Chapter 1 #2
Logan Vaughn was a broken man, hollowed by the loss he carried like a ghost within him, for he’d left his other half on an Australian beach.
What remained of Logan was shadows, absences, hunting memories of sand, salty air, and cool waters, with the echo of Adrian’s rolling laughter that he would never hear again.
“Hey, man, we’re here,” the cab driver called out, jolting Logan from a dreamless sleep.
“Sorry,” Logan muttered, barely aware he’d nodded off. “Thanks.” He fumbled for his wallet, pulling out a bill and passing it to the driver. “Keep the change,” he added, grabbing his bag and stepping out of the cab.
“Thanks, man. Get some sleep, huh? You look like you need it,” the driver called before pulling away.
“If you only knew…” Logan murmured to himself.
He stood before the iron gates of his family home, the place where he’d grown up, a place he’d run from as soon as he could.
The manicured lawns stretched out in perfect symmetry, leading up to the white mansion, as impeccable as ever, adorned to perfection.
Everything was in its place, a polished scene of quiet wealth, and behind the lighted windows, he knew his parents would be home, waiting in their perfect world.
Logan steadied himself, lifted his bag, and punched the familiar code into the gate’s keypad.
As the iron gates swung open, he crossed the threshold, each step bringing him closer to the grand mahogany doors.
He was actually grateful for the small walk across his family estate; it had given him the time to collect himself as he attempted to piece together the fragments of his soul on this quiet night.
To compose himself. He practiced the smile he’d need to wear, rehearsing the easy expression that would assure everyone he was simply back from a pleasant vacation.
Before his hand even reached for the bell, the door swung open—no doubt one of the staff had already alerted his parents that their son was home.
“Logan!” His mother’s voice rang out, and in an instant, she was wrapping him in a tight embrace, her smaller frame folding around him as he leaned down to return the hug.
Over her shoulder, he met his father’s eyes, cool and sharp, staring at him as though they could see everything he was trying to hide.
“Samantha, come on, you’re suffocating the boy,” his father said coolly, his sharp gaze unwavering as it flicked between them. Samantha took a step back, her eyes sparkling under the moonlight as she gazed adoringly at Logan.
“Welcome home, son,” his father said, extending his hand for a handshake. Logan accepted it, the gesture formal yet familiar.
“Hey, dad, thanks,” he replied, feeling the weight of expectation in that brief touch.
As his father stepped back, allowing him to enter, Mrs. Donovon approached, her warm presence a comfort amid the tension of the moment.
She had practically raised him, her nurturing spirit woven into the fabric of his childhood.
“Let me take your bag, dear,” she offered, but Logan was quicker, pulling her into a hug.
“Hey, Mrs. Donovon!” he exclaimed, and she chuckled, wrapping her arms around him tightly.
“I missed you, boy,” she said, her voice soft, filling him with a flicker of warmth that eased the chill settling in his heart.
“Go back to bed; I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’ll handle the bag,” he urged, trying to lighten the moment.
Mrs. Donovon smiled kindly at him, casting a wary glance at his father. Logan could only imagine the tension that had hung in the air during the last few months, the fury she must have witnessed in his dad’s eyes as they navigated the storm that had brewed in their family.
“I will go to make your room, Logan,” she added, taking in his appearance. “You look like you need a good night’s sleep.”
“Thank you.”
Wordlessly, Mrs. Donovon retired, and he followed his parents to the main leaving room, the expensive carpets under his feet muffling their steps.
“I thought you’d be gone for a few more months,” his mother said, gently urging him to take his bag off his shoulders and settle into the armchair. “We talked last week, and you never mentioned coming home. Why didn’t you say something? We would have picked you up.”
His father’s gaze was steady, waiting for a response. Logan had skillfully dodged questions about his return for months now, and he felt the weight of their expectations hanging in the air.
“It was a last-minute decision, actually. I just felt like I’d seen everything I wanted to see…
” Logan replied, his voice betraying a slight tremor, though he hoped it would go unnoticed.
Robert sank into the opposite sofa, his blue eyes sharp, pinning Logan’s soul beneath the scrutiny of his small glasses.
“I’m really glad you’re home, Logan. I wasn’t a fan of that trip of yours from the start,” he admitted.
