Authors: Elizabeth Finn
Yes! But not from the pain he thinks. I turn slowly to him, unwelcome tears stinging my eyes, and at once he stills as concern consumes him. He grasps my cheeks in his hands, searching my eyes desperately for some sign of what’s going on inside my head, and as the first of my tears spill over, I bury my head in his chest, craving his warmth and his strength.
He won’t let me hide from him, and he pulls me back from his body determined to make me open up. “Don’t push me away, Row. Please. I can’t leave you like this again, running from me, hiding. I know this is hard, but please just hang on… I…” He trails off wanting to say more, but what? Is he afraid he’ll hurt me? Afraid he’ll piss me off? He looks like he’s in as much agony as I am, and when finally he’s recovered from whatever helpless feelings have so evidently taken him over, he takes my cheeks in his hands again, and running his thumb over my lower lip he speaks. “I’ll be back soon. I
will
see you. I promise.”
He gives up trying to convince me or talk me through my pain and once again kisses me. I finish turning my body to his, crawling up to straddle his body. Every move I make hurts, but I don’t care, and as I close the last inch between us I can feel his body finally against mine. He’s aroused, and though I know I can offer him no relief, I don’t want to distance myself from him either. He holds me tight against him, and I savor the feel of his erection so firmly against my body.
After a long time of clutching one another, he stands, letting me slowly down to the floor and helps me up to Sara’s room. He closes the door and crawls quietly in next to me. I want to face him or let him curl himself around my body, but lying on my side is impossible with the pain. It makes cuddling nearly impossible as well, but he pulls himself up to his elbow next to me and does the next best thing. He kisses soft trails on the skin of my face. He moves down to my neck, studying my bruises before touching and kissing them as well. He unbuttons my top and trails his kisses lower to my breasts. He pulls one nipple gently into his mouth, running his tongue over the hard erect bud. He moves to the rest of my bruises, covering each with kisses. He stops short of crossing my waistline and doesn’t allow his touch to become more than what either of us can bear. He finally re-clothes me, and lying next to me he laces his fingers through mine and strokes my hand with his thumb. I fall asleep to his deep breathing.
When I wake, it is early and he is gone. This time, he’s left me a note.
Row,
You won’t be sad forever. I promise. I’ll see you soon.
Logan
But I’m already sad.
Chapter 29
By the time my first physical therapy appointment is over, I want to punch the therapist. My body is screaming at me, and I want nothing more than to take it out on her. Mindy. I have a feeling I hate her, and like the poop nurse before her I have a feeling we’re not going to be friends. She’s bubbly and optimistic, and she makes me want to burst that stupid bubble she floats around in. It’s not her fault. I know she’s just doing her job, but I’m upset, I’m sad, I’m in pain, and I just want to hit the rewind button and go back to when Logan was still here. But I can’t.
* * * *
Over the next couple of weeks I continue meeting with Mindy three times a week. I stretch and work the muscles of my body to keep them loose and strong while I’m recovering. The therapy is less about my injuries and far more about keeping the rest of my body as strong as possible. I do deep breathing exercises to keep my lungs healthy as well. When I started, my entire body ached all the time from the bruising and battery I sustained and general atrophy from lack of movement during the first week of my recovery. My body is used to being used, stretched, and exercised, and the lack of use was quite apparent. It was this atrophy more than anything that was going to be difficult for me to rebound from once my ribs are healed.
Thanks to Mindy—yes, I got over hating her—my range of motion and flexibility stayed intact, and two weeks later she approved my returning to Anthony for flexibility training. I continue to see Mindy twice a week and Anthony twice a week as well, and with every passing day my body continues to return to normal in some small measure. My ribs still hurt, but the ache is dull and not nearly as crippling as it initially was. I can breathe deeply without having to psyche myself up for the soreness, and I am back to moving through my ballet positions smoothly, gracefully, and staying in balance. I’m not 100 percent, but I am getting close. I’m not allowed to do any jumps or strenuous moves until six weeks after surgery, but that’s coming up soon enough.
