. Businesses. We try to get together once a year, those of us that are still relatively local, for dinner. But I think it’s been at least three years since that’s happened.”
“I don’t think Kat and I have ever gone three days without speaking to each other,” I joke. “Then again, it’s just us. We had a group of friends at Stanford. She was in a sorority. I had my gamer buddies. But even with that, it was always the two of us.”
“That I can understand,” she says. “Then again, I always had my sisters, and they’re the best friends I could ask for.”
“How many sisters are there?”
Maeve’s smiles are few and far between. But I don’t know if in our time together I’ve seen one as genuine as the one she’s giving me now. “Three sisters and one brother.”
“Let me guess,” I say. “Oldest?”
This gets me a laugh. “Oldest daughter. Though I might as well be the oldest of them all. It’s my brother Simon, technically, but in terms of who is the family organizer and de facto leader, that’s me.”
“That must be the dynamic of a large family,” I add. “I don’t know if my brother or I qualify as the leader of the two.”
“You have a brother?”
I nod. “I do. Two years younger.”
“Is he in the States too?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “You really don’t pay attention to the gossip column, do you?”
Her eyes grow wide. “Are you telling me your brother is famous too? How many billionaires are in your family?”
“He’s not a billionaire, but he does well.” I pull out my phone, bringing up the latest article about Callum Matthews. “Just a professional rugby player.”
Maeve’s eyes look at the article, then to me, then back to my mobile. “So you’re telling me, in one family, came one of the best rugby players in the world and a man who changed video games forever? You must have the proudest parents on the planet.”
I know she didn’t intend to, but that statement was a stab in the chest.
It’s been a long time since someone has mentioned my parents—Kat knows better since we both come from shitty childhoods and never want to talk about it—so I haven’t had to hide my face in a while. And judging by Maeve’s wide eyes, she realizes she’s hit a nerve.
“Oh, Logan. Did I overstep? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. Most people hear generic questions about their parents without flinching.”
“I didn’t mean to stir anything up,” she says. “And if it was in any article about you or your brother, I promise I didn’t read it to know.”
“No one knows,” I say, putting down my container of food. “Every interview my brother and I give, we always say that we had a normal, average childhood. That seems to satisfy reporters, so they don’t dig.”
“I’m guessing it was anything but?”
I look up to Maeve, who has also put down whatever entree she was eating. Can I tell her about my parents? I want to. And I know she signed an NDA to work here, but even without that, I feel as if I can trust her. I want her to know about me, including the bad stuff. And there’s something about this moment, sitting in the space that will one day be my bedroom, that feels like I can.
Maybe it’s because I’m delusional and hope that one day Maeve will share this room with me. Maybe it’s because she’s the only woman I’ve ever met who hasn’t given two shits about my money. The woman who didn’t know me from Adam.
The woman I first met as just Logan.
“We shouldn’t have been poor, but we were,” I begin. “It’s where I get my penny-pinching tendencies from.”
“Shouldn’t have been?”
“Dad was a drinker. Most nights he’d leave for the pub and not come back for hours. Hell, sometimes he’d be gone for days.”
“Oh, Logan…”
“He was what Americans call a blue-collar guy. Worked in a factory. Made a decent living, but we never saw any of that money because it was just going to the pubs. When he was home, he was usually angry at Mum for not being there to cater to him. She then screamed back, because to make up for his habit, she was working two jobs to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.” I feel the anger starting to brew as I think back to that time. “If I close my eyes, I can still hear them now. Fights over money. Over food. But neither would leave the other. The phrase wasn’t used then, but they were the definition of a toxic relationship.”
I close my eyes as I try to put myself back in that time when I feel a hand on my leg. I slowly open them to see Maeve’s manicured fingers resting there, giving me comfort I didn’t ask for, but now know I desperately need.
“I’m so sorry you had to grow up like that,” Maeve says. “I can’t fathom having that for a childhood.”
“That’s why Callum and I found hobbies that kept us away from the arguing. My brother was always athletic, and putting all of his efforts into rugby kept him out of the house.”
“And you found video games?”
“That’s my origin story,” I say. “I saved up money from odd jobs around the neighborhood to buy my first gaming system, along with a pair of headphones, when I was ten.”
