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  “What was that all about?” I ask.

  “Beats me. He was here when I got back from my X-ray,” she shrugs. “I thought I was hallucinating.”

  “So, nothing happened that night after the club?”

  “Nope. I gave him my best and he didn’t even nibble.”

  “Hm.”

  “Right?”

  The humor vanishes from Brooke’s eyes for a split second when she shifts in the bed and readjusts herself, waving me off when I lean forward to help her.

  “Brooke, I don’t know what I would have done if someth-“

  “Hey, I’m gonna be fine,” she says. “Everything’s fine. So, get those tears out now girl, cause we have several days of gossip to catch up on,” her voice cracks.

  I wipe away the moisture from my cheeks and she does the same. She slides over carefully and pulls me down to the bed. We lie side by side and she gives me a detailed play by play of how she plans to give Trevor a hard time. A small price to pay for bruising her tender ego, she says. When exhaustion claims her, I stay right beside her, staring up at the white tiled ceiling.

  Amidst the confusion and uncertainty that currently looms over my future with Logan, I find myself incredibly grateful that Brooke is okay.

  *

  When Allan and Sharon came back to the room, I slid from the hospital bed and left Brooke to rest. They still weren’t sure when she’d be able to go home but Sharon said they planned on moving her from the ICU tomorrow if everything continues to go well.

  I’m on my way to a meeting now, hoping to catch Holly so we can talk privately and I can get her advice. It’s a short walk from the bus stop to the church, but it’s starting to get dark and I can feel my legs automatically quicken their pace out of habit. As I approach the old building, I spot a couple of regular attendees outside smoking cigarettes. I say hello as I pass and head downstairs to the basement where the meetings are held. Holly is standing near the refreshment table, putting on another pot of coffee when I drape my coat over an empty chair and set my purse down. She glances up just as I head her way.

  “Hey, I didn’t know you were coming tonight, I would have picked you up,” she says.

  “Oh it’s fine, I was at the hospital and I had a couple errands to run anyways.” She gives me a questioning look and I fill her in on Brooke and the robbery.

  “And how are you holding up?” she asks. “Has this brought back any triggers for you?”

  “No, actually. I was surprised but I think maybe I’ve been too busy dealing with the shock of it all, and Brooke. I just haven’t had time to make it about me I guess.”

  “You let me know if you need to talk to someone,” she says with concern.

  “Of course, I will,” I assure her. “Actually, there’s something else I was hoping to talk to you about.”

  “I’m all ears,” she says.

  I give her the long, undiluted version of me and Logan. Including his time in prison and how we’ve reunited unexpectedly.

  “I want to be honest with him,” I say. “I want to tell him, but I just don’t know how. I know he’ll take this on as something he’s to blame for.”

  “Because of how he ended up in prison?”

  “That, and because it was him that essentially ended things the first time.”

  “Do you think Logan has anger issues, is that a concern as well?”

  “I don’t know, honestly. He’s never gotten angry like that with me, or ever threatened me and I know he’d never do anything to hurt anyone he cares about.”

  “Hm. Has he thought about counseling?”

  I explain what Logan told me about anger management in prison and how he felt like it was a waste of time.

  “I imagine it felt that way,” she says. “But I think he’d really benefit from therapy. Physical violence might be a way for him to cope when he’s overwhelmed emotionally. If he didn’t have much stability growing up, it could be a way for him to let it all go, so to speak. Aside from that, I think it’s important for you to outline with Logan what exactly you need from him. Explain to him that you need him to be present and clear headed when you do tell him. Don’t be afraid to voice what you need out of this conversation.”

  “Okay, thank you,” I sigh. “I feel better actually, talking it out.”

  “I’m here whenever you need to talk,” she says. “And if you decide that you want to go back to counseling or after you talk things through with Logan, maybe you want to go together, just say the word and I can help you find the proper fit.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I tell her. She wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes tightly.

