Chapter 16 #2
“H—how did you get through the worst of it?”
“Therapy, for one thing.” A chuckle rolls out of him, surprising me.
“Yeah, I see that look. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.
If I hadn’t, I’d never be strong enough to lead a support group like we’ve got here.
And I sure as hell couldn’t have saved my own sorry ass from my mission to self-destruct. ”
I’m a bit stunned that he just called me out. What look was I giving? Perhaps it doesn’t matter.
Because I’m suddenly driven to understand more.
“But—” I don’t even know what to ask. “What was it that made you switch paths?”
“Forgiving myself, for starters. It sounds simple, but nothing I’ve done in my entire fucking career compares to how hard that was.
” He shakes his head slowly as his gaze drifts over the pool.
Someone’s setting up lounge chairs in advance of guests returning to the resort, but I’m not even sure Logan sees them.
He’s miles away now, lost in his own private grief.
“When something horrible happens, it’s human nature to want someone to blame.
” His voice is a low, raspy hum. “It’s a relief, in a way—a way of explaining something that doesn’t make sense.
And when you’re trapped in a pit of self-loathing, the only person you can really blame is yourself.
It means the one thing you’re counting on to give you relief just makes you feel worse in the long run. It’s a completely fucked up cycle.”
“I—” My mouth has gone dry as my pulse thuds my eardrums. “I can imagine.”
“Kicking my own ass used to feel good. Like if I didn’t do it, there’s no one being punished for what happened.
And if no one’s being punished, those men died in vain.
But that’s bullshit thinking.” He’s shaking his head as his gaze swings back to this room.
His eyes lock with mine, and I find myself holding my breath.
“Sabotaging myself from leading a happy, meaningful life wasn’t doing my friends any favors,” he says.
“It’s an insult to them for me to go wasting my life.
What kind of tradeoff is that? How pissed would they be, knowing they died so I could…
what? Be a lonely old bum?” He scoffs and keeps going.
“Making myself suffer doesn’t bring back the people I loved.
It just makes it worse because now their deaths are senseless. And I couldn’t let that happen.”
“My God.” The words hit like blows to my ribcage.
There’s no way Logan could possibly see the common thread linking our stories. And yes, I’m aware of the egotistical acrobatics of comparing myself to a true fucking American hero.
But Jesus.
How did this man—this virtual stranger—know exactly the words to wake up my idiot brain?
I glance over at Kora, who’s dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “Thank you for sharing that, Logan. I can’t even fathom what you’ve been through.”
“Ma’am.” He gives her a tight nod. “I appreciate your assistance on behalf of the support group.”
“Yes, thank you. Both of you.” I turn back to Logan, swallowing hard as I struggle to locate my voice. “Thank you for your service and—and for telling your story.”
A self-deprecating chuckle rolls out of him. “Didn’t mean to go into all that detail.” He glances at Kora. “Ma’am. I’ll check back about the office space?”
“Of course,” she says quickly. “I believe conference room A is open on Tuesdays and Thursdays after noon.” She glances at me. “I presume you won’t have a problem with that?”
“Certainly not.” Hell, they deserve more than a temporary room. “Let’s look into creating a designated space for this. A permanent sanctuary for consorts and others to gather.” We could bring in guest speakers, maybe PTSD experts.
I turn back to Logan. “Give some thought to what sort of space you’d envision. Write it up and send it to Kora and me. I’ll see what we can do.”
“Thank you, sir.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he takes a step back. “I really appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
He moves to the door, then stops with one hand on the knob. “You know what makes me feel better?”
Given his job, I might have a clue. “Having sex for a living?”
His belly laugh rings off the walls. “More or less. It’s reminding myself I get paid to kiss and touch and make love to women of all shapes and sizes.
So many guests come here not feeling great about themselves.
I get to play a small role in sending them back into the world knowing there are decent men out there.
Men who care about their happiness and pleasure. ”
“That’s it exactly.” The man just described the whole reason I built this resort.
He chuckles again, hand on the door. “I won’t lie—the sex stuff feels good, but making them feel good?” Logan grins. “It’s the best goddamn feeling in the world.”
Before I can answer, he pivots and pushes his way out the door. I stare at the spot where he just stood, thinking of tragedies and self-destruction. About trauma and loss and all the goddamn mistakes I’ve made.
Most of all, I think of Camille.
