Chapter 20 Logan #2
She doesn’t know what I did. She doesn’t mention her business, the investors, the money she lost. She’s just standing here talking about the things she loves: plants and yoga and holistic medicine.
She doesn’t know what I took away from her.
Swallowing down the knot in my throat, I spot Roger at the far end of the bar and press a kiss to Rose’s temple. “I’ll be right back.”
She glances up at me with a genuinely cheerful smile, and it makes me want to stay planted right where I am. I don’t. I need to talk to Roger.
“Old fashioned,” I tell the bartender, just as he finishes taking Roger’s order.
“My boy,” Roger laughs, clapping me on the back. “So glad you could make it this week. I know it’s been an ordeal. And I never properly thanked you for taking care of Rose. She could have been seriously injured, but I felt better knowing you were with her.”
I nod. “It’s no problem.” Roger hadn’t known about the crash until we got here, but I let that go. The bartender sets down Roger’s white wine, slides my old-fashioned across the bar.
He smirks into his drink. “I’ve noticed you spending some time with my youngest.”
“We’re figuring it out,” I hedge. “But yeah. I care about her.” That’s an understatement, but I don’t owe him anything. He’s playing the doting father, and it irritates me even more.
“I’ll be honest, I thought it was Pearl who had your eye, but—” He tilts his head toward Rose across the room, a fond smile pulling at his mouth. “She’s so much like her mother. Inês could walk into any room, and you just forgot everyone else existed. God, she took my breath away.”
“I have to admit, my first impression of Rose wasn’t great.”
Roger frowns. “Oh?”
I turn my glass on the tabletop. While I’m fully aware at this point how fucked up Pearl has been to Rose, I’m still not sure Roger is as aware. I don’t know how he could miss it, though. “Pearl’s version of her sister isn’t exactly generous.”
Roger’s expression shifts, not defensive, just knowing. “Those two. Pearl never liked sharing me. It was hard on her, the way her mother essentially abandoned her. She needed me more than Rose did. Rosie always had Inês.”
I’m not sure parenting works that way, but I don’t bother pointing it out.
“Pearl told me once that Rose stole her car, then sold it for cash.” Of all the stories Pearl fed me over the years, it’s the cleanest one to pull on—doesn’t involve Easton, her mother, The Resilience Project.
Just a car. I remember Pearl being incensed about it for weeks.
Wouldn’t stop crying about how horrible her sister was.
Roger just laughs. “Oh, Pearl was furious about that.”
My hands still on my glass. “So it actually happened?”
“Not the way she tells it. Pearl had been angling for a new Maserati—had the color picked out, custom order, the whole thing. Her old one was barely four years old, a sixteenth birthday gift. Rose never even drove. She biked everywhere, or Easton drove her when he was home from college. But I figured she ought to have a car, so I gave her Pearl’s old one.
Rose didn’t want it. Practically begged me to sell it for cash instead.
She never asked for much, so I did. She turned around and gave every dollar to a women’s shelter. ”
“So, she didn’t steal it,” I confirm. Same as every story Pearl ever told me about Rose—some small true thing at the center, twisted and reshaped until it no longer resembled reality.
“How would she have stolen it? She was sixteen. I owned the car.” He waves a hand.
“The whole thing blew up because Pearl had left some limited-edition lipstick in the glove box. When she found out the car was gone, that was it. She had a meltdown.” He says it warmly, like it’s a charming anecdote.
“Pearl has always been a little sensitive.”
Roger is completely fucking clueless.
He taps my shoulder. “We’ll catch up more tomorrow at breakfast. Pearl’s got a seat for you—though I suppose you’ll be sitting with my other daughter now.” He chuckles, easy and unbothered, and lifts his glass, off to find his new bride.
Roger’s story landed about where I thought it would. Still, I hadn’t expected him to be that blind. And none of that helps Rose.
I find her across the room by the color of her dress alone. I’m already looking forward to tearing it off her. I start toward her with determination.
Pearl steps into my path.
“Can we talk?”
I glance past her. Rose catches my eye, a question forming on her lips.
“Fine.” I tip my head toward the back and she follows me past the bar, around the edge of the dance floor, and out through a rear door into the hallway. It’s empty and fairly quiet.
Pearl fidgets, worrying her lower lip.
“I feel like I’m losing you,” she starts. “A week ago you were my best friend. Now you won’t even look at me.”
