Page 6 of Logan
4
Logan
It’s midnight and I’m somewhere over the pacific ocean. All the lights on the plane are turned off, except for the occasional spattering of reading lights, which illuminate the tired, drawn-out faces of the other passengers.
The seat I’m in is about six sizes too small for a man my height, but that’s not the only reason I can’t get to sleep.
I’m on my way back to the US.
It’s been over two weeks since I was called away on duty. Two long, hot, lonely weeks in the middle of a desert with nothing for company but my gun and a few grenades, a set of binoculars, a pack of cards, and a picture of Jane I found online before leaving and quickly printed out at the airport.
I’ve run my hands over it so much it’s all but worn away. Crumpled up and faded. But, at night, beneath the stars, contemplating my impending death, it’s been the one thing that’s truly kept me going. The lighthouse in my storm.
Soon I’ll be driving through those unfamiliar roads on my way to see her. The only thing is, I don’t know what I’m going to find.
The kiss we’d shared was real. There’s no denying the sparks between us. But, even though in my heart I feel like I’ve known her all my life, the rational side of my brain tells me I don’t know anything about her.
Maybe she’s already found herself another man. Maybe I was just a bit of wedding day fun.
I clench my fists and close my eyes. Trying to calm myself down. The thought of her with another man drives me mad.
Jane’s my woman. And nobody else is allowed to touch her.
I haven’t had the chance to claim her yet. To feel her naked, sweaty body pressed beneath me. To feel the inside of her channel squeeze my length and suck the semen from my balls into her tight, yearning pussy. But as far as I’m concerned, she’s my woman. Whether she knows it yet, or not.
“Can’t sleep either?” The blonde girl next to me batters her eyelashes and bites her lip. She’s been looking at me like a piece of meat ever since I sat down.
There was a time when I would have jumped at the opening she’s giving me. But things are different now.
Seeing Dax and Kate. Meeting Jane. It’s made me realize I want more than a fleeting night of passion with a stranger. I want the real deal. A white picket fence. A dog. A beautiful, sassy wife to snuggle up to at night and sink my cock into.
I want to hold her hand and look down and see the little gold ring on her finger that says she’s mine.
I want to run my fingers over her distended belly as a little human made from both our DNA grows inside her.
I want to play catch or have teddy bear tea parties. I want to teach my children to ride a bicycle, and I want to watch them graduate. Walk them down the aisle at their wedding. I want to see them fall in love, and I want to be there when they get their hearts broken. A shoulder for them to cry on and a fountain of wisdom for when they’re scared, or worried, or just in need of a few moments of honest, loving, fatherly advice.
“Yeah,” I say to the woman. “It’s the medication I’m on. Keeps me awake.”
“Oh,” she says, running her hand over my thigh and slowly working her way up towards my groin. “Nothing serious I hope?”
“Depends how serious you think syphilis is.”
Her hand freezes. She looks at me like she’s a deer in headlights. Slowly she releases her grip on my leg. She makes a big deal out of yawning and acting like she’s suddenly so tired she can barely stay awake. “Oh Gosh,” she says, pretending to look at a watch that isn’t even on her wrist. “Is that the time? I really should be trying to catch up on my sleep. Otherwise, I’ll be hella jet-lagged.”
“Yeah.” I smile inwardly at the reaction my little trick has had on her. “Why don’t you do that.”
She pulls the thin, blue blanket provided by the airline up over her body until she looks more like an Ancient Egyptian mummy than a twenty-something-year-old girl who was just trying to cop a late-night feel of my junk.
Either way, I’m glad she got the message. At least now she won’t bother trying to hit on me, and I won’t have to go through the awkward process of turning her down.
I pull my wallet out of my pocket and remove the picture of Jane.
The purple bruise on her arm from where her car exploded is just about visible. It reminds me of when I was checking her over. Of what it felt like to touch her heavenly, soft skin. Of what it felt like to breathe in her flowery, burnt-car scent.
I chuckle to myself, still wondering what kind of woman manages to blow up her car on the way to a wedding, and what kind of man it makes me for falling in love with her.
Somewhere along the way, I manage to fall asleep, and the next thing I know the voice is coming in over the speakers telling us it’s time to put on our seatbelts because we’re coming into land.
I look out the window and take in the aerial view of the city as our plane circles over the runway. Descending through the long, white layers of clouds.
Somewhere down there is the woman I love. The woman I’m going to marry. All I have to do is find her and tell her and then make her mine.
“I’m coming for you, Jane.” I kiss the photo and put it back in my wallet. “Just like I said I would.”
