Page 88 of Tortured Eyes
Thirty
“I’m judging by the look on your face that things aren’t going well?” Jimmy comes to sit down on the bench as I wrap my hands. It’s been two days, and I feel like shit. Not the ill sort, the totally wracked with guilt and loathing kind. I’ve not been to see Logan. How could I? I know he’s free. Appears Quinn did do what Logan needed him to, and he's out roaming the streets again. And so, this case will just be added to the pile of questionable cases that involve a dirty cop and a Cane.
I stop what I’m doing and look up at Jimmy. He’s only being Jimmy—a friend trying to help me out, but that’s not what I need at the moment. For everything I’ve done, everyone I’ve betrayed, I should be looking at a firing squad, not at a friend.
“Things aren’t going well. Thanks for asking,” I mutter.
“Only since you started messing around with Logan Cane. Time to let things be, Bryce, and just move on.”
“Is that your expert advice? Because you should damn well know it’s not that easy.” My frustrations spill over and lash out. Jimmy doesn’t deserve it. Although I told him everything that happened with Logan when I came home from the kidnapping, this is different. He’s an ex-cop, and I wasn’t so sure he’d understand my reasons if I told him why I shot Mason. On the take or not, it didn’t mean he deserved to die for his actions. And I’m right back on to feeling guilty, questioning myself, and feeling resentful that I ever met Logan Cane, but can’t seem to escape him.
“You’ve been through some serious shit, girl. It’s over now, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, Jimmy. I don’t think there’s a way for me just to go back to how things were. I can’t explain it all… Look, I’ve got to go, okay? I’ll be fine before you ask. I’ll see you in a few days. I need to get my head straight.”
I don’t allow him to stop me, and I’m relieved that he doesn’t because tears threaten and mist my vision as I’m leaving the gym. This version of me, this person isn’t anyone I recognise. Running away isn’t me. Hiding from the truth? Lying to my friend? I glower at myself as I exit the building and look at the dark, wet roads heaving with traffic. Everything has changed. It’s like my whole world has crashed and burned and I’m trying to find something in the ashes to cling to, but there’s nothing good anymore, including myself.
The walk home is depressing. I can’t even go for a fucking ride because my bike's in the graveyard along with Mason's corpse. The coldness bites against my skin and I welcome it. The sharpness keeps me awake and stops me from spiralling into a pity party. I’ve been drowning for two days, ever since I got back from Cane Manor, as I’ve now christened it, and part of me fears what I need to do to shake me out of it.
“Main lights,” I command as I kick my door shut and dump my bag in the hall. I don't know why I bothered lighting the space. I'd be better staying in the dark. It's where criminals like me should be.
I head for the kitchen but don’t make it to grab a beer from the fridge. My breathing hitches as my eyes take in the form in front of me. Logan sits on the sofa, waiting. His coat is folded neatly on the arm of the chair, his legs crossed at the ankle as casually as if he owns the fucking place. “What the hell? How did you get in here? I’d have had an alert.” I grab my phone and check for any missed notifications, but there aren’t any.
“I disabled them. You really should look at a better security system, Red. Especially with men like me free and loose.”
“You’ve got a nerve. What gives you the right to break into my home?”
“Calm down. I just wanted to deliver a gift and see you before I left.”
The word 'left' stops everything in my head. He's leaving? After everything, he’s just going to go? That broken part of my heart sinks further. Not that I'm admitting that to him. “What do you mean?”
“I’m leaving for New York.”
He stands up, bringing all his height into my space, but I can’t look at him. I turn away and head for the beer I wanted when I first got home, trying to ignore him as best I can. Not easy given his casual arrogance in my home. And definitely getting harder now he's towering over me again,his lips twitching.
“Great. Enjoy New York.” I slam the fridge shut and pop the cap before draining half of it.
“You’re mad at me?”
I guess I am, although I hate myself for it. The back of Logan Cane is the only part I should be happy to see. But it’s not.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m surprised you’re here, that’s all," I reply,lifting the bottle to sink some more. "What gift?”
“Bullshit. Stop acting like the tough cop. I thought we’d gotten over this.” He comes over to challenge me. The way I’m feeling now, it’s the last thing I want to hear. I step back and open the distance between us again,choosing the lounge to go drown in and escape.
“Seems we haven’t. What do you know?” I call back.
“Stop acting and talk to me. After everything I thought…” He moves to take my arm, but I bat it out the way.
“Thought what?” I slam the bottle down on the table. “That we’d be friends? In what fucking universe would that work? Tell me? You don’t live in the real world. I get that, but I do. I have the pieces of my life to pick up and put back together thanks to you.” It’s my time to get angry, to let everything flood out. “You’ve ruined everything, and you’re just going to walk away?” There’s a lump in my throat, a pain in my chest, but no goddamned way am I crying in front of him. Nothing has changed. He’s still the man who kidnapped me. The man who hurt me. There’s no reason to see him as anything else, regardless of my part in our crimes.
“What do you expect of me? My home isn’t in Chicago, Red. It’s in New York.”
“With Samuel?” I snap.
“To an extent, yes.”
“Great. Then just go.”