“Yeah, I know, Dad.” Logan ran a hand through his sandy hair, feeling the awkward silence stretch between them.
After a moment, Robert broke the quiet. “Where’s your board?”
Logan swallowed hard, knowing his father meant his surfboard. “Um, it broke the other day… I’ll get a new one soon.”
His father’s expression faltered, skepticism creeping into his features. Logan could see him weighing whether to probe further, to ask how he had managed to surf without a new board. But Robert was pragmatic, a man who focused on the present and future, and he held his questions close to his chest.
“So, I think I can pull some strings to get you started in your position next week. What do you say?”
“Um, yeah. Sure,” Logan murmured, though every word felt like an anchor dragging him down.
“Good. It’ll give you a few days to rest before you start,” his father continued, oblivious of the chaos hiding behind Logan’s seemingly calm exterior.
The last thing Logan wanted was to join his father’s company—a corporate empire so powerful it practically dictated the flow of trade along the entire West Coast and across the Pacific routes.
Vaughn Global Lines, or more popularly known as VGL, commanded a staggering market share, its ships moving millions of tons of cargo across the globe each year, its name a synonym for generational wealth.
Logan had grown up in its shadow, the heir everyone expected to follow the path laid out for him.
But at twenty-four, he felt unmoored, unwilling to be chained to an empire he hadn’t chosen, even if someday he would have no choice but to claim it.
He had completed a BA in Business Administration and Economics, then went straight on to earn his MBA, with the implicit expectation that he would step into his father’s role one day.
As the sole male in the Vaughn family, with his older sister, Jane, managing the legal department and his younger sister, Ann, choosing a completely different path by going to medical school, he felt the burden of obligation.
Another staff member entered, carrying a small tray with a steaming pot of tea and three mugs, setting it gently on the table.
“Thank you, Mr. Walker. You can go back to sleep; we’ll handle everything. We’re sorry to have disturbed you at this late hour,” his father said sincerely, a reminder to Logan that while his dad was a hard man, he was not unkind.
Logan grabbed a steaming mug, feeling the warmth seep into his hands.
He listened as his parents filled the air with updates about the family, their voices a comforting backdrop that felt both familiar and stifling.
It was hard to breathe; the weight of the room pressed down on him like a heavy blanket.
As his mother animatedly shared the news that Jane was pregnant and due in five months, Logan forced a smile, his heart clenching.
She went on about Ann, about her start in medical school.
He laughed at the funny anecdotes his mother shared, but all the while, he battled the tears threatening to spill over.
He kept the truth locked away, the events that had led him back home buried deep beneath layers of practiced smiles.
When he finished his tea, he tucked his hands beneath his legs, desperate to hide the twitching and shaking that gnawed at him. “I really need to sleep,” he finally said, his voice barely steady. “Let’s call it a night?”
“It’s almost morning, but yes, go get some rest,” his father replied. “You look like hell.”
“It’s the flight.” Logan offered weakly. Samantha reached over and brushed his hair back from his face.
“You need to sleep. Tomorrow, I want you to tell me everything about where you’ve been and what you saw. I want to see some photos!”
“No photos,” Logan blurted out, the words escaping before he could contain them. “I… dropped my camera in the water.”
“Oh. But your camera is waterproof, isn’t it? How else did you film all those surfing videos?”
“It is, but I dropped it without the case… and… I lost it…” he replied, his voice trailing off.
“Oh… But you must have some on your phone—”
“I’m really tired,” Logan interrupted, dismissing himself from the room. He grabbed his bag on the way out, focusing on one goal: getting to his own space.
Once inside his bedroom, he closed the door and locked it behind him, leaning against the sturdy wood for a moment before heading to the attached bathroom.
Everything gleamed, clean and shiny, as if untouched by the chaos he carried.
He opened one of the closets and found neatly folded towels, his soaps, and shampoos neatly stocked.
Logan stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning on the hot water.
It cascaded over him like a comforting embrace, washing away the surface grime but failing to cleanse the hollow feeling lurking beneath.
Soon enough, the heat of the water brought back memories of the night before—no, it hadn’t been last night, the flight had taken about sixteen hours—but the moments rushed back nonetheless, everything he’d been running from.