Shatter (St. Martin Family Saga) (8 page)

7

L
ogan knew he
smelled like piss and needed to shower. He staggered under the showerhead. He was still intoxicated and no amount of hot water, homemade concoctions, or aspirins could counter the effects. Still, he let the water flow over his face and into his mouth. After he rinsed the soapsuds out of his hair and from his body, he stood for long minutes just trying to think before turning the water off. He dressed in fresh clothes and attempted to brush his teeth, but that proved difficult in his current state. “Dammit.” He’d gotten more paste on his T-shirt than in his mouth. He quickly swapped shirts and went in search of Jessie.

He found her at the kitchen counter slamming a tequila shot. He watched her as the room spun around him. He’d guessed she would be mad at him. Had he made promises? Hell, with the alcohol clouding his brain, he couldn’t remember. Didn’t matter anyway—she’d be better off without him. She’d been right to begin with—she needed someone consistent, someone who kept a schedule, like her accountant. She sure as hell didn’t need Logan and his troubles.

She poured another shot and saluted him before she slammed it down her throat. “I thought I’d catch up. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow but given the storm”—she gestured to the window with the tequila bottle in her hand—“no one’s going anywhere tonight.” A hiccup escaped her lips.

He went to her and pulled the bottle from her hands.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? I wasn’t finished with that.”

He didn’t respond, just set the bottle on the counter and watched her. He leaned against the granite to steady himself and saw that her thin shirt was wet. “How’d your shirt get wet?”

“Had to get my phone outta the truck.” She held her phone high, and he saw the picture of Michael on the wallpaper. Holding her wrist in place, upon closer inspection he saw that it was a picture of him and Michael on the pirate ship from that day at the park. His chest burned he didn’t know from what… the picture, the alcohol, Jessie’s presence. His mind conjured up pictures of her bed, her kitchen, her pies, her living room, the couch, and Michael. God, his body burned and his eyes stung. He had to get off this train.

He looked away from the phone and his eyes devoured her body. Her nipples jutted beneath her shirt. “Where’s your bra?” He slurred.

“Just took it off. Been riding in the truck for ten hours straight to get to you, and I’m sore.”

He pulled her to him. “Come, I’ll give you a back rub.”

She followed him to a bedroom that looked out over the ocean. The rain pelted the glass as he laid her face down on the bed. His hands slid under her shirt and as he caressed her back, she let out a warm sigh. Without stirring herself too much, she removed her shirt. Logan ran his hands over each of her shoulder blades and down to her lower back, then he started in on her thighs, kneading and massaging. She wore wet denim.

“Why don’t you take these off?” He tugged at the waistband of her shorts.

She rolled up to her knees and shimmied out of the rest of her clothes. When she was done, she rolled herself back out. Naked, she had his rapt attention.

Logan ran his hands over the soft lobes of her backside. When his tongue lapped at the dip of her lower back, she gasped. He licked his way down her body, savoring every dip and curve. Her skin was soft like velvet and as warm as a sun ripened tomato and he wanted to plant the sensations deep into his memory. He kneaded her cheeks and parted her channel, and his tongue laved at her seam. She tasted good, like sweet cream, like a summer day, like life. He’d thought he’d never again taste her, stroke her body. Have her wet for him.

But he needed more.

He pulled her up onto her knees and continued to lick with his tongue, spreading her entrance and then inserting his fingers deep and slow.

Jessie growled low in her throat. “I need you.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you inside me.”

Logan quickly stripped his clothes off and fisted his cock. This would be the last time he’d have her, and he wanted to remember it for as long as he had a brain that was functional. He pulled her back by the hips and spread her knees wider to expose the pink channel already slick from a combination of his saliva and her juices. He pushed into her slowly at first. Once he was halfway in, he tugged her roughly to him and pushed home.

He fucked her hard and fast, leaving his mark on her in the hope that she would never forget him. He slammed into her, his balls hitting at the lips of her cunt. He pushed so hard, he moved Jessie higher up the bed until she collapsed on her stomach. Logan grabbed her hips roughly, pulling her body up against his, then banded one arm around her chest to hold her in place. He snaked his other hand down to her clit. Skin on skin he pounded into her from behind while he worked the hardened knot at her core. He wanted to consume her so she would be his forever, but he knew that once he pulled out of her, he would never again find such warmth and acceptance. Wanting to deny the truth, he fucked her harder than he’d ever fucked before. Her breathy words eventually penetrated his dark thoughts.

