21. Don’t Go Breaking My Heart
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
don’t go breaking my heart
LOGAN
SASKATOON, SASKATCHEWAN
PRESENT DAY
I’m not a jealous guy.
Really, I’m not.
I just can’t stand a man who doesn’t understand one of the simplest words in the goddamn language.
I should feel great. I got a few good punches and kicks in, and in the end the two of us left him squirming on the floor; instead, all I feel is overwhelming humiliation for letting my temper get the best of me. I don’t have a problem dealing with people like that. What I hate is going from a feeling of calm control to practically losing my mind at the drop of a hat.
And I hate that she was ever in that situation to begin with.
I shouldn’t have been talking to that bartender. I should have gotten our drinks and headed straight back to the table. Abi looked so uncomfortable, even terrified as the fight amped up, but all I could think was how pissed I was that some dickhead in a John Deer hat was making a move on her.
Now I’m all fucked up. I can feel the blood still dribbling from my nose, and I’m almost certain I sprained my ankle kicking that guy in the dick.
I wipe my face, weaving carefully through the crowd of people and doing my best to ignore the pain that’s been shooting from my skull. I just want to get back to the hotel.
Never see any of these people again.
“Logan!” Abi calls, her voice trailing a little ways behind me. “Logan, slow down!”
I don’t even know where I’m walking. All I know is that I need to get as far away from that beer garden as possible.
If I hadn’t pushed him, he wouldn’t have punched me. We should have just walked away, but I let everything get out of control. When I was younger, my rage felt senseless; directionless but often overpowering, like an all-consuming force that would take over without warning. I hated being like that, so over the years, I’d just mask the anger with pleasant smiles.
It’s cool, man!
Don’t worry about it!
No problem at all!
All I’ve ever wanted is to be liked.
No one likes someone who’s angry all the time, and can’t even tell you why. They want people who are agreeable, easy to be with. Calm and collected and cool. So I pushed every little bit of positivity I had to the forefront. I’d be so pleasant I’d glow like the fucking sun, and everyone would like me.
And the crazy thing was, over time, I was happier. Sure, sometimes it hurt to keep things bottled up, but I found people I could really talk to as well. Just a few, but it was enough to keep from exploding. I’m sure a shrink would tell me the way I found this balance wasn’t ideal, that it fucked me up in some not-so-insignificant way, but they couldn’t deny the results.
I was calm and collected and cool.
People liked me.
The problem, of course, is when I slip up.
I couldn’t get the image of his face out of my head, of the way he was looking at her. It was like she was a piece of meat— and then that smirk when he looked at me? It’s like he didn’t think it was possible. There was no way someone like me could possibly get a girl like Abi.
But I could.
I could get a girl like Abi.
I had Abi.
And I needed him to know.
“Logan, what the hell?”
She grabs my arm, yanking me back with a force I didn’t know she had in her.
Her cheeks are flushed and her pupils are all blown out. At first I misread it as anger, but then I realize she’s terrified. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.
“Your nose is still bleeding?—”
“Don’t,” I turn my head away, wiping the blood off my chin with the back of my hand.
It’s worse. It makes me feel worse. I know I need to be soft with her, but there’s so much adrenaline pumping through me that it’s hard to figure out what’s threatening and what’s not.
“Logan, what’s going on?” She sighs. “What the hell was that back there?”
All that anger comes rushing back to the surface, funneled entirely into a desperate need to explain myself.
“I hated the way that guy was talking to you, how he was fucking looking at you! Like he owned you or some shit!”
I slow myself down, my breath shallow and shaky as I suddenly notice how tightly clenched my fists are, swollen and tender as I flex them.
Abi takes another breath, rooting herself to the ground and crossing her arms over her chest. The defiant look in her eye surprises me, but also makes me want to…
Do something really stupid.
“Okay, so why are you getting angry with me?”
Her tone is measured, coated in sugary sweetness, and I instantly feel the guilt start to pour in. She knows that this is what happens when I lose my temper. I lash out at everything and everyone, and people catch strays. I don’t deserve this level of patience, not when I should know better. I owe her a real explanation, and an apology.
“I’m… I’m not. I’m angry because you’re my friend, and I should have protected you. So, I’m angry at myself, and now my face is all punched in and my ankle hurts, and…” I flail my arms helplessly. “I’m just embarrassed, okay? I made an ass out of myself, and of you. We were having a great time, and I ruined it. So I’m sorry.”
She smiles kindly, but I can tell she’s doing her best not to laugh. That feeling of humiliation starts to grow some serious teeth, and I feel like I might as well just lay down in the middle of the street instead of letting it devour me whole.
