Page 73 of Because of Logan

Skye squeezes my hand when I pause.

“I was so wrong. I parked my car beside hers and didn’t bother to go through the front of the house. I walked around to the back instead. We have a huge patio outside the kitchen. I figured they’d be out. Mom liked having tea outside every afternoon if the weather was nice, and it was a beautiful day. But when I came around the back, no one was there. The patio door was open, though, and I just went inside. The house was silent. Something in me, a voice in my head, told me to be quiet as well. I made my way into the house. There was no one in the kitchen, the living room, or the library. I checked my father’s office too, but it was empty as well. I remember very clearly how my heart thundered. I didn’t know what I was about to find out, but I knew it wouldn’t be good.”

Her eyes are on me, her breaths shallow in anticipation. Skye squeezes my hand again, encouraging me to go on. I squeeze it back and earn a small smile.

“I made my way upstairs. Unlike this house that creaks and complains when anyone walks around, my childhood home is built with a layer of soundproofing material between the floors. My father built that home that way years before I was born in anticipation of not having to listen to the sounds of children. He’s a big proponent of the ‘children should not be heard’ idea. They never heard me. But I heard them. The bedroom door was wide-open. At first, I thought it might have been my father and my mother, but I knew it couldn't be as soon as the thought entered my mind. So I stood there, trying to get a grasp of what they were saying and what it meant.”

Images fill my mind. Of all the places they could have fucked, why my bedroom?

“They were talking about me. My father and Amanda. And how very close I was to actually proposing to her. They had a wedding date picked, and they also talked about how easy it would be to feed me with false information on the new company. But that wasn't the worst of it. Between the bits of conversation, there were moans and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh.”

One of her hands leaves mine to cover her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“I was in shock. But I knew what I heard. Still, I had to see it with my own eyes. I couldn't leave that house without actually seeing it. I needed more proof. And I got it. I took the two steps I needed to stand in front of the open door. They didn’t see me. They were facing away from me. And there they were. In my bedroom, on my bed, my father and my supposed fiancée and future wife, fucking.”

“Oh my God.”

“I don’t know how long I stood there, paralyzed, my feet frozen in place.”

That room, my bedroom, the only place that felt really mine. The one concession from the designer-decorated house. It still had posters of my favorite bands on the wall. It still had a cork board with pictures from vacations and all the places I visited with my grandparents. My high school trophies and medals next to my favorite books on the bookcase. A jersey draped over a chair from my last visit. And then all the things that didn’t belong. Shoes that were not mine. A belt. A skirt and blouse. A black bra hanging off the side of the bed. Gray pants, a white dress shirt, a tie. All strewn across the blue carpet I used to lie on and do sit-ups and push-ups every morning when I woke up. That place, the only place that felt like mine in that house, was forever tainted.

There are tears in her eyes now. Tears for me. No one ever cried for me before. I wipe them with my free hand, running my thumb over her cheek.

“They just kept at it. Fucking and talking about their plans for me. And I stood there. I was a kid up to that moment. Still trying to earn my father’s love and approval and living a life where most things were just handed to me.” I shake my head as if I could get rid of those memories.

“The blinders fell off that day. I saw my father and Amanda for who they really are. I realized then I’d never be more than a pawn for my father. I left. They never even saw me. I drove back to Riggins. I was torn, and I realized I had no one I could talk to. I had dozens of friends and didn’t trust a single one of them. They were party friends, good times friends. Even my teammates felt like strangers. The only two people who could understand me were unreachable. My brother, somewhere in the Middle East, and my grandma in Florida, still mourning Grandpa’s death.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. I stole my father's prized bottle of whiskey on the way out, but I didn’t even get drunk. I didn’t want to numb it with alcohol. I wanted to feel every ounce of pain and disappointment and have it burned into my memory so I’d never make the same mistake again.”

Her eyes are full of pain. Skye’s the first person I’ve told the full story. A part of me is still ashamed. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have never seen it? I’ve gone over it again and again. I analyzed every interaction with Amanda, with my father, and even my poor mother, who’s just as under his thumb as I had been.

“A couple of days later, my mother called me to find out if I’d make it home for the weekend. I told her I couldn’t make it, that I had tests I needed to prepare for. Which was true enough. Amanda called, and I ignored it. She texted me, and I ignored it. This went on for a couple of days. My father called then. I ignored him. Kept sending his calls to voice mail and deleting them without listening. It went on for a whole day. He’d never been one to text, but my lack of response must have pissed him off enough to text me. He berated me for not answering his and Amanda’s calls. I was still staring at that message when my phone rang again. I answered him this time. Before I had a chance to say anything, he laid in on me. Called me all kinds of names and how dare I hurt my fiancée’s feelings. I listened to the whole tirade in silence. He went on for minutes until he noticed my silence. Whenever I pissed him off, and it happened often enough, I’d be apologizing as he yelled at me. That was our MO, from the time I was a little kid. My silence finally got his attention, and he asked me if I had nothing to say for myself, and I said yes.”

“What did you say?”

I can’t help the smile on my face. Not a happy one, but a smile I know says more than words ever could.

“I said, ‘Yes, I have something to say. I don’t ever want to see you or that cheating bitch again. Fuck you both.’ And then I hung up.”

“I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry, Logan.”

“I’m not. I’m glad. I might have married her before I figured out what was happening and their plans for me.”

“Jesus. I can’t believe anyone could do something like this to anyone, much less their own child.”

“He was never really a father. I don’t think he’s capable of love.”

“Did they leave you alone after that?”

“Oh, no. Nothing is that easy. Amanda showed up a couple of hours later. She put on an act worthy of an Oscar. Denying it up and down, saying she loved me, that she’d never cheat on me, and that whoever told me she was cheating lied. She talked and talked and even managed some tears. I just sat right here on this couch and watched her performance. Didn’t say a word. Then she tried to have sex. Stripped in the middle of the living room. I let her. When she was completely naked, I picked up all her clothes, walked to the front door, and tossed them all onto the porch. She was screaming then. I walked back to her, got a hold of her arm, and walked her outside and closed the door in her face.”

Skye’s hand covers her mouth and her expression is one between horrified and mirthful.

“She started banging on the door and threatening to call the police on me. Tell the cops I attacked her.”

Skye's eyes never leave me.

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