Chapter 29 Logan
Twenty Nine
Logan
Jail smells like unwashed human bodies and piss. And it’s loud. The metal bars groan when doors open and shriek when they slam shut. Every shuffling movement seems to echo against the cement floor; each key jangling from a deputy passing by sets my teeth on edge.
Two other guys share my uncomfortable bench in our little cell. One dude is clearly coming off some drug bender and is curled up on himself. The other is hitting his head slowly but determinedly against the bars. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
It’s probably the longest and most miserable night of my life. I have never been to jail before. For all my anger issues, I have at least remained on the right side of the bars, despite being a dick.
And I am a dick. I feel like such a deeply flawed man. What kind of man loses his cool so badly that he gets thrown into jail? I can’t even justify it. I can’t protect the ones I love because I’m locked up.
And there is so much to protect my loved ones from: another villain, another injustice popping up without warning.
I never understood how everyone else could remain so calm in the face of injustice and unfairness. How others find peace with how frustrating life is.
Because it is frustrating. And nothing works to alleviate that anger.
No counting to ten. No deep breaths. No psychotherapy.
Counting my blessings gets me nowhere. Because at the end of the day, injustice remains.
The world runs on bullies and abuse. Corrupt politicians and law enforcement.
Poverty and unequal distribution of wealth.
Men die in the mines or from coal lung after years of breaking their backs to make rich men richer, powerful people more powerful, and evil men thrive.
I feel hopeless and helpless all the time, because there is no hope. I can use all my good luck to help people, and I have, and still evil lurks and prevails.
Case in point. I hear the shuffling stomping that all the deputies seem to use to walk around. To my surprise, it is Marshal Dawson who appears on the outside of the cell, along with Simon Tracy, my family’s lawyer.
“You all right, Logan?” Simon asks.
I gingerly touch the cut on my lip. Dawson roughed me up when we first arrived at the jail. The cut is the worst, and I can already tell most of the other damage will manifest as plentiful bruises under my clothes.
I don’t want to give Dawson the satisfaction, so I say, “Yes, I’m fine.”
“This is ridiculous, we don’t need to get lawyers involved,” says Dawson, sounding irritated. “If you feel like you’ve cooled your heels enough in here, you can leave without bail.”
Ah. So unlike Sierra, I have enough power and influence to get a break. Or maybe it’s because I’m male. Another pointless, arbitrary injustice. Either way, it makes me sick.
Simon does not look impressed by this concession, but he allows it.
Dawson unlocks the door and slides it open. I can hear his labored breathing as he cuffs me and leads me away from my cell.
“Why did you do it? Why did you have her make that statement, only to do nothing with it?” I ask. I can’t figure out why he would have eked out such a humiliating statement, then keep it quiet for years. Did he get off on it, or is there more to the story?
“As your lawyer, I advise you to keep quiet, Logan,” Simon says dryly.
I’m not an idiot, so I pipe down.
But I still feel like an idiot.
I didn’t understand how awful it was until it happened to me—how deeply shame could burn through me when everyone was watching the town marshal put me through those sobriety tests. It didn’t matter that I was innocent. I still felt humiliated.
No wonder Sierra wanted to leave. I wasn’t understanding of that at all. I feel cold and hot at once, ashamed of how I told her it didn’t matter what people thought—that she was the one who’d been taken advantage of.
Like that made any difference.
Am I the kind of asshole who only feels empathy when it happens to me? Another bitter pill to swallow.
Dawson leads me to the exit without ceremony. Seth is sitting there in the waiting room, his face set in a grim line.
“He’s all yours,” Dawson says. “I hope I don’t see you here again, Logan.”
“Same,” I say.
Seth and I thank Simon. I promise to give him a call during normal business hours to explain everything, and we head out into the dawn light. We don’t speak as we climb into his car, nor when we buckle up and Seth starts the engine. I reach to turn on some music, but Seth blocks my hand.
“Well?” Seth says as he pulls out of the parking lot.
I don’t even know where to begin. I can’t explain what happened with Dawson without getting furious again. What kind of man intimidates someone who has been taken advantage of, someone who has already been kicked down?
But how different am I? Pressuring Sierra at every turn. Controlling, overwhelming her because I want her. She tried to put up boundaries, and I stomped all over them.
I’m too exhausted, both emotionally and physically, to explain the ordeal and all the horrible revelations that resulted.
“Nothing? Not even to say ‘thank you for calling our lawyer and bailing me out of jail’? Real nice, Logan.”
I wince. I don’t mean to be a dick. “Right. Thank you. I really appreciate it, bro.” I clear my throat. “Did Sierra make it home okay?”
Seth sighs. “You see, this is exactly the kind of thing I was worried about. I told you it was a bad idea.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “You foresaw Marshal Dawson publicly humiliating my girlfriend and then arresting me and throwing me into jail for defending her? I tell you, man, you really should invest in some lottery tickets because your prophetic powers are on point.”