Abi, in all of her sunshine and wisdom, wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me close, resting her head on my chest. I feel panic start to build, my mind shooting in at least 10 different directions all starting with ‘we shouldn’t,’ but I refuse to let it run wild. I can smell the hotel shampoo she used. Pineapple and mint. It’s a strange, but oddly soothing combination.
“I appreciate you kicking him in the nuts,” she murmurs, rocking us from side to side. “We can live happily ever after knowing he’ll never forget that moment.”
I snort, immediately regretting it as I feel a bit of blood bubble up in my nose, along with a sharp spike of pain.
“I’m… I'm sorry you had to see that.”
“The last time I saw you get mad like that was with Roman,” she says softly.
“Yeah. Not my finest moment either time.” I sigh. “I must have scared you a bit.”
She lifts her head, not saying a word, but she doesn’t have to. I know the answer. She’s let slip a few things about her dad— mostly about his temper when he was in withdrawal.
“Let’s go back to the room.”
Changing the subject is Abi’s international signal for I’d rather not talk about this shit anymore , but she’s not angry, slipping her hand into mine and steering me in the direction of the hotel.
It’s a few blocks before the noise all begins to fade away, the two of us ending up on a lovely little street, blanketed in silence. I look down at her hand clutching mine, but my eyes are quickly drawn to some specks of blood on her shirt instead.
“I bled on you,” I wince. “Sorry, Shortcake.”
Abi just shrugs, brushing everything off like it’s no big deal.
“I’ve got a Tide pen in my bag. We’ll go back to the hotel, fix that nose up, and I’ll order us some more drinks.”
“Abi—”
She presses a finger to my lips, shaking her head.
“Shut up and let me do something nice for you. I can afford two twenty-dollar cocktails.”
“I mean— That’s really nice, but I think they’re more like forty.”
“God, that’s fucking criminal,” she mutters, deciding to shift the topic away from the horrors of the hospitality industry in an inflation economy. “I really do have to hand it to you again, Flynn. That dick kick was solid. He went down hard.”
“Well, it’s like my dad always said, if the guy’s bigger than you, go for the eyes. If you can’t reach the eyes, it’s gotta be balls.” I shrug to myself, tilting my head with the ghost of a smile. “You weren’t so bad yourself. I saw that knee action.”
Abi doesn’t lose her temper often, I think I’ve seen it happen twice since I’ve known her, so it was actually kind of hot to see her haul off like that. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the privilege of seeing it again.
Having her beside me helps to soothe my frazzled nerves on the slow walk back. She fusses over me every couple blocks, wiping away the excess blood on my face, adjusting my rumpled shirt, and always taking my hand again each time. When we make it back into the lobby we get a few weird looks, but we manage to slip our way into the elevator without a word to anyone.
I pull the tissue away from my nose.
“Fuck, it’s like a faucet,” I groan.
“That’s what happens when you start a Canadian duel,” she chuckles, raising her fists dramatically.
Back in the room Abi heads straight for her bigger suitcase, rooting through it for a small first aid kit that we packed just in case, before walking me into the bathroom. She gets to work fast, soaking a cotton pad in some warm water to clean me up. Her touch is delicate, giving me goosebumps, and she’s careful not to press too hard.
“Does that hurt?”
“Only a little.”
Her face is screwed up in concentration as she works, continuously checking in with me every 20 seconds or so.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, running it over a particularly tender spot that makes me hiss.
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are, tough guy,” she purrs. “Just gotta bandage that up and you’ll be good as new.”
When she turns around to grab a bandage out of the kit, it’s a conscious effort not to lean in for a better look at her ass. The thought shoots through me with a shiver of excitement, and I snap my head down, focusing on my mismatched socks instead.
It’s the classic problem so many have had before: some days, it feels like we know exactly how to navigate this whole situation, that it’s totally natural to be the most platonic friends anyone has ever seen. Then there’s the other days, where you find yourself on a road trip to your friend’s highschool reunion, where you have to pretend to be her fiancé while not having completely unprofessional, prohibited thoughts at every opportunity.
It’s one of my more relatable problems, I’d say.
“It seems like all the blood is coming from the bridge of your nose,” she announces, placing a small white bandage over the cut. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I’m not really qualified to make that call.”
“Well, you had me fooled, Doctor.”
Abi ruffles my hair, letting her hand linger for just a second too long.
“I think you’ll end up with some bruising around your eyes. They’re already starting to swell a bit, but I have a sleep mask I can pop into the fridge for tonight. Might help take some of that down.”