“Logan…talk to me. I care about you. Michael cares about you.” She pressed one hand to the arm that held her and reached the other over her shoulder to stroke through his hair. “Logan, please…”

No
! He couldn’t let them care. They’d be hurt. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, be the cause of their pain. He knew his mind was still fuzzy, slowed by alcohol and distracted by the need to drive into Jessie’s body, but he remembered that he had to leave her. He didn’t remember why there was such certainty about his decision, but he remembered the decision. It was what had driven him to drink for hours straight.

He cried out as he pushed her swiftly to the bed and pounded out his release inside her soft, wet heat. Jessie’s anguished sobs hit him as he withdrew, and he escaped to the bathroom without saying a word.

≈

Jessie cried herself to sleep and woke to find Logan was nowhere to be found. She’d known it would be that way—she’d felt the disconnect in him last night. They hadn’t known each other long, but their connection was carnal. Elemental. True and strong and deep inside both of them. Her knowledge was intuitive, but she knew he felt it when they touched. And last night he touched her, took her, as though he were trying to soak up a lifetime of intimacy in one moment.

Because he was saying goodbye. It was to be the last time they would touch. She knew that by intuition as well.

She found Cash reading a book out on the deck and stepped out to speak with him. “Where’s Logan?”

He shook his head slowly, inhaling deeply. “Got no clue.”

“Can you give me a ride to the local bus station?”

“You’re giving up?”

She looked to Cash casually sitting barefoot, without a care in the world. “I have a son to look after and a business to run. I can’t afford to go traipsing to the coast whenever Logan has a moment.” She didn’t mention that she’d never have the opportunity to do so again, even if she were willing. She shook her head in disbelief at her lapse in judgment. “I should have never come here.”

Cash nodded. “I understand.” He stood and offered her his keys. “Take my truck. I’ll get it when I return to Whiskey Cove.”

“I can’t take your truck.”

“Please, the thought of you on a bus makes me uneasy. Take my truck. I don’t need it.”

“Thank you.”

“There is something you should know.”

“What’s that?”

Cash removed his sunglasses and stared at Jessie without blinking. “This is the first time in Logan’s life that he’s taken a ‘moment.’ He’s analytical by nature, so he always did stand off to the side and survey his surroundings. He won’t be able to open up or make a change until he’s already solved the puzzle. To my knowledge he hasn’t ever come to terms with what he’s dealing with. It’s gonna take some time.”

“That’s just it, Cash. Logan won’t even talk to me. I don’t need him to give away the family secrets—I just need to know he needs me, in whatever form that may be. I don’t mind waiting patiently and offering him quiet, confident support. I don’t need answers and if it were just me, I probably wouldn’t be so adamant about stability. But I don’t have time to spare. My son needs me. I’ve got to get back to him.”

Cash nodded, but Jessie wondered if he really understood her dilemma. She chose not to press him about the issue because in the end it didn’t matter. Logan had made his decision.

And she didn’t want to press herself, asking herself again if she was doing the right thing. Because to her the answers mattered far too much.

8

L
ogan stumbled into
the beach house around midnight. Cash was sitting on the couch, no lights on. “Cash?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

“Just thinking.”

“Where is she?”

“Headed back to Whiskey Cove.”

Logan grunted and turned to go sleep off his intoxication. Cash’s voice broke through his alcohol-clouded brain before he’d taken more than a few steps.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I’m an idiot?”

“Yeah, you. I rode with her for ten hours while she cried and worried herself sick over you.”

“She needed to go. She’ll find someone better.” Logan switched on a lamp.

Cash repeated, “Someone better.”

“Someone who’s not haunted by the past. She deserves perfection.”

“Nobody’s perfect, dude.”

“I didn’t say perfect, I said better.”

“Better than you.”

“Better than me,” Logan agreed.

“So what’s your plan?”

“I don’t know. I think I should go away to some place where I don’t know anyone.”

“Jesus, you’re not going to run away to join that cleft palate team are you? And what about the brewery?”

