Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen

LOGAN

Something inside Rae clicked ‘off’ when I called her sweet.

She started fiddling with her necklace and then chugged the last of her cider like her life depended on it (maybe she felt like it did) before finally loosening up. Now, she’s just…still. Not moving, just existing.

How can someone who seemingly wears her emotions on her sleeve be such a mystery?

At first, I was worried that she interpreted my comment as sexist or patronizing, but she returned the compliment, so I don’t think it was a gendered thing.

Trying to explain made things a million times worse. I don’t know how or why, but it feels like more than just an insensitive remark. There’s so much pain in her eyes, as if she feels betrayed.

I hate that I did that to her.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” she asks, tucking a piece of wavy brown hair behind her ear. It was straight at the office, but the texture changed where the rain touched.

“I’m here if you want someone to talk to or a shoulder to cry on,” she continues, “or if you want a buddy to help take your mind off things.”

I said something that hurt her—hurt her ~deeply~, I think—and she’s focused on my pain. It’s the same as Saturday at Smash, when she comforted Courtney.

I don’t think I can handle talking about Dad right now. Not if I want to keep my shit together, and I really fucking do.

“No, I just needed to get it off my chest. I think it’ll take some time to process, you know?”

I realize too late that her offer included a “buddy to take your mind off things”. God, she is the sweetest— ~shit~ , kindest?—woman alive.

And she’s leaving.

She’s standing and collecting her jacket, and she’s leaving, but all I want is her here. “Okay,” she says quietly. “I process things on my own too. I should probably get going. See you tomorrow, Logan.”

“Let me give you a ride, at least,” I blurt out. ~At least~? Where did that come from?

“No, you’ve had a rough day. My apartment is just a few blocks away. I’ll walk. Have a good night.”

“But it’s raining,” I point out.

“Oh.” She ponders that for a moment. “I’ll get an Uber. Thanks for the cider.”

“Are you sure I can’t give you a ride?”

She nods. “No worries. I have the Uber ready already. No, sorry. I have Lyft ready. Same thing.”

“Did I say something that hurt your feelings?” I swear, all my common sense flew out the window today. I want to stuff the words back in my mouth the second they hit Rae’s ears.

She blinks a few times and forces a shaky smile that doesn’t even last a second. “What?”

“You seemed upset a few minutes ago.”

“Oh! Oh, no. Sorry.”

“No, don’t…,” I trail off. I’m just making her uncomfortable now. “See you tomorrow, Rae. Thanks again.”

“See you tomorrow, Logan.” She leaves, closing the door behind her so quietly I don’t even hear it.

I stare at the ceiling. What am I supposed to do now? Probably call Mom, see if she’s okay, but I don’t even know if Dad has told her. I could call him and ask, but…

I don’t know why, but I can’t stand the thought of hearing his voice right now. He’s my dad. He’s dying. I should be cherishing every second, every conversation with him. But I just…can’t.

Dad’s an asshole. He doesn’t give a shit about anything other than his business and his legacy. He’s not going to spend his last few months with his family. Not a chance.

Instead, he’s going to ensure everything with Quincy Ventures is in order. He’ll probably have my next fifteen years plotted out by the time he… ~Fuck~. I can’t think about that right now.

I’ll call Mom tomorrow. Dad will have told her by then, and if not, the news will probably be better coming from me anyway.

I don’t taste a bite of the risotto I scarf down. I check my phone, see that it’s barely after seven, and regret eating so quickly.

Sleep is the only thing that will take Dad’s news off my mind, but there’s no chance I knock out before ten.

I open my company laptop and log in. I have eighty unread emails, but I don’t check a single one. Instead, I pull up Google and search for “stage four glioblastoma”.

The articles I can read fine, but the pictures and diagrams… How the fuck is that going on in Dad’s head? I’m overcome with nausea.

I scroll past them, too weak to even ~look~ at a depiction of what my father is experiencing, as I learn everything I can about this evil disease.

One in ten thousand cancer cases is glioblastoma. It’s almost always lethal. Neurosurgeons can remove most of the tumor, but eliminating it entirely is impossible.

I churn through page after page of information about treatment and prognosis and epidemiology, avoiding the graphics.

There’s a shit-ton of research on glioblastoma. Shouldn’t survival be possible, even if it’s a long shot?

I slam my computer shut at ten, unable to read another word about the disease killing my father.

All I can do is wait for sleep.

I get three hours, one thirty to four thirty. I don’t need to be up for another two hours, but work will be a better distraction than my bare bedroom walls.

I like the office early in the morning. There’s something empowering about being the one who walks through first, turning on the motion-detector lights. They cast light across the floor in a cadence.

Well, normally they do. Today, they don’t. Dad’s in.

Why the fuck is Dad here? Shouldn’t he be resting?

“Logan, in my office in a second,” he calls.

“Hey, Dad. How are you—”

“We’re making the announcement today. I scheduled a company-wide meeting at ten. Be there fifteen minutes early.”

It’s too early to process this. “The announcement about…about the—”

“Cancer. You taking over. Don’t skirt around the issue, Logan.”

I force a nod. “Okay. Sure. I’ll be there at nine forty-five.”

“Great. Close the door on your way out.”

I rub my temples as I head toward my office, deciding to swing by the café across the street when it opens. I really need some caffeine if I’m going to survive the day.

I’m starting to understand why Rae drinks coffee the way most people drink water.

“Hey, Quincy! What’re you doing here so early?”

~You’ve got to be fucking kidding me~.

“Couldn’t sleep. How about you?”

“Oh, me too.” Michael grins from behind his cluttered desk. “Got a certain brunette on my mind. Scored a date with that on Saturday.”

I grit my teeth. “She’s a consultant, Michael. Don’t harass her.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “I’ve had that date on lock since Sunday, a couple of hours after she left my apartment.”

“Doesn’t matter when you got that ~on lock~. Show some fucking professionalism, man.”

“Who was it that fucked Taylor on your desk?”

I never should have told him about that. Hard to believe we were ever friendly enough to talk about that shit. “Taylor wasn’t crying over another man when I was fucking her.”

“You know what came out of her pretty little mouth when I got her home? First thing out. ‘Fuck me until I forget him.’” He shakes his head, smirking.

“You’re sick.” I slam his door.

I pace back and forth inside my office, resisting the urge to hit something. ~Fuck me until I forget him~. I hear the words in Rae’s soft tone, with that slight slur from all her vodka cranberries.

~Vodka crans~, she called them. I wonder if her voice wavered or if she blurted it out.

Why the hell did she say yes to a date with Michael? She’s uncomfortable as fuck around him. And why didn’t she cancel on him after ours?