  “Why don’t you share tonight if you’re up for it? We’ve got a few new faces.”

  “Yeah, I think I will,” I agree.

  Once everyone filters into the room and takes their seats, Holly begins the meeting by sharing her own experience and reminding everyone where they can find additional counseling and therapy should they want it. I walk up to the tattered podium and introduce myself before I begin telling the story that I’ve told countless times before. When I’m finished and I feel Holly beside me, I look up at the group in front of me and my heart drops into my stomach.

  Logan.

  Chapter 25

  Logan

  After negotiating a price with one of Zavier’s usual borrowers for a deal on my truck, I’m ready to head down to the club on foot. But when I walk through the door of the chop shop, Lou is standing there, Zavier’s black Escalade parked along the curb behind him. With a jerk of his chin, he summons me. And like a good dog, I obey.

  “Boss man wants a word,” he says, opening the back door.

  I reluctantly slide into the backseat, wondering if I’ve managed to use up all my good grace where Zavier’s concerned. The fact that the smug bastard doesn’t even look up from his newspaper should give me a clue, but it doesn’t. It’s nearly impossible to decipher Zavier’s mood.

  “Logan, did you know that according to a recent study, violent crime within the city limits of Fortune is on the rise?”

  “I bet.”

  He casually sets down his paper on the seat between us as Lou starts the engine and we’re heading back downtown.

  “You’re not working the club tonight,” he says. “I have a transaction that needs sorting.”

  “Who?”

  He removes a picture from his jacket pocket and sets it on top of the newspaper. It’s a mugshot of a man who looks to be around forty.

  “How much?” I ask.

  “Oh, I’m afraid Mr. Compton is in deep by about twelve grand,” he chides. “He’s two days late on my very generous extension, and I’m going to need to see some co-operation on his part if we’re going to continue to do business.”

  “You got an address?”

  “All business tonight, Logan. I like this newfound dedication,” he praises. “Especially given the theme of our last conversation.”

  “Nothing’s changed,” I mutter. “You know I want out.”

  “Have you ever had a slice of pie made from fresh Georgia peaches?” he asks, ignoring me completely. “Heaven, Logan. Pure heaven.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Of course you will. And do you know why?”

  “Enlighten me.” The SUV rolls to a stop in front of a rundown deli. Lou parks but keeps the engine running.

  “Because I am who I am, and you are, though try as might to deny it, are who you are. Now,” he continues. “Mr. Compton can be found in the pub on the corner of this block. Have a nice chat, get me my money, and feel free to give our tardy new friend a taste of what happens when you fuck with Zavier Kane’s generosity.”

  His words are clipped with dismissal and even if they weren’t, the apathetic wave of his hand is pretty clear. I exit the vehicle, watching the tail lights fade from the spot on the dirty pavement where I now stand. I glance down at the grainy photograph in my hand before I rip it in two and toss
it in the trash can sitting along the curb. I’m prepared to track down my target when I look up across the street and see Prairie walking into an old church. I stop myself from calling out, my job now forgotten as I jog across the street and follow her. I pause for a minute and read the flyer stapled to the front door.

  “You new?” I look at the woman surrounded by cigarette smoke, my confusion must be obvious.

  “The survivor group,” she explains. “First time can be scary, but it’s a good group.”

  Survivor group, what the fuck?

  “Uh, yeah,” I mumble.

  “Go on down, Holly will be getting started right away. She usually gets one of the regulars to open up first, gets things going for those who want to share.”

  I wordlessly turn back to the door and take the creaking stairs down to the basement. Prairie must be volunteering but I don’t know why she didn’t mention it. I keep to the back of the large room, lingering along the far wall where the light doesn’t quite hit. I don’t know why I feel like I need to remain hidden, but I can’t see Prairie from here and I don’t want to just barge in on these people’s therapy session.