Seth doesn’t say anything for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is strangely gentle. “Not that. I foresaw Sierra leaving and breaking your heart again.”
My heart jumps to my throat. “She left?”
“She asked me for a ride to the mechanic this morning. I told her Sam doesn’t usually open until eight. She said she’d wait there, and if I didn’t give her a ride before I came to get you, she’d walk.”
“She can’t.” The words burst out of me. Not again. She isn’t about to leave again without a word. I can’t survive that again.
“I’m so fucking sorry, bro.”
“Take me to Sam’s auto shop,” I say.
Seth sighs, but he turns onto First Avenue. Sierra stands up when she sees Seth slow to a stop.
“Remember when we began this whole thing, and you said you needed closure?” Seth says. “I know you’re tired and emotionally distraught. But keep in mind, if you can’t convince her to stay, that this may be your last chance.”
“Don’t say that.” I’m not ready for this to be the last time I see Sierra.
“Go on. Get the fuck out of my car,” Seth says gently when I don’t move.
Seth takes off as soon as I shut the door. It’s early, the shadows making up the space around me. I walk over to her, where she has returned to her seated position against the shop.
I slide down the smooth metal groove of the shop, already growing warm from the sun.
I don’t know what to say. I can’t seem to look away from my hands.
Not at anything but the knots of my knuckles and the thousands of tiny, faint lines creased across my skin like a cracked, dry riverbed.
Wind rustles shrubby acacia and yucca plants while a handful of mourning doves coo despondently nearby.
“You were really going to leave again without saying goodbye?” My voice shakes on the word again, and I sink further into myself in disgust.
“I left a note,” she whispers, but I can hear the thread of shame running through her words.
Good. She should be ashamed. A fucking note. As if a fucking piece of inked-up paper can make sense of this. My heart feels like it is cracking into pieces. Splintered, fractured. Lost.
“I don’t belong here, Logan,” she says defensively when I don’t answer.
Translation: I don’t want to belong here. You’re not enough to stay for.
“It was never going to work,” Sierra continues softly. Gently.
I want to smash my fist against the warm metal behind us. How dare she sound gentle as she breaks my fucking heart?
“I mean, look at what’s happened,” she continues. “We were pretending to live in an alternative universe where the past didn’t exist. But it does. And it has come back to bite us. Unless you’re willing to let yourself be blackmailed—”
I can’t keep my anger down anymore. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. We could have figured something out together. You’re not even going to try?”
“Try what? You heard what Caitlin said about me. What that recording confirms.”
That fucking recording. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice.
She sits there for a moment, silent, her hair falling partially across her face. My hands itch to brush it back over her shoulder.
“I—I don’t ever want to think about it. About the After.”
“The After?”
“The After is…everything that happened once I walked away from you, all right? It’s easier if I skip over it in my mind.
Call me a coward, but…I’ve been pretending that the moment I left you at school that day to meet Marshal Dawson, all the way until I got accepted into the transitional housing in Tucson…
it just didn’t happen. Making that statement.
Leaving here. Living on the streets. I’ve torn out those pages.
I don’t want to go back, not even in my memories. ”
“Oh.” How did I not see this? Every little thing has been glossed over, reduced to a handful of words. The boyfriends. How she left. Where she went. How she survived. Why she didn’t contact us. What her dreams were.
While I’ve been reliving my trauma over and over, letting it drive me, Sierra has been avoiding hers—burying it so deeply that I forgot to keep asking the questions that haunted me for years.
I suddenly recall the time her mom was in the hospital for overdosing, how I was too busy enjoying her using sex as an outlet to learn what she was feeling. I feel sick. I haven’t changed. I really believed I had.
“But I wanted to know,” I say quietly. It’s the truth, what little good it does me. “I wanted to share your pain.”
“I’m not ready,” her voice breaks. “Logan, don’t you see? I’ll always be tainted. And I don’t want to be. I can’t stay here, and you’ll never leave.”
“I…” My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“Sagebrush is perfect for you. I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished. You’ve created the perfect life for yourself.”
“It’s not perfect,” I say. It’s nothing without you.
Sierra’s smile is sad and sympathetic. It makes my gut ache.
“We had a few weeks together. They were the best weeks of my life, and I…” She takes a deep breath. “But this isn’t the path we’re meant to take.”
“If you want to go, I can’t make you stay,” I say while my mind races to come up with something I can do or say to make her stay.
Nothing. My Triple-S list failed. And now all other coercions I can think of feel just like that—coercion. I don’t want to pressure, influence, or manipulate her anymore. I want her to stay because she loves me as much as I love her.
“Sierra.” It hurts to say her name.
“Yes?”
“Text me when you get to Sedona? So I know you’re safe this time?” I can’t keep the bitterness from leaking into my words.
She smiles sadly. “I will.”
We sit side by side until Sam arrives. I help her pay the difference for her repairs, and then I watch her drive away.