“You can take the brewery; you’re back now, right?” Logan plopped down on the couch beside Cash. “At least I wouldn’t bring more people sorrow. My life wouldn’t be haunted by my past because no one would know, and I could actually help people instead of hindering them.”

Cash sighed. “Is this about your parents?”

Logan exhaled loudly, placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “The situation is so fucked up I doubt I could even explain it to you in my current state of inebriation, but yeah, it’s about my parents.”

“I get it. But what about Jessie and her son? Couldn’t you help them? From what she told me, you already have.”

“It’s only a matter of time before I do something that will hurt her. Don’t you get it? I’m never going to shake these demons.”

“So why run then? Why not stay where your friends and family are close?” Cash scrubbed his face, looking distinctly annoyed. “Take it from someone who has spent a decade trying to outrun demons—they don’t go away just because you move. In fact, they get stronger. They will always be part of you, but you can learn to coexist. The demons will always be there, but Jessie won’t. She’s the one for you and she took a chance, came after you. Left her business and her son behind to put you first because she knew you needed her. You should do the same.”

“That door has been slammed shut.” And now he was wishing it hadn’t been.

“They say you have an IQ that’s so high it can’t be measured.”

Logan shook his head. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Clearly.” Cash sighed. “My point is, she’ll never find anybody better than you to take care of her. No one will come along who is smarter. No one who is as good with children. No one who is a doctor. No one who is as good at business. No one can take care of her and her son like you can. I always knew you would do great things; we all did. Don’t let your past steal your future.”

As Cash walked away, Logan thought his brother was the smart one. Everything he said was true. Yet while he could take care of Jessie and Michael physically, even monetarily, there would always be a dark cloud following him around and by proxy, the two of them—especially in Whiskey Cove. He cared for her. Hell, he was obsessed with her and he missed Michael. He thought maybe he loved her. Selfishly he wanted her to comfort him and make everything okay, but she had a child to take care of and didn’t need another one. Besides, as a man, shouldn’t he be the one to comfort her and make everything okay? Shouldn’t he—

Wait
. Wait, wait, wait. Fuck protocol. And fuck all that other crap.
He
needed
her
to survive this. And he wasn’t going to be stupid enough to deny that for another minute.

He turned in a slow circle, running a hand through his hair as he looked around the beach house.

Of course, she had already come to him and he’d pushed her away, so there was a strong possibility that she wouldn’t even consider listening to him and even if she did, would she want him once she found out what he’d come from, how he got here, where he was going? Would she think him a fool for giving up medicine to run a brewery?

There was only one way to find out: he had to go after her and he had to explain. He owed her that. He trembled, fearful that she’d turn him away. But he couldn’t let fear stop him. Fear and the unknown hadn’t stopped Jessie. He’d just follow her lead.

He took the shiny penny out of his pocket and rubbed it between his fingers. He’d used her—her body, her kindness, her comfort. He was ashamed at how he’d left things with Jessie, and he was certain she was thinking she was done with him. But he knew there was no way he could just walk away from her. He hadn’t been thinking when he’d left and he’d been so stupidly drunk when she’d come to Florida that he hadn’t been thinking any straighter. She’d driven over six hundred miles to get to him and though she might be mad now, that meant something. He knew it did. He might be a dope about some things, but Jessie had left her business and Michael to come after him; he didn’t need a high IQ to understand what that meant. He let the warmth of her concern wash over him, wishing he’d done it earlier, when she’d been there. He hoped it wasn’t too late to win her back, that there was something he could do to regain her trust after what he’d done to drive her away.

He would try anything.

≈

Once Jessie hit the western Gulf, there was rain, a lot of it. The radio had mentioned a tropical storm, and it was slow going into Louisiana, but she finally made it. She’d managed to catch her mom on the phone, and she was waiting when Jessie pulled in, eager to get back to her own house.

Michael was in bed for the night—her mom had said he’d been fussy and had fallen asleep early, in front of the TV—and Jessie was thankful she wouldn’t have to answer his questions just yet. She knew he would have a million about where she’d been, and she wasn’t ready to deal with that. As she took a quick shower, she considered what she’d have done if she’d not had Michael to contend with or a business to run. She admitted she might have tried to fight harder for Logan. Might even have fought harder no matter what the circumstances if they’d been together longer, if she knew what she meant to him. But she couldn’t abandon her duties to Michael for a conflicted man she barely knew. She just couldn’t do it.

