Chapter 9 #2
“Why do I want to know?” Was that what he meant? “Because I’m trying to decide if I should trust you. You reveal the worst thing to me and that will show trust. It will prove to me that you won’t hide your dark spots from me.” She found herself holding her breath. I want to trust you, Logan.
“The worst thing I ever did was leave my sister behind.”
She stiffened. “You don’t have a sister.” Was he going to lie when he’d promised only truth?
“Simone is my sister in every way that matters.”
Simone Sailor. She knew the woman, had met her on a major mission not too long ago in London. Simone was beautiful, charming, and marked with more than a bit of a wild streak herself. In many ways, Simone might just be the female version of Logan.
Simone was also currently planning to marry the ever-so-dangerous CIA operative who’d saved her in London, Ryan Quinn. Ryan was completely and totally in love with Simone.
“Simone and I met in foster care,” Logan said.
“I watched her back. She watched mine. We were together when we had no one else. Two terrified kids. I promised her that we were going to make it. That we would be a family.” His voice deepened even more.
“Then my grandmother was able to get custody of me. She hadn’t even realized I was in foster care.
She and my dad—they’d had a bad falling out years ago.
When she learned what had happened to him, she came looking for me.
She made a home for me, but when I left that foster house, I left Simone.
I left my sister behind. She was mine to protect, and I left her. ”
There was guilt in his voice. But she suddenly understood so much more about him. “That’s why you are so adamant about protecting the people who belong to you.”
“My parents died when I was a kid. I was utterly helpless back then. Couldn’t do anything but grieve.
The day I was taken out of foster care—I wasn’t told by the case worker that I was going to my grandmother.
I was just told that I was leaving. I fought to stay with Simone, but they made me leave.
She was crying when I left. Begging me to stay with her. Simone was so small back then.”
His phone chimed. The alarm. Their five minutes were up.
The mattress dipped, and she knew that he’d extended his hand to turn off the alarm.
The time for truth was over. He’d go back to being flippant. She’d go back to keeping her spy secrets. For some reason, that felt cold.
Then, in the dark, Logan continued, “I convinced my grandmother to take Simone in, too. But my grandmother could barely afford to feed herself, much less me and Simone. So I had to become inventive. I took whatever jobs I could.”
Like Jake had done. The wannabe ball player.
“I was a mechanic. I was a magician’s assistant.
I was a janitor when I needed to be. Then, when I got bigger, when I got stronger, I fought in bullshit matches like the ones Morris held in his cage.
I attracted the attention of a darker crowd, and suddenly the jobs I got paid for were one hell of a lot better, only they were far more dangerous, too.
But, turned out, I had a knack for danger. ”
“The…the five minutes are up. You don’t owe me anything else.” He didn’t have to share more secrets with her.
“I know. But it hardly seemed fair to start a story without ending it.”
He was right. “I have a knack for danger, too,” she admitted.
“My dad was a Ranger. Growing up, he was off on mission after mission. He was dedicated. He was strong. He taught me to be strong, too. I needed that strength on my sixteenth birthday. Because he didn’t come home from his latest mission then.
My mother…” This part would always hurt.
Just as her father’s death would always hurt.
Gut me. “She lost herself after he died. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get her to focus on living again.
The doctors said that she accidentally took too many pills.
That she got her prescriptions mixed up but…
” Another hard truth. One she hadn’t shared with anyone.
Not even the CIA shrinks. “But I knew better. She waited until I was eighteen. Until I was gone away to college so I wouldn’t be the one to find her.
I-I think she planned everything.” Every single detail.
“I’m sorry. So sorry.” Then, “Fuck, but I really want to reach across this pillow and hold you. The only reason I’m not? Because I gave you my word. It matters, Charlotte. What I say to you matters.”
“I’m scared of love.” Why was she still confessing?
“Because you can lose yourself if you love someone too much. That’s what happened to her.
My mom used to be so happy. Charlotte’s Web was her favorite book.
That’s where I got my name. She’d read stories to me every night.
She’d decorate the house from top to bottom for Christmas.
She smiled all the time and she was just…
” Her lips pressed together. “My father died, and she didn’t want to go on without him.
I could see her struggle every single day, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t help her.
I wanted to help her. I wanted to make her happy again, but I just didn’t know how. ”
“Baby…”
“I can’t be like that. I don’t ever want to be like that. It’s better not to get close to someone. Better to not feel that rush of emotion because in the end, if you’re just left with ashes, what is the point?”
“Ah.” Understanding. “I get it. No, I get you.”
Did he?
“You’re scared of feeling that fire, feeling the consuming burn that can come when you let yourself love someone because you don’t want to wind up with only ashes in your hands.
Instead of being real with a lover, you become someone new with each case.
You remain untouchable. You take risks, you risk yourself, but you don’t truly get close to anyone. ”
Yes. And yet…
When I see Jamar with his wife and kids, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like…because they look so happy and maybe…maybe the happiness you get can be worth the pain that comes in the end.
No, no, she’d witnessed too many wrecked lives during her time at the CIA. The world was dark. Painful. Dreams rarely come true. Nightmares were the world she saw.
“I’m putting my hand on the pillow,” he suddenly told her.
“What?”
“Not over the pillow. I’m not crossing into your space. I’m just putting it on top of the pillow.”
“Why are you doing that?” Charlotte squinted in the dark.
“I’m putting it there in case you want to hold it.”
Her fingers inched toward the pillow between them. “Why would I want to hold your hand?”
“Because you just told me one very sad story, and I can feel your grief and, sometimes, reaching out to someone else, knowing that you aren’t alone, can make pain feel smaller.”
She touched the side of the pillow.
“I’m not saying it will take all the pain away,” he added, voice gruff. “But, for me, I’ve found it’s more about not letting pain swallow you whole.”
That was what had happened to her mother. The grief and the pain had swallowed her.
“It’s about finding a way to steer past the pain.” His voice seemed to wrap around her. “So, my hand is here. On top of the pillow. Hold it if you want. Ignore it if you want. Your choice.”
She choked down a lump that had filled her throat. “No wonder you aren’t serious very often. If everyone else saw the real you, they’d know for sure that your bad-guy persona is just a hoax.”
“I’m not like this with everyone.”
“Why am I special?” Soft.
He didn’t answer.
But…she did put her hand on the top of the pillow. She touched his.
His fingers immediately curled around hers.
A tear slid down her cheek. It was a tear no one would ever see. She’d been the one to ask him for five minutes of truth. Of seriousness. Charlotte just hadn’t realized how painful her own truths would be.
She could feel the calluses on his fingertips. His strong, firm hold.
Her breathing became slower. Deeper.
He kept holding her hand.
He was still holding it when she fell asleep.
He was also still holding it when she woke up, hours later, and found herself sprawled half on top of him. On top of his naked body.
Because she could feel one distinct part of his body poking hard at her leg.
Her eyes flared wide. Her head whipped up.
It was too dark in that bedroom. The heavy curtains were still over the windows, and the lights were off.
Her hand flew out, collided with the lamp on the nightstand, and after two tries, she was actually able to turn that lamp on and get illumination spilling onto the bed.
“So…” Logan began after a few blinks of his eyes. “It’s important to note that you are on my side of the bed. I kept my word. You’re the one who jumped on me.”
And…
Oh, damn.
He was right.