“That’ll look great for your reunion,” I scoff. “Everyone will know your fiancé’s a total badass. Don’t fuck with the Flynns.”
I was supposed to be her handsome professor fiancé, but it’s looking like ‘bar fight enthusiast’ is a more likely role at this point.
“It does make you look pretty tough.” She crouches down, nestling between my legs. “Once Brendan sees those bruises, he’s not gonna mess with you.”
Abi rests a hand on my forearm as she wipes off the rest of the blood with a wet cotton pad. The hairs on my arms start to stand straight up, and I’m thankful to be wearing a long-sleeve shirt so it’s not quite so obvious how hard this is for me.
“It’s okay. Almost done.” She sighs, dabbing my nose a couple more times. “And who says we’d be the Flynns?”
I have to bite down on my lip to keep from kissing her. It doesn’t help that this stupid soft lighting is making her look particularly angelic. Her eyes flicker like a flame dancing on a candle wick, her soft petal pink lips so kissable in the warm evening air.
“I’m still so–”
“No more sorrys,” she laughs, leaning over to give me a quick kiss on the forehead. “Get into your pajamas and I’ll order those drinks.”
Abi heads out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her to give me some privacy, and I immediately get to my feet, limping over to the mirror to get a better look at the damage.
There are still some rust-colored smears on my chin, and a good bunch of the area around my eyes is absolutely swelling up. There’s a bruise on my jaw, too, but that one’s a little less noticeable. Hopefully it won’t be too bad tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to questions or pity from the front desk.
I grab my phone, snapping a picture and sending it straight to Imogen.
ME
Hey, does this make me look tough?
IMOGEN
Broooo! What the fuck happened to you?!
ME
Some creep hit on Abi at a carnival. I sprained my ankle kicking him in the nuts.
There’s a good few moments before I get a response, and I have to imagine Iggy struggling to type through the laughter.
IMOGEN
I’m so sorry, it does look pretty serious, but like… dude. You’ve got that temper.
I sigh. We’ve talked about this at length, about how my outbursts of anger could be a symptom of ADHD. Imogen’s gently urged me to get tested, but I’ve…
Well, forgot.
Hilarious, right?
ME
Yeah, yeah. I know.
IMOGEN
Okay, but how’s the trip so far? Are you two in love yet?
Jesus, not a minute in and she’s already back on her bullshit.
ME
Goodnight, Iggy.
IMOGEN
Oooh! Avoidance! That was my favorite tactic too! By my calculations, you’ll be head over heels by the time you get home.
ME
Forgot to give you your last birthday present. You like it?
I send her three middle finger emojis.
IMOGEN
Oh, I love it, but make sure you save some for yourself too.
There’s another few moments pause, and I can practically feel her forcing herself into sappy-mode.
IMOGEN
Alright, go fuck off and chill with your bestie. Love you, assclown.
Okay, maybe she’s not in full-on sappy-mode.
ME
I love you too.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and step outside to grab my pajamas, finding Abi stretched out on the bed, her back propped up against the headboard while she scrolls through her phone. She’s changed into a pair of dark purple leggings and a matching tank top.
No bra.
I snatch up my PJs and rush back into the bathroom, changing clothes and killing as much time as possible as I brush my teeth. Do they make steel boxer briefs? Because at this point, I think that’s the only thing that’s going to prevent me from making an absolute fool of myself.
“You need to get a grip,” I mumble, with the toothbrush still stuffed in my cheek. “Nothing is happening. She just feels bad for you because you got your ass absolutely handed to you.”
I finish up, splashing some cool water on my face and quickly drying off.
I have to go out there, cool and collected and calm. We’re just sharing a bed. I’m not a horny teenager anymore, this is no big deal.
But fuck , we’re sharing a bed.
One bed.
But it’s only one night. That’s all I need to make it through.
I can do this.
When I step back out of the bathroom Abi’s shifted around again, nestling herself underneath the blankets on one side of the bed, sipping her cosmo as she flips through TV channels. I must have been deep into my existential crisis, because I didn’t even hear room service knock.
She hands me my drink, smirking as I climb down onto the bed beside her.
“Here. It’s the best face-trauma remedy I can muster.”
We clink glasses and I take a sip, the alcohol hitting me like a truck and burning my throat.
“Wow, that is boozy!”
“I asked them to put an extra shot in there. Figured it would help take the edge off.”
“You’re the best doctor I’ve ever had. Thanks, King.”
“No big deal. I know you’d do the same for me.”
I smile.
“Yeah, you know what? If you ever get your ass kicked, I’ll be right there with bandaids and dad jokes. I’ll make sure to absolutely destroy the dude’s junk too.”