“Sir?”
I turn to see Kora regarding me curiously. “Yes?”
“Was there something you wanted to discuss?”
Is there? I no longer recall why I came here.
Talking about it helps.
Logan’s words bounce off my eardrums. What if that’s the first step for me, too?
Closing my eyes, I clench both my hands into fists. Then I speak the words I’ve rarely ever said.
“My wife and young child died twenty years ago.” The instant I say it, Kora gasps. “I’ve been blaming myself, and it’s true that the accident might not have happened if I hadn’t been such a selfish prick.”
“Sir.” As I open my eyes, I see she’s gone pale. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” But earning her pity isn’t why I just shared. “I’ve been punishing myself for so fucking long that I came to believe I didn’t deserve anything good. That being with me would only cause pain for the people around me.”
Her eyes fill with tears and she nods. “You’ve done so much good here, sir. And there’s still more to do.”
“There is.” I move to the door as an idea unfurls in my mind. A completely insane idea. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s one very important thing still to do.”
“May I assist in some way?”
“Yes.” I draw a deep breath. “I need help stopping a flight.”
By some stroke of luck, Camille’s plane got a later start than planned. The pilot observed a dent on one wing that concerned her. By the time she’d finished inspecting it, they had less than an hour’s lead on me.
That’s still a lot of miles to make up in the air, and while my license is current, I never fly for pleasure. Never.
That’s one way I punished myself for failing to fly my own wife where she needed to be. If I’d only stopped work and flown that damn plane, Brigitte and our son would still be alive.
But I can’t dwell on that now.
I’m in the cockpit, en route to the Grand Cayman Islands where I’m determined to chase Camille down. I ordered her pilot to land where she’s able, which turned out to be in the Caymans.
And yes, I toyed with the notion of ordering them back to Crystal Bliss. That didn’t sit right for me. Refueling concerns set aside, it seemed wrong to force Camille to come to me. It’s my turn to show up for her.
Adjusting my headset, I cue up the channel to speak to her pilot. “Were you able to secure clearance for a landing at Owen Roberts International?”
“Yes, sir.” She sounds cool and composed over the hum of the engine. “The passenger grew suspicious when she realized we were descending so soon.”
“What did you tell her?”
“At the risk of alarming her, I explained that I’d like a mechanic to look at that dent on the wing. I assured her it’s a routine procedure.”
Poor Camille. On top of everything, I’ve left her concerned about safety. “How did she handle it?”
“As calmly as possible, sir.” She pauses. “I believe her exact words were, ‘just my fucking luck.’ But she doesn’t appear to be panicking. She’s got her earbuds in, listening to a guided meditation.”
“Well done.” I reduce engine power, adjusting the angle as I start my own descent toward the southwestern tip of the island. “I’ll be on the ground in twenty minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” There’s another short pause. “And may I just say, it’s an honor to be part of this mission. Over.”
An odd little frizzle of joy rolls through me. While I made preparations for my flight, Kora coordinated the jet’s unscheduled landing.
“Tell the pilot whatever you need to tell her,” I said as I hurriedly packed for the journey. “Anything it takes to get that plane on the ground in a place I can speak with Camille.”
Kora’s brow furrowed. “Will you permit me to share some more personal details?”
“Whatever it takes.” And I meant it.
Which means Kora quite likely told the pilot a story of love and loss and the missteps I’ve made. Some small, private part of me feels self-conscious and exposed, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
If winning her back means professing my love by writing the words on my forehead, I’ll grab a damn Sharpie right now and ink it myself. I’d tattoo it if necessary.
First, I should focus on landing the plane.
As I taxi to the end of the runway, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Whatever comes next, I’ll have given it my best shot.
I’m determined to win back the trust of the woman I love.
To open myself up to passion and joy, and hope to God Camille wants the same.
I know I hurt her badly, and I won’t blame her if she’s already given up on me.
But I have to try. I owe it to Camille, the woman I love more than anything.
I owe it to my son and late wife.
I owe it to myself.
As I switch off the engines, I unhook my seatbelt and turn to the back of the plane. My passenger sits in an oversized cage looking pissed off and ruffled and edgy.
“Are you ready, McFly?”
The bird shakes his feathers. “Triceratops.”
“Perhaps later.” I stand and pick up his cage. “Right now, we’ve got a woman to win back.”