22. Logan
22
LOGAN
“No, I’m not shitting you.” I walk next to Remy on our way out of BPD. “Your son, the smart-ass that he is, thinks that your wife either peed or pooped out your baby. The entire time we were waiting to bring the kids to you, he wouldn’t stop asking Poppy about it.”
Remy chortles. “That kid, man. He’s more and more like Danny every single day.”
Danny was Nox’s birth father who died during a deployment overseas when Parker was pregnant. I still don’t know the entire story behind Parker and Remy, but I know enough from what I’ve heard and seen to know they were a thing a long time before Danny ever came into the picture.
“How are Parker and the boys doing? ”
Remy smiles broadly. “Both of them are perfect, man. I didn’t think I could ever be this happy. Especially after Kevin’s letter told me I was having twins. Who’s ready for twins less than two years after having one kid?” He sighs, leaning against his cruiser. “I sure as shit wasn’t.”
“I dunno,” I tell him. “I think I’d be ecstatic if Poppy had twins.”
“Don’t jinx yourself,” Remy snaps. “Don’t you remember what Parker said when she was being taken to the ambulance?”
I shake my head because I honestly don’t. I tried avidly for the last two weeks to forget I saw his wife’s baby makin’ business, and thinking about that night at all brings the image of his son’s head shooting out of her to the forefront of my mind.
“Great.” I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands. “Now I’ve gotta bleach my eyeballs again.”
Remy, knowing where my head went, slaps me on the back. “Stop picturing my wife’s vagina. That’s not yours.”
“Trust me,” I bite out. “The last thing in the world I wanted to do was look down there and deliver your kid. But when I tried to run, Poppy told me I couldn’t.” I open the door to my truck before pausing. “Wait. What did Parker say? ”
“She said she hopes you find out you’re having twins when Poppy delivers.” Remy taps the roof of his cruiser and gets in without saying anything else.
It’s a good thing Poppy has another OB appointment that I’m going with her to in the afternoon, because I will definitely be having them do another ultrasound.
“Thanks,” I call out to the back of his cruiser as he leaves the lot, heading out to patrol.
Sliding into my truck, I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to let Poppy know I’m on my way.
Lo: Hey. I’m on my way. You ready?
P: They called me to get in a little earlier. I’m here now. Sam dropped me off. Bring tacos.
Lo: Seriously? Did no one think to text me?
P: Check your VM before you’re an asshole.
I close out of the messaging app and open my voicemail only to find that I was, indeed, an asshole. There are two voicemails from Poppy and one from her brother.
Lo: I’m an asshole.
P: I know. Bring tacos. I’m almost done.
Lo: Have them check to make sure it’s not twins.
P: Freakin’ Parker.
Lo: How’d you know ?
P: She texted me right before my appt. with a gif of two babies.
I put my phone away and go all the way across town to Taco Bell, which is definitely out of the way since the hospital is two minutes from the police station, and order Poppy a bunch of tacos and something called a Mexican pizza which stands out on the menu. Then I add in a few churros and some sort of Cinnabon thing. Just in case I do something to piss her off.
Yep. Good plan.
After driving back across town to the hospital, I pull into a spot right in front and get out, leaving the food on the front seat. I know better than to take a feast of terrible food into the one office in the building where everyone is likely to kill me for bringing something they may not be able to have.
Lo: I’m here. You want me to come into the office?
P: Yeah. Radiologist had a delay, so it’ll be a few minutes before I get to see the baby. Bring my tacos?
Lo: I don’t want pregnant people to kill me.
P: If you don’t bring my tacos, I’m gonna kill you.
Lo: Okay, crazy pants. Be there soon.
On my way back from grabbing her taco bag out of the front seat of my truck, I have a smile on my face. That, and I sneak one of the churros out of the bag to munch on in the lobby.
“Why are you smilin’? Did your baby mama send you a tittie pic or somethin’?”
That voice has me freezing in my tracks, and the fast-food bag almost slips out of my hand.
“Ortega.” I keep my eyes locked on him as I shift the bag from my right hand to my left. “What are you doing here?”
The man, whose name actually is Ortega, Ortega Grimes, stares at me with his pasty-white complexion and beady black eyes. Besides the massive scar that runs down the side of his face next to his ear and down his neck, he looks exactly the same as he had the day I found him. Well, Sam found him. I just took the information and did what was necessary with it.
“I found him.” Sam sat down next to me in the only booth I ever used at Lucy’s.
I looked down and saw Lettie and Poppy’s names carved into the wood, and I fought the urge to cry again. One of the worst weeks in my entire life was the result of Lettie’s death and I thought about asking if I could have the tabletop… as a reminder of the good times.
“I’m leaving for basic in a few weeks,” I told him quietly. “I know you wanted to join, too. Are you sure you can give that up?”