I don’t even know where to start. How to encapsulate all that she’s done. Not to mention, I’m not the one she should be seeking reconciliation with.
There’s too much to untangle, but I’m not clean in this either. I take a deep breath. Brace myself. Then say, “Tell me about The Resilience Project.”
She goes still. The same look she had standing in line at the aisle—caught, recalibrating, already searching for the version of this that costs her the least. “Why are you asking me about that?” Her voice comes out thin.
“Don’t. Just, don’t. You know exactly why I’m asking.”
“What do you want to know?”
What do I want to know? I want to know everything. I want to know nothing, to bury my head in the sand and pretend it isn’t real. “Did you sabotage her on purpose?”
She lifts her chin in defiance. “I would never do that.”
“You came to me with a story about someone pretending to be a doctor. A dangerous wellness center. Investors at risk. You needed me to shut it down.” The words come out clipped, each one landing like an accusation I’m leveling at myself as much as her.
Every time I replay the story, it sounds worse.
The shame roots deeper. My jaw tightens, my anger a hot, burning coal in my throat.
“You needed me to shut it down, so I did. Do you even care how much that hurt her? What you’ve cost her? ”
“What I’ve cost her?” Pearl’s smile twists. I have never seen this look on her before. “You mean what you cost her? My name meant nothing to those people. Yours did. Your father’s did.”
“You lied to me,” I defend, though it’s weak.
“You didn’t do your due diligence. You asked me nothing. You just fucking signed it!”
“I trusted you!” The words tear out of me. “What the fuck, Pearl? I’ve known you since we were eighteen years old. We’ve been through everything together. How could you—I don’t understand how you could just—”
“Well, I got tired of waiting!” she screams back at me.
“Waiting for what?”
“You!” she shouts, slapping me on the chest. “I love you.” She throws the words like a gauntlet. A challenge. It’s not a declaration of love, though. Not with the dark expression on her face, the way she’s panting like she’s just released a bomb, something long-compressed finally imploding.
“Pearl—”
“I have always loved you.” She’s pacing now, hands in her hair. “Always. And you just—you never—God, you are so fucking blind!”
“Pearl, stop—”
Her hands find my shoulders, gripping hard, fingers tight like I’m a life raft and the floor has dropped out beneath her. Maybe it has. I’ve never questioned her like I have in the last couple of days. She looks like she’s unraveling.
“You know why I sent that picture to you, Logan.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, stripped and desperate.
“You know why I’ve tried to hold us all together.
Why I’m always there for you when you need me, why I call and show up.
You’ve always known how I felt about you.
” Her eyes are wet, searching mine with a ferocity that feels borderline toxic.
“You hold me when I’m sad. You’re the one I call when I need help or just someone to talk to.
You’ve always known exactly what to say, exactly how to show up for me.
That’s not nothing, Logan. That’s not just friendship. ”
She lifts onto her tiptoes, her face tilting up toward mine, and for a half-second, I’m frozen in shock. Before her lips can brush mine, I step back.
The confusion hits first, but then there’s something ugly underneath it.
She is beautiful. We have always gotten along.
Everything she’s saying is technically true.
I have always been there for her. When she calls, I do my absolute best to show up.
And yet, standing here with her hands still half-reaching for me, watery tears in her eyes, I feel nothing except the specific, clarifying ache of wanting to be somewhere else entirely. With someone else.
There’s always been something off about Pearl, something I never let myself look at directly.
The way her feelings always seem to arrive at exactly the right moment to redirect a room.
The way everyone steps carefully around her, adjusts, accommodates.
I’d always chalked it up to her being sensitive.
Even now. I ask her about The Resilience Project, and instead of answering, she tells me she loves me. The timing is too clean. Her tears are too ready. I don’t believe her for one second.
“Logan, please, I—”
Three days ago I understood my life. My work, my friends, the way everything fit together. Now I’m standing here realizing I’ve been a willing participant in The Pearl Show, and I have no one to blame but myself.
She can see my resolve. My disgust.
“What does any of that have to do with The Resil—”
“Logan?” I hear from behind me, that lovely, low, raspy voice. My heart drops into my stomach. I turn and see the look in her eyes. The hurt. I realize how close Pearl and I are standing, the way she’s still clutching me. I step back, but Rose has already turned and is walking away.