Yet to stop seeing him meant she wouldn’t get to admire his brilliant mind at work as he discussed business statistics with her, would never again watch as he played with Michael, teaching him even as he simply spent time with him, would never again experience the passion of his lovemaking. She brushed away a tear and smiled at the same time. She’d never again enjoy his endless appetite for pie.

Her conclusions saddened her, and the last thing she remembered as she fell asleep was the image of Logan’s haunted green eyes. The despair she’d read in them saddened her too. That despair followed her into her dreams.

Sounds of steady rain and heavy wet reeds scratching against the bedroom window woke Jessie. It had rained steadily all night, waking her periodically. She padded barefoot to the living room window that looked out to the street. Disoriented, she studied the landscape, trying to make sense of it. The street was flooded, and the grassy yards were disappearing under the rising water.

As she wondered if she should try to go to her parents’ house, she went to check on Michael; he was usually up by now. She opened the door to his room to find him still in bed.

“Michael? Are you ready to get up?”

She approached the bed and immediately noticed how hot his body was. His hair was plastered to his head, and Jessie placed her cool palm on his forehead to confirm his fever. She rummaged through his bedside table to locate the thermometer and took his temperature from his ear. Her heart beat a frantic tattoo in her chest when she read the number: 104.0. She immediately thought of the flooded road, knowing they’d need to hurry if she had to get him to the doctor. She shook him. “Baby, wake up.”

Groggy, he said, “Mommy?” He coughed, then vomited.

To bring down his fever, she gave him Tylenol, but she suspected that wouldn’t help since he vomited again soon after. She wiped him down with cool rags and tried to get him to drink some juice or water, but he wouldn’t swallow it. She didn’t have any Popsicles or Jell-O, nothing cool and tempting. After forty minutes, his fever was up a bit, not down. She called 911, but they told her the roads were flooded and didn’t know when or if they could get to her, but would try. If the ambulance was unable to reach her then her parents surely couldn’t as they lived even farther out.

She tapped Michael’s face with the palm of her hand. “Baby, wake up.”

When his fevered eyes opened and focused on her, she decided it was time for plan B. She bundled the two of them into plastic ponchos, then donned rain boots and put Michael in plastic garden crocs, thinking he would stay moderately dry.

She figured Cash’s truck would fare better than her Camry, so she moved the car seat from the car to the truck. As she loaded Michael into the truck, she looked down the driveway. The water was well over the curb and encroaching into her yard, but she knew the yard was on a subtle incline. The water didn’t seem so deep that she wouldn’t be able to drive through it. Not with the truck.

Wanting to see where she was going when she pulled into the street, she turned the truck around in her driveway, using the cement pad put there for just such a purpose. The truck was larger and heavier than her car, and she drove into the soaked yard, but the tires bit into the ground and she got turned around without getting stuck. When she pulled onto the street, hands shaking and praying under her breath, she delicately pressed the gas pedal and slowly made her way down the flooded avenue. When a car turned onto the street, she moved to the side to give the lower car the higher ground; water was already up to the hood of the car. To avoid a parked car on her side, she applied the brake and almost instantly the truck died. “No!” She tried to restart it, but it made an awful sound. She jumped out of the truck and gasped when the water hit her mid-thigh. She started toward the car, hoping to beg a ride, but the driver was already climbing out through the window, cursing and telling her his car was dead as well. She guessed it would be floating down the street in another few minutes.

Jessie pushed her way to the other side of the truck, slipping more than once, but she held tight to the truck and didn’t fall. Her left ankle took the brunt of her precariously balanced weight when she slipped a fourth time, but by then she was at the passenger door. She opened the door and looked down at Michael, who looked up with fevered and trusting eyes. Dare she try to carry him to a nearby house? Remembering how easily she’d slipped while holding on to the truck, she knew she’d be foolish to try with Michael in her arms. Even protected by the truck, the flow of the rushing water was pushing at her now. If she lost her balance carrying Michael…

Rain pelted her face as she turned to scan what usually was a quiet neighborhood street, aware that only a miracle could help them.