“Smart investment.”
“It was. I dove into worlds that took me away from the one I lived in. It was my escape.”
“The calm amongst the chaos.”
A moment passes through us as that phrase hangs in the air. The night I met Maeve wasn’t the first time I’ve used that statement. It started when I was around eight. My parents were having an exceptional fight. Callum and I were both home. Nothing we did could block us from hearing their screams. So we did what any young lads would do—we hid in the closet.
We found calm in the chaos. It was the first time, and it surely wasn’t our last.
“Video games were my calm. My only joy. And it turns out, I was pretty good. At the time, some secondary schools in the country were starting e-Sports leagues. I was at the right place at the right time.”
I smile instantly while recalling the memory. I think it was the only time in my teenage years I was truly happy. I was doing what I loved. I found friends. I had a place to go outside of my home and away from the fighting.
“That’s amazing. I bet your school loves saying that the creator of SpaceCraft once walked the halls.”
I laugh, but there’s a bitter tone to it. “They’re proud. Yes. The donations I send also help.”
Maeve senses my change of tone. “Why do I feel like there was a ‘but’ in there?”
She does know me well. “The school was, and is, proud. My brother is proud and tells everyone he can that I’m the best gamer to ever come out of England. But my parents? They didn’t agree on much, but me focusing all of my energy on video games, in their opinion, was a giant waste of time. It didn’t matter that I always received top marks in school, or about to be the first champion in school history for anything, all they saw was that I was playing video games and wasting my life.”
“Seriously?” Maeve asks. “I mean, okay, back then I can see where they might have a slight trepidation at first because it was new. But even after doing so well, they still didn’t get it?”
I shake my head. “Not in the slightest.”
“I’m sorry, Logan, but fuck them,” Maeve says. “Clearly you made the right choice. But after all these years, now they have to get it. Right? Please tell me that they shout your accomplishments from the rooftops.”
I can’t keep the humorless laugh inside. “I wouldn’t know, but I doubt it.”
That throws her. “Wait, is there more?”
I nod, needing a moment to catch myself before I go on. I feel Maeve’s hand move, but it’s only so she can take mine in hers.
“Take your time, Logan. I’m not going anywhere.”
When I look over to her, all I want to do is bring her into my arms. I know she’s talking about not going anywhere now, but I don’t want her to go anywhere. Ever.
“It just escalated, and it never stopped. Mum started drinking. Dad was drinking more. Callum and I are fairly certain that both were having affairs. It was just a horrible environment to grow up in. And no matter what Callum and I did, no matter the grades we got or the championships we won or the accolades that came from our teachers and coaches, nothing we did could make them stop fighting.”
“I hate that for you. And also, please tell me you know now it’s not a child’s responsibility to fix their parents.”
“I do now,” I say. “Though Kat often tells me that’s why I’m a people pleaser. My therapist concurs.”
She shrugs. “My therapist talks to me often about my control issues and my need to want to fix everything. Which, I should have you know, the fact that I can’t fly to England right now and smack both of your parents and tell them to get their shit together, is making me very twitchy.”
“I appreciate it,” I say. “But it’s in the past. Callum and I, wanting nothing to do with the family we came from, both changed our names the day he turned eighteen. We wanted to stay a unit, but separate from them.”
“I think that’s admirable,” Maeve says. “And a good way for a new beginning.”
“That was our thought,” I say. “They made their choices. We made ours.”
“Wow,” Maeve says. “That’s really brave, Logan.”
“Thanks. Though I wonder sometimes where that brave guy went. The one who started over. Who started a company from nowhere. Because I haven’t seen him in a while.”
Where did that come from? The story was over. I could’ve switched the conversation back to Maeve and whatever she wanted to talk about. But no, apparently me being vulnerable for the first time in years is opening a floodgate.
“What do you mean?”
Luckily, my word vomit doesn’t seem to scare her away. “I know you don’t read magazines, but I have a feeling from a few conversations we’ve had that you know about the different women I’ve been seen with.”
Maeve’s cheeks blush as she nods. “My sister has shown me.”
“It’s okay. If we didn’t want people to see me with them, I wouldn’t have done it.”
