“Phew, dodged a bullet with that one,” Adam Archer says. “It’s too bad, ‘cause she’s hot. But I could never have a wife who couldn’t get on her hands and knees and suck me off at the end of a long day.”
Some hearty laughs and other uncomfortable laughs follow his statement.
But I’m already swinging around, hands fisted.
They’re only standing about five feet behind me, a group of three men, Adam their ringleader.
He smirks when he sees me coming. The son of a bitch.
I point a huge finger at him. He said those things on purpose, close enough so I’d hear him. “You’re a dead man.”
His smirk changes into an expression of fear far too late.
I’m already swinging for his perfect face.
Eight
Daphne
The ride home from the Healing Garden is frosty. There’s no other word for it.
Logan tried feebly to congratulate me on my speech and I snapped at him, “How would you know? You were too busy punching out Adam Archer to hear anything I said.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes when, during the middle of my prepared remarks about my mother’s love of gardening and how much the beauty of nature reminded her that life was worth living—
Only to look up when there’s a ruckus at the back of the seated area, and then to further realize that it’s your current boyfriend punching out your ex-boyfriend and ruining everything.
“Look,” he says gruffly, running a hand through his hair when the car pulls to a stop in the garage of the castle. “I’m sorry.”
I barely contain my scoff but apparently not well enough because he asks, “What?”
Is he serious right now?
“They were two seconds away from calling the cops.”
Logan’s jaw flexes. “But they didn’t.”
My mouth drops open. Does he really think that makes it better? “Then what are you even sorry for? It doesn’t sound like you feel like you have anything to feel sorry about.”
Right now I really wish I could slam my way out of the car and storm up to my room…but humiliatingly, I have to wait for Logan to set up the ramp for me to get out of the van. Because this is how it will always be. Him waiting hand and foot on me and never listening to anything I say.
I knew we would get to this point. It’s exhausting being a caretaker. He’s too busy taking care of my physical needs to care about what I really want— He couldn’t even care that I was excited about the garden.
More like he cares more about his revenge than he does about you.
He comes around the car, opens the door and sets up the ramp. But before I can roll down it, he drops his hands to both sides of the wheelchair and forces me to look him in the eye. “Look, I know I screwed up tonight. But I’m going to make it up to you. I swear.”
Oh, Logan. He doesn’t even get it. It’s not about making it up to me. It’s about letting go of the past so we can have a future.
I gave up everything. But he’s obviously not willing to do the same.
I reach up and caress his face. “I’m tired, hon. Really tired. Can I just go sleep? We’ll talk another time?”
It’s not a lie. I’m exhausted after going out and then when Adam kept shouting for the authorities to be called after Marcus Ubeli’s security finally pulled Logan off of him… There was blood running from Adam’s nose. People were taking video with their phones. It was horrible. Normal stress is tiring, but that?
I need to sleep for about a week after that.
Logan continues staring at me, eyes searching mine, before finally nodding and pulling back. I wheel down the ramp and fifteen minutes later, I’m scrubbed clean of all my makeup and fast asleep.
A week later and winter is still alive and well in our household even as spring begins to bloom outdoors. But there’s little thaw between Logan and me. He tries and sometimes, halfheartedly, so do I.
We talk about the weather and politics and documentaries we watch together in the evenings…but that’s it. The ground is too frozen to dig any deeper.
The garden party tired me out more than I expected… Or maybe it’s everything with Logan. I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve been less motivated to get out of bed. Logan asks me if I want to go down to the basement and work in the lab with him.
But the thought of hours working at his side, pretending everything’s fine… It’s no lie when I say I don’t have the energy for it.
Maybe I was right, before, back when I shut out everything and everyone. Maybe I’m like my dad. He never had time for anyone, not even his family. He didn’t even always have time for Mom, when she was the one he was supposedly trying to save.
It was probably idiotic to get my hopes up for more. No matter how amazing Logan is. Some circumstances are just too much.
He’s too angry. Maybe if I was healthy, I’d have the energy to help him past it. But with me ill, every day is a reminder of my father and Adam, always in danger of another relapse that might take me from him…
I look out the window as clouds gather overhead for another springtime shower. Logan will never be rid of the anger. He’ll never stop wanting revenge. Against the whole world if I die, no doubt.
Am I just supposed to live with my head in the sand about what’s really going on? Am I supposed to just pretend that he loves me first above everything else when I know in my heart of hearts it’s not true?
And how can I blame him? When I’m this…thing. I look down at myself, covered in blankets, not having showered in two days, and I think—
I think maybe he’ll be better off when I’m gone.
Maybe then he’ll have a chance.
I turn away from the window and bury my face in the pillow.
But right then the door bangs open and Logan stomps through. He’s rarely one for stealth. “It’s time for a bath.”
I keep my eyes shut and pretend I’m asleep.
“You snore when you sleep so I know you’re awake.”
Then the covers are ripped off of me and my eyes jolt open. “Hey!”
“Up and at ‘em,” is all Logan says.
But when I still don’t respond, he just starts to undress me like I’m a petulant child.
“What are you doing?” I yelp as he yanks my shirt off my head and then tugs the bottom of my sweatpants, tipping me backwards on the bed so that my head is hitting the pillow again.
I feel like a little kid being maneuvered by a giant. Two seconds later, my pants are off, and then my underwear and bra.
I cross my arms over my chest, covering my breasts, and glare at him. “I am not having sex with you after that.”
For the first time since he’s come in the room, I finally see a spark of emotion across his face. He grins at me. “Never say never. But like I said, we’re heading for the bath.”
And then, still not asking permission or waiting for me to agree, he hikes me up and over his shoulder, fireman carry style. My shrieks and yelps are ignored.
He takes me out the door, ignoring my own en suite bathroom and taking me across the hall to his larger jacuzzi tub, the jets already roiling. With no ceremony, he deposits me into the steaming water.