  A minute later, a woman with auburn hair is standing at the front of the room. She explains the purpose of the group, to anyone who’s new I assume. She tells a quick story about her younger sister and rattles off a list of organizations before she introduces Prairie. I push off the wall and shuffle over so I can see her clearly. She’s got one hand resting on her neck, toying with the charm on her necklace when she clears her throat and begins to speak.

  And that’s when my entire world goes the darkest it ever has. My chest tightens and I can hardly swallow over the lump in my throat. My nose burns and moisture blurs my vision as she continues to tell her story. Two men. A back alley. A burden that she couldn’t share with me five and half years ago because I was a selfish kid and thought I was doing her a favour.

  Her voice remains clear and confident, but I suddenly see shadows in her eyes that I haven’t bothered to notice. My beautiful girl. Violated and left to rot near a stinking fucking dumpster. All I can see once my vision clears is the girl sitting beside me in that shitty old pickup truck, smiling at me like we had all the time in the damn world. So fucking innocent.

  The other woman’s voice pulls me from the past and it’s then that I realize I’m standing behind the last row of empty chairs, in plain view. Prairie’s uncertain gaze finds mine and right then I’d give anything to turn back the clock and make things right. My eyes are still trained on the front of the room when a soft hand slips into mine and I’m being pulled away. A door clicks shut and Prairie stands in front of me, tears pooling in her eyes.

  “Logan, please say something.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She takes my hand again and holds it up to her heart before she replies, “I was going to, I just didn’t know how. The weight on your shoulders is heavy enough, I didn’t want to add to it.”

  I tug my hand from hers and grip my hair tightly before I run the heels of my hands roughly down my face. “I wasn’t there. I didn’t protect you.”

  “Logan, you cou-“

  “How? How can you fucking look at me?”

  “I don’t blame you Logan, it wasn’t your fault. Just like it wasn’t my fault.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Logan, please, I need you to calm down so we can talk about this.”

  Her voice floats above the anger in my veins but it’s not enough to pull me back. Her lips are moving but eventually I hear nothing at all. I let her down. I keep letting her down. She’s tugging on my hand again and soon we’re outside, the crisp air filling my lungs. Her soft hands on my face, her pleading eyes looking up at me. It should be enough to bring me back to reality. It should be enough to make me realize that I need to be here with her. Be whatever she needs me to be. But right now, it isn’t. Because I’m a fucked up son of a bitch who doesn’t know any better. I need to get it out. The anger. The black tar that eats me up from the inside out. I can’t think straight.

  “Just stay with me,” she says. “Just stay here with me and breathe.”

  She keeps her hands on me, holding me in place until I take a breath with her. She looks at me, tears rolling down her face.

  “I don’t need your anger or your regret, Logan. I just need you to stay.”

  I place my hands on hers and rest my forehead against hers, breathing in and out until the tension eases and is replaced by shame.

  “I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I’m so fucking sorry Prairie.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she repeats.

  “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “I’m okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “I’m here and I’m okay.”

  “I’ll kill them. I’ll find them and kill them both.”

  She places her lips gently on mine before she speaks with certainty, “I have you now, and I won’t let you go,” she says. “See me for my strength Logan, that’s how we kill them. Together. You and me.”

  “I should have been there. How can you forgive me?”

  “That’s the easy part,” she says. “Because I love you.”

  Chapter 26

  Prairie

  The words roll off my tongue without indecision or expectation. The love I feel for Logan is unchanged by time and distance and a feeling so powerful that I have no desire to keep it to myself. I don’t give him the opportunity to respond before I lace my fingers with his and raise up on my toes, pressing my lips to his once more and bringing my mouth to his ear.

  “Let’s go home.”

  He waits for me just inside the front door of the church while I quietly gather my things downstairs. Holly gives me a questioning look but I assure her with a gesture that everything is okay and I’ll call her tomorrow. I sneak out unnoticed and head back upstairs to Logan. I hate the small part of me that thinks he might not be there waiting, but he is. He pulls me close into his side and we walk back out into the night air.