She wasn’t expecting that answer. “What do you mean?”
I let out a sigh. “Every woman you have seen me pictured with, or rumored to be dating, or anything of the sort, over the past six months, is nothing more than a fabrication. They were fake dates and relationships.”
Maeve shakes her head, but not in a way that I feel ashamed. In fact, I think she’s laughing a bit? “I don’t know whether or not I want to tell my sister that she was right. She clocked them as fake immediately.”
“She’s good, then, because not one person calls us out on it. Which is strange. People had to have known. I was having a horrible time, and no one can fake being happy when you’re out with women you have nothing in common with.”
“I gave up dating,” Maeve says. “And that was part of the reason. I didn’t have time, and I’m not about to waste what little time I do have pretending to have fun.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Now, when you’re with someone who intrigues you? That’s a smile you can’t wipe off your face.”
I let the statement hang there for a second before I continue, hoping Maeve gets my meaning. If she does, she doesn’t say anything about it before asking her next question.
“Can I ask why? You’re a billionaire. You’ve created a game that’s a worldwide sensation. What was the need for it?”
Telling her this might be harder than telling her about my parents.
“In a simple word—distraction. We were actively creating smoke in mirrors.”
“I’m now even more confused.”
I suck in a breath before telling her about the last six months. The reasons behind the fake dates, about my creative slump, and the pressure from my board of directors. How me being in the news kept the stock prices up.
I cringe with every detail I tell her. Is she going to judge me? Look at me differently? The more I talk, the more I look for some sort of tell on her face that she thinks less of me. Luckily though, Maeve’s face doesn’t seem judgmental at all. Or appalled. She actually looks intrigued and a bit concerned. I’ll take those looks any day over one of pity.
“Wow,” she says. “I feel like that’s a lot of work just to create a smokescreen.”
“It was,” I say. “I’m done with it, though. I’m determined to come up with a game, or at minimum the concept of one, by next week. I want to be able to flesh it out and have something big to announce by the Christmas party.”
“You can do it,” she says. “And as my way of helping, I’ll stay away this weekend. I was going to come over and work on some things—Jayce is going out of town with his dad and his new wife—but the last thing you need is me hammering nails into walls.”
Whoa, what did she just say? “I didn’t realize your ex was getting remarried.”
“Neither did I,” she says, reaching back over and grabbing a crab rangoon. “They told me this morning when I dropped him off for Thanksgiving. That’s why I came here. I didn’t know where else to go, and I needed to keep busy. I couldn’t just sit around and stew.”
“Bloody hell, Maeve,” I say. “That’s a fucking bomb.”
She nods. “I know. But what can I do? I can’t control who he dates, or apparently marries, even though I wish I could for Jayce’s sake. And I can’t control that they did it seemingly on a whim, or that I’m unsure if she’s spent more than a few days over the past two years with Jayce. All I can do is sit back and pretend I’m not going crazy on the inside.”
“I believe in you,” I say. “And consider this your open invitation to come over and work whenever you need to.”
“I appreciate that.” She pauses for a second, and frankly, I have no idea what she’s going to say next. “And Logan? Please know that even if your family doesn’t say they’re proud of you, know that people are. That…I am.”
Her words hit me square in the chest. I’ve sought validation from many people in my life—starting with my parents—and I’m not sure if that void has ever been filled.
But those words coming from Maeve? My cup runneth over…
I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her so fucking bad. Bring her into my arms. Hold her close.
But this isn’t the right time. I don’t know when that will be, but I know it isn’t after I dump my trauma on her and she vents about her ex to me.
Even though I want to feel her lips on mine more than I want to bloody breathe.
Luckily, I don’t have to make that decision as the sound of her mobile ringing across the room breaks our trance.
“I should get that,” she whispers.
I lower my head as she stands up and walks across the room.
“I’ve got to go,” she says, not explaining any further.
“Yeah. Of course. It’s a holiday for you and all.”
I stand up to walk her out but she holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
I take a step back, knowing that’s probably the best idea.
Even though I fucking hate it.
Maeve grabs her bag and starts to walk out of the bedroom before turning back to me. “Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said. I’m proud of you.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat at her words. “Thanks, Love.”