Sam stared at me with haunted eyes. “I wanted to join because Lettie asked me to make sure you stayed safe. She’s gone, and with you gone, I’m gonna need to watch over Poppy. I’m gonna join the club with my dad. He said they’d be happy to have me prospect.” He tapped his side of the table where our names were carved. “She and your brothers and sisters… Sister,” he corrected himself. “Fuck. It hurts, Logan.” He looked back toward the door. “But I found him, Lo. I found the bastard who gave her the drugs. I didn’t even need to ask the club for help, either. Lettie left a note he wrote her in her room.”
Lettie didn’t use drugs. She never touched them, and that wasn’t me being ignorant about my sister. She wasn’t an addict. She wasn’t depressed or hiding anything.
The day before her sixteenth birthday, someone asked her out. And she said yes to make Sam jealous. To get him to ask her out. To get his attention.
“She died because she wanted me to love her.” Sam lowered his voice. “If you don’t do something about it, I’m going to.”
He slid a piece of paper across the table to me, and I gripped it, my knuckles turning white. I gripped it until I was sure that I’d squeezed it back into the pulp that paper was created from. Long after Sam slid out of the booth and walked away, I sat there without moving, without really breathing.
My phone vibrated more than once in my pocket, but I made no move to answer. I knew who it was. Who it always was.
I couldn’t talk to Poppy. Not until I did something about the rage pouring through my veins.
When the sun started to go down, I finally got up. I was outside under the streetlight before I opened the note that Sam gave me.
Ortega Grimes
I recognized the name immediately, and I knew where he could be found. Three hours later, I put the bloody knife in my pocket without bothering to clean it off.
“You’re lucky I didn’t cut off your ear,” I whispered to the broken man.
His nose was broken. His arm was dislocated. There was snot mixing with blood as it poured down his face and onto his neck and chest. His once white shirt was covered in dirt and grass and blood.
“You killed my little sister, Ortega.”
He whimpered.
“It was an accident, man. I told you before you went all Dahmer on my face.” His cries, reasoning, and the disgusting way he begged for his life made me sick. But more than that, him being alive while Lettie was in the ground made me want to vomit.
“You dumped her on my parents’ lawn. You made my mother and my father watch their little girl die. Right in front of them.”
“She was already dead, man. She was already dead. The dumb bitch wouldn’t put out, so I had to tie her down to get the shot into her. How was I supposed to know she’d never partied before?”
If I hadn’t put the knife away already, I would have stuck it into his throat and watched him bleed out.
“You’re going to prison, Ortega.” I pulled the phone out of my pocket and stopped the recording that I’d started after beating his ass.
I left him there, broken and bloody, and walked away.
“You there, pussy?” Ortega snaps his fingers in my face, and I grip the button on my gun holster. “Or are you thinking about that hot baby mama you got?”
“Leave. Now,” I order him quietly. “Before I give you a reason to stay. In the emergency room.” I cock my head to the side, taking in the little bit of muscle he’s managed to put on in the years he spent in prison. “Or maybe you’re looking for a fight.”
“Heard you knocked up that redheaded bitch, but I didn’t believe it until I saw how fat she was with your kid.” Ortega runs a scarred hand over his mouth, cracking the type of smile that would look more in place during a horror movie than between two men standing in a hospital. “Might have to break a piece off o’ that. Like I did your sister.”
The button on my holster snaps loudly in the silence around us, and I smirk at the panicked expression on his face.
I’m not an idiot.
I know exactly what he is doing.
Coming to the hospital.
Waiting until I walk into a public area from a parking lot to approach me.
Directly underneath a camera.
Careful not to appear aggressive on the camera for anyone who may be watching.
But two can play at that game.
I have a bag of food in one hand, a woman waiting for me, and a gun that I never take off my hip. That isn’t even considering the backup that I have in the small of my back.
“Heard you took a shank or six in prison,” I counter when he doesn’t have anything else to say. “Must suck trying to take a good piss. Well, I have better things to do than to talk to a ghost. ”
I walk away, not bothering to watch my back or look over my shoulder.
“This isn’t over.” His words may as well have been shouted with how hard they hit me. “Not when I didn’t get what I wanted the first time.”
I don’t worry about him going after me. Ortega isn’t the type of man to face me in the light of day. He never has been.
No.
He’d rather attack someone when they are defenseless.
Young.
Not able to turn him away or plead for help.
And one day, he’ll fuck with the wrong person.
Who am I kidding? He already has. I just can’t kill him without losing everything I’ve ever worked for or wanted in my life.
I turn the corner and see Poppy waiting for me with a small smile on her face.
“You brought tacos.” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “Thank you.”
See? That’s why I can’t kill him.
I still need a lifetime of her kisses.