  “Take me to your place?” I ask.

  “It’s not far,” he says.

  “Okay.”

  We walk the few blocks to Logan’s apartment in comfortable silence. The things I need to tell him are more than reassurances, they’re facts about who I am now. Things that need to be spoken in private between the two of us. When we reach his building, he opens the front door and guides me inside the foyer by placing a firm hand on my lower back. He flips the kitchen light on and braces his hands on the counter top, I can feel the tension rolling off is shoulders as he takes each deep breath.

  “I need to know what I can do Prairie. Tell me how to make this right,” he pleads. “Because right now all I wanna do is find those low life pieces of shit and make them pay for putting their hands on you.” He turns to face me, a look of vulnerability in his eyes that threatens to break me completely. I slip off my jacket and leave my purse on the floor before I take his hand and lead him to the couch.

  “I’m not always okay, Logan,” I begin. “Sometimes I still have nightmares, sometimes there are triggers that take me back to that night and it takes everything inside of me to pull myself back into reality.”

  “When we’re…together, is it hard fo-“

  “No,” I reply adamantly. “The times we’ve been together have been amazing Logan, you need to trust me when I tell you that. There’s no one in the room expect me and you. And it’s everything I always dreamt it would be.”

  “I don’t wanna fuck this up, babe. I can’t fuck this up, not again.”

  “Then you have to trust me. Yes, I still have bad days, bad memories. But I go to meetings, I’ve done therapy and I try my best every day to just keep going. Because I can’t change the past, and neither can you. I’m a survivor Logan, and if you saw me as anything else, I think it might destroy me.” Several moments pass, the traffic on the street below filling the silence between us until he lets go of a deep breath and wraps his fingers around mine.

  “A
fter I screwed everything up, I’d sit in that shitty cell and read your letter over and over again…the first one you sent me,” he explains. “I used to tell myself that I was saving you, protecting you by letting you go. I don’t know how the hell I got lucky enough to get a second chance with you, but I swear I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you Prairie.”

  “You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” I declare. “I don’t need to rewind, Logan. I don’t want to look back. You can keep me. As long as I can keep you.” He cups my face in his hands, using his thumbs to brush away the tears that roll silently down my cheeks.

  After a beat, I place my hands on his and gently remove them. I pull him to stand and lead him to the large bed in the corner of the room. The light from the street below filters in through the curtains, allowing me to see the crease in his brow, along with the uncertainty. I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head.

  “Prairie?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.

  “In my entire life, my need or want for you has never needed to be questioned Logan. Not back then, and not now.”

  The air between us thickens as the space closes, our bodies pulled together of their own accord. “Tell me something true,” I request.

  He traces his rough fingertips down the length of my spine and carefully unclasps my bra, letting the lace straps slip down past my shoulders. He slowly pulls the cups down until I’m bare to him when he leans down and places his lips on the column of my throat. He stands back, but remains close enough that I can still feel the heat of his body.

  “I’ll love you, Prairie Bennett, until the day I die,” he vows. “And even then, I won’t stop. Nothing could keep my heart from belonging to you…not even death.”

  “I love you. So much, Logan.”

  His mouth claims mine in a cleansing kiss full of new promises and a hopeful future. I couldn’t imagine a life without Logan’s hands on me, caressing my skin like I’m made of glass but at the same time gripping me firmly enough for me to know that beneath his need to keep me safe, burns a passion and want equal to my own. A strangled gasp falls from my lips when his strong hands begin to roam. Gripping the backs of my thighs, he lifts me up. My legs wrap around him as he spins us around and he lays back on the mattress with me on top of him. I pull my mouth from his and tug him up by the collar of his shirt, his deep chuckle warming me down to the bone as he removes the garment and we are once again chest to chest. My lips dance across his jaw, our hearts beat together, as they should.