Page 84 of The VIP Package

Kora looks stricken. “Oh, Logan.” She snatches a tissue from the box on her desk. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Logan looks at me. “For a long time, I hated myself for surviving. For failing my teammates. For not watching my footing more closely.”

I’d probably feel the same way. “Logan, you can’t?—”

“I could and I did.” He shakes his head slowly, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “Believe me, I found every way in the book to beat myself up. To destroy myself like I destroyed those men’s lives. Booze, pills, fast cars—you name it, I tried it. None of it made me stop hating myself.”

My whole body aches for this man. He’s ten years my junior, but what he’s endured would be inconceivable to most men. “How did you stop?” I clear my throat. “Hating yourself, I mean.”

“Who says I have?” One edge of his mouth gives a wry, crooked quirk, and I honestly can’t tell if he’s joking.

“Have you?”

“Mostly.” One massive shoulder lifts in a shrug. “We all have our moments.”

“H—how did you get through the worst of it?”

“Therapy, for one thing.” A chuckle rolls out of him, surprising me. “Yeah, I see that look. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. If I hadn’t, I’d never be strong enough to lead a support group like we’ve got here. And I sure as hell couldn’t have saved my own sorry ass from my mission to self-destruct.”

I’m a bit stunned that he just called me out. What look was I giving? Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

Because I’m suddenly driven to understand more.

“But—” I don’t even know what to ask. “What was it that made you switch paths?”

“Forgiving myself, for starters. It sounds simple, but nothing I’ve done in my entire fucking career compares to how hard that was.” He shakes his head slowly as his gaze drifts over the pool. Someone’s setting up lounge chairs in advance of guests returning to the resort, but I’m not even sure Logan sees them. He’s miles away now, lost in his own private grief.

“When something horrible happens, it’s human nature to want someone to blame.” His voice is a low, raspy hum. “It’s a relief, in a way—a way of explaining something that doesn’t make sense. And when you’re trapped in a pit of self-loathing, the only person you can really blame is yourself. It means the one thing you’re counting on to give you relief just makes you feel worse in the long run. It’s a completely fucked up cycle.”

“I—” My mouth has gone dry as my pulse thuds my eardrums. “I can imagine.”

“Kicking my own ass used to feel good. Like if Ididn’tdo it, there’s no one being punished for what happened. And if noone’s being punished, those men died in vain. But that’s bullshit thinking.” He’s shaking his head as his gaze swings back to this room. His eyes lock with mine, and I find myself holding my breath.

“Sabotaging myself from leading a happy, meaningful life wasn’t doing my friends any favors,” he says. “It’s an insult to them for me to go wasting my life. What kind of tradeoff is that? How pissed would they be, knowing they died so I could…what? Be a lonely old bum?” He scoffs and keeps going. “Making myself suffer doesn’t bring back the people I loved. It just makes it worse because now their deaths are senseless. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

“My God.” The words hit like blows to my ribcage.

There’s no way Logan could possibly see the common thread linking our stories. And yes, I’m aware of the egotistical acrobatics of comparing myself to a true fucking American hero.

But Jesus.

How did this man—this virtual stranger—know exactly the words to wake up my idiot brain?

I glance over at Kora, who’s dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “Thank you for sharing that, Logan. I can’t even fathom what you’ve been through.”

“Ma’am.” He gives her a tight nod. “I appreciate your assistance on behalf of the support group.”

“Yes, thank you. Both of you.” I turn back to Logan, swallowing hard as I struggle to locate my voice. “Thank you for your service and—and for telling your story.”

A self-deprecating chuckle rolls out of him. “Didn’t mean to go into all that detail.” He glances at Kora. “Ma’am. I’ll check back about the office space?”

“Of course,” she says quickly. “I believe conference room A is open on Tuesdays and Thursdays after noon.” She glances at me. “I presume you won’t have a problem with that?”

“Certainly not.” Hell, they deserve more than a temporary room. “Let’s look into creating a designated space for this. A permanent sanctuary for consorts and others to gather.” We could bring in guest speakers, maybe PTSD experts.

I turn back to Logan. “Give some thought to what sort of space you’d envision. Write it up and send it to Kora and me. I’ll see what we can do.”

“Thank you, sir.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he takes a step back. “I really appreciate it.”

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