Chapter 18 Logan
Logan
There’s a shrill ringing inside my skull.
It’s vibrating my eyeballs to the point that if I had the energy, I would rip them out. But I can’t seem to move my hands.
The ringing stops and I relax, thinking my body is finally giving up. Until it starts right back up again. That’s when my brain registers that the sound is unnervingly familiar and not coming from inside my skull.
The Imperial March plays one more time before I finally open my eyes. The sun shining so bright from the balcony doors tells me it’s way later than my usual pre-sunrise wake up.
Wait. Am I on my couch? One half-roll confirms the small space I’m curled up on is in fact not my king size bed as I face plant onto the floor.
Pulling myself up slowly, I will the pounding in my head to subside enough for me to focus on something other than the way my stomach is currently tumbling.
I eye the half full glass of water accompanied by two aspirin on the table in front of me.
That’s when my brain starts to conjure up a blurry memory of red hair, green eyes, and a worried expression that has my chest aching.
“What the fuck did you do, Spencer?” I mutter to myself. My phone doesn’t give me a chance to think about it, though, as it goes off yet again.
I don’t have to look at the ID to know exactly who is calling.
“Yeah?” I groan as I put it to my ear.
“Where the hell are you?”
I look down at my watch to see that it’s almost half past nine.
I was supposed to be at an investor’s meeting in six minutes.
Muttering a curse, I rub my hand down my face realizing I won’t have time to even shave off the scruff father dearest will definitely filet me open me for.
But what’s one more thing for him to hate about me at this point?
“I’m on my way,” I falsely assure him.
“You should have already been here. Get your ungrateful ass here now.” My father thankfully disconnects the phone before I have the chance to piss him off further by doing it first.
Standing with a muttered curse, I grab the pills and down it with the full glass of water.
Ripping off yesterday’s clothes, I replace them with an almost exact replica, but at least this set is clean.
I do a rush job brushing my teeth and spritzing myself with cologne, promising myself I’ll head back home after this meeting to take a full shower and get my shit together.
For now, I just need to fake it enough to not cause a bigger issue with my father.
My eyes snag on Gwen’s door as I jog by, heading toward the staircase as quickly as possible. Flashes of last night like polaroid pictures emerge in my brain, but I can’t figure out what was said between us.
After the conversation with Camila and my father, I was pissed off.
Hurt beyond words that someone would treat their own child this way, threatening them to fall in line.
Threatening those around them as well. I came back to my apartment for a while, pacing from one side to the other as I tried to figure out how to get the hell away from this nightmare.
But getting away from him meant leaving my mom behind.
Meant leaving behind my hometown, which before this week, I would have said fuck it.
But not now. Something was different. The plans he has in motion were making it different.
That was when I decided to do a little sleuthing. A hairbrained idea formed that maybe I could get something on him to use as leverage.
I knew he was going to be out for the rest of the afternoon, my mother had mentioned an out-of-town meeting that would keep him away for the rest of the day.
She wanted me to meet her for dinner, which now that I think about it, I don’t even think I ever responded to her invite.
Because when I got into his office, bypassing everyone with quick smiles none the wiser of what I was really doing there, I realized I needed to reevaluate my plan.
Mostly because every single drawer was locked.
His filing cabinet needed a physical key and a number code.
And his computer wasn’t opening with any combination involving birthdays, anniversaries, or childhood pet names.
Ironically, the only thing not locked up was his bar cart sitting in the corner of his office. Posted perfectly to look out the wide windows to see all of Main Street. To take a sip of his expensive liquor as he watched over his kingdom.
So that’s what I did. My eyes lingering on The Willow Whisk which was in perfect view on the corner where the side street spilled into the middle of town.
I think I finished half the bottle of his favorite bourbon standing there, watching the town live and breath right before me.
Understanding on some level why my father feels as badass and invincible as he does.
I mean, he never had to work for his position.
It was handed to him the same way it’s being handed to me.
The only difference is he was handed a clean start.
He chose to make it the dirty thing it is now.
Why couldn’t I just be happy to rack up generational wealth for our family and our closest allies? To send a big middle finger to the everyday person helping make this little area of the world a beautiful place to be.
A part of me wishes I never had a conscience. That I never dealt with that pesky thing called empathy. That when I found out how my father was actually running our town when I was just a kid, it didn’t bother me.
But it did. And it’s probably why my grandfather tucked tail and moved across the country.
Not that I can really blame him. I know he tried to set his son up for success.
Even tried to step in when he realized the mess he was beginning to make.
I don’t think they have even talked to each other since then, so I can only imagine how that went, especially considering he just got worse after that.
Standing above everything, I watched the people of this town as they went about their afternoon.
Some I knew, others must have moved here after I left, plus the tourists who were grinning with excitement as they bounced from shop to shop.
I found myself rubbing at my chest, watching a few of them open the door to the cafe, their faces lighting up at what I’m sure was the fresh scent of coffee and sugar.
The heaviness in my chest at the thought that he could ruin that moment for people. That he could ruin it for her.
After a while, I took what was left of the bottle and made the trek back home.
Only I ended up in the opposite direction, taking the trail that haunted my dreams for the last sixteen years.
My feet were sluggish beneath me as my mind shouted for them to stop moving. But I was too far gone to listen.
I tripped my drunken ass through the trail, luckily not running into anyone on the way to the clearing.
Usually a place that was full of hikers as they took in one of the clearest views overlooking the mountains that sat behind the town, today it was empty.
Like the universe knew I needed this time with my overactive, liquor-soaked brain as I attempt to concoct a plan.
Because if I was going to take his place, I was going to do it my way.
I stayed in that spot as the sun dipped down for the day. The same spot my brother took his last step before sliding to his final resting place.
It was almost poetic, if you ask me now.
Jake pushed me out of the way to keep me from falling when I took one wrong step too close to the edge.
Placing himself in danger instead of me.
That one moment had me being placed in his empty shoes for the rest of my life.
Like a sick version of Freaky Friday, only instead of switching bodies, we switched fates.