Sara and I will be moving to Ann Arbor in mid-August, just over a month away, and that leaves me with little time to get back up to peak performance. I haven’t notified the Performing Arts department of my little injury and have no intention of telling them unless I absolutely have to. I can’t afford to lose my scholarship or worry any of the faculty. My hope is no one will be the wiser once my first practice starts in late August. My scholarship is dependent upon my dancing, and I don’t want to draw any negative attention to myself so early on.
I haven’t heard from Logan for the few weeks he’s been gone, and as much as I want to ask when he’ll be back, I have no intention of saying anything to his parents about him. I could call him, of course, but I won’t. I’m not sure why; I just can’t seem to bring myself to cross that line. If I were to call him, it would just restart the countdown clock to when I can get over him and move on with my life, which is ridiculous because soon enough I’ll see him again. But calling is like somehow acknowledging I’m not ready to move forward, and I have no choice but to move forward. I want to say I won’t see him when he returns again, or I won’t see him alone, or I won’t touch him or let him touch me, but I know full well once he’s here that won’t be a decision I can uphold. In a way, I want it over. I want him here, I want what will happen to happen, and then I want him gone so I can feel the pain and get over it. But I know getting over it will take a long, long time. And I dread it, knowing it will be just like the first month we were apart—every moment a struggle, every day torture.
But Logan continues to keep his distance. Two more weeks pass with no sign of him. Maybe his trip was cancelled. I wouldn’t know if it was, and I know he wouldn’t call me. The understanding of that fact hurts just as if he wounded me with unkind words. I want him to reach out to me, but I know he can’t. He can’t for all the same reasons I can’t. It hurts too much. It’s like an alcoholic taking a sip of wine; the pleasure of the indulgence would be immediate and swift, but the aftermath would be devastating. And with each passing day, I realize, with sadness, he isn’t going to be making any trips home soon. What’s worse, his family, not understanding my complete obsession with Logan, says nothing of his absence. And I can’t very well say anything lest I be ready to admit my utter infatuation with him. I doubt that would go over well.
Before I know it and before I want it, I find I’m only two weeks away from moving with Sara. She already has her boxes packed. She’s excited, and I once again envy her carefree optimism and wish I could share it desperately. Logan still hasn’t made an appearance, and at this rate I’ve given up thinking he will. I know it’s for the best in the long run, but I can’t help but long for one more moment with him, one more touch, one more anything—hell, I’d take a fight even! Just some contact so I know he’s still there and he still cares.
The only thing I’m even moderately interested in is getting to Ann Arbor and starting dance practices. The schedule is brutal and fast-paced. If anything can steal me from the always-present depression that hangs over my head, it is dance. And the more dance the better. We start performances three weeks after the start of the semester, and learning the new routines on top of my classes will leave no time for anything else, including thinking about Logan. I’m counting on my schedule filling the void that has been left by Logan. I’m desperately counting on it, in fact.
Chapter 30
Sara’s parents have asked Sara and I to go to the lake house with them for one last summer weekend trip on the coming Friday. I think Ronnie is starting to dread our move, so when she asked me I went out of my way to find someone to cover for me at the Bistro for Friday and Saturday night. But when Friday rolls around, Sara tells me mid-afternoon that there’s a change of plans. Instead, Ronnie and Marcus are going to take us out in Grand Rapids for a sort of going away dinner, and we’ll leave for the lake house the next morning. They’re taking us back to the French restaurant in the historic district of Grand Rapids we celebrated Sara’s birthday at.
And when they pick us up, Ronnie is smiling radiantly. She looks happy and vibrant as always as she ushers us out to the car. Sara is dressed like a fashion model in short dress shorts, a sleeveless blouse, and ankle boots, while I’m wearing a simple black dress. Sara picked it out for me to go with my Audrey Hepburn hair, something about it being the perfect little black dress to complete my look. It has capped sleeves and a trim fit that hugs my body to my knees. A simple white satin ribbon at the waist completes the dress. It is beautiful. Sara tried to talk me into heels, but I opted for black flats instead. Thank God she’s around to dress me, otherwise I’d probably have left the house in jean shorts. Not that I don’t like to look good; she just seems to pull it off a whole lot easier than me.
We hop in the car and make the short drive to Grand Rapids. Marcus pulls up to the valet attendant, and we enter the beautiful old building. We are greeted and escorted to our table quickly. It is a small private room within the restaurant, and there are far more seats than we could possibly need for our small group of four… And this is my first inkling something might be amiss. As we are seated, I look around the table and find all eyes are glued to me. No one says a word to me, but the anxious sets of eyes smiling warmly back at me have my heart suddenly fluttering. I cock my head and wrinkle my brow in confusion as they all continue to appraise me.
My curiosity is overwhelming. “What’s going on?”
The slight smile on my lips is simply for lack of anything better to do with my mouth, but it quickly turns to a gaping “O” the second I see Logan round the corner, escorted by the maitre de. As his eyes meet mine, my hand goes to my mouth in shock as he stops mid-stride—his eyes wide and beautiful. He’s approaching from behind his parents but facing Sara and I directly. The moment Ronnie sees me cover my mouth she is off her chair, looking over her shoulder for him. And I realize in that moment, my secret has been blown wide open.
Relief and complete joy flood unexpectedly through me as I stare back at Logan. I’m trembling as he approaches the table, unable to move, to speak, to close my gaping mouth. He looks quickly to his parents, giving them an equally quick “Hi” before approaching me as I stand. He pulls me swiftly into his arms, clutching me to him.
He makes no move to separate from me, and it is many long moments before Sara’s over-obvious throat clearing catches his attention. “Ahem… Do you think you could put my best friend down now? I picked out that outfit, and you’re going to ruin it!”
I look to her quickly to see a very well-played smirk on her face. But she smiles broadly at me and winks. “And who says I can’t keep a secret?” Well quite frankly, I’ve said it a million times. I realize my mouth is still hanging open and everyone is still staring at me, waiting for me to breathe. Logan is holding my hand in his, and he makes no move to let me go as we take our chairs next to each other. I turn to him and can do nothing but stare. I hadn’t thought I’d see his face before Sara and I moved. I was resolved to this fact, depressed and upset, but resolved. And now here he is, and his entire family is watching our every move.
Logan finally starts to speak. “I might have told them … some things about us.” His face becomes serious and dark, and his brow wrinkles. “You almost died.” And as he shakes his head, his lips pursed into a tight line, I see the pain, devastating pain, he has endured because of me. His eyes gloss as he fights his emotion and the inner ache his memories must cause him, and I look up to see Ronnie tearing as well at the sight of her son so emotional. My eyes return to his, wanting to reassure him. I reach up to his face gently, and at my touch he shakes off his memories of that time, and his lips relax into a slight smile. “I just … can’t be apart from you.”
With those final words, he leans forward and kisses me gently on the forehead. Our waiter arrives and stands uncomfortably by, waiting for the eyes of our table to leave Logan and me and acknowledge his presence. Eventually, everyone at the table exhales a common breath and returns to the here and now.
We start to order drinks, but when Logan and I can’t seem to peel our eyes from each other, Ronnie interrupts the table. “You two don’t have to stay for dinner if you don’t want. I know you have plans tonight, and it might be better if you got on the road.” She’s obviously speaking to Logan, considering I have no idea what she’s talking about.
I can’t shake the feeling I know less about what is going on than everyone else at the table. With that, Logan thanks his mom and pulls me to my feet before throwing a quick "good night" at his family. Ronnie replies that they’ll see us tomorrow for lunch, and again I’m left confused and wondering what I don’t know about what is going on. But hey, what do I care? Logan is here with me, and my heart is at ease. For how long, I have no idea. For however long Logan stays in town, I suppose. But I have no intention of thinking about that at the moment.
As we exit the restaurant, he hands the valet his ticket before pulling me into his arms and attacking my mouth with his. He seals his mouth to mine, kissing me deeply and quite inappropriately for a public street. He appears not to care at all that people are passing by as he forces his tongue into my mouth, and my body radiates heat as he continues to consume me. When the valet soon returns with Logan’s Jeep, he reluctantly releases my mouth and opens the door for me. He tips the man and hurries to the driver’s door. When he pulls from the curb, he reaches for my hand, holding it tightly in his. I gaze at him as he moves through the traffic.