As it turns out, Chelsea ended up being the most pissed about the whole situation, and that was only because I’d spilled the beans to Reagan and not her. But even she got over it pretty quick as soon as she heard about me stabbing someone in the neck.
“Holy shit, Quinn; when did you get so bad-ass?”
I have no idea, but I’d like to think a certain tattooed boxer had at least something to do with it.
“You totally ruined the honeymoon, you know.”
My sister whirls and punches Hudson in the arm, scowling at him as he grins and holds his hands up; “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Logan snorts out a laugh from the bed he’s propped up in, and Hudson pats him on the shoulder.
Logan’s penthouse isn’t quite done being renovated, but it’s finished enough that he’s decided to recoup here rather than the hospital. Which, by the way, I’m still furious about, especially since everyone else seems to think this is totally acceptable as well. He did let me bring in a few old colleagues from the hospital to check him out though, which at least puts me halfway to at-ease.
“You’re an idiot, you know.” Bryce frowns, shaking his head at Logan from the foot of his bed.
“Yeah, I know.”
“You should have told us; about Javier and all of it.”
Hudson scowls; “So how long had Javier been holding this over your-”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s over.” Logan says slowly; “Except I don’t know what he’s going to say now.”
“I do.” Major Lawson’s been quiet in the corner of the room until this moment, and as he stands, we all turn to him; “He’s going to say nothing, because his story has no evidence and no proof.” He arches a brow at all of us; “As it turns out, I’ve got an old colleague working in the records department in Blackriver, and as of this morning, you three were never employees. The three men stare at him, their jaws dropped. Bryce starts to say something, but the Major just chuckles and waves him off; “Oh, and Javier’s currently on a plane to a detention facility in Spain.”
Logan’s eyes go wide; “What?”
“Yes, apparently Javier Toro is wanted for just about every law they’ve got back in Spain, and when I realized who he was I took the liberty of alerting my contact at Centro Nacional de Inteligencia in Madrid and letting him know.”
“You- wait-”
The Major raises an eyebrow at a very shocked looking Logan; “William Archer was one of the finest men I knew, son, and I intend to do everything in my power to protect his own.” He winks at me before turning a stern eye on Logan; “Of course, you hurt this one and I’ll send you right back to Cuba, but I think you’ll find the continental breakfast at Guantanamo Bay slightly less accommodating than the one at the Hotel Nacional.”
Logan grins and just squeezes my hand tighter; “The thought never crossed my mind, sir.”
“I want to show you something.”
It’s later, after everyone’s gone and left us to each other, when Logan grimaces as he slides out of his bed. He takes my hand, leading me through the huge expanse of his penthouse; past the paintings on the wall, past the floor-to-ceiling windows with the jaw-dropping views of Manhattan.
He see’s me taking everything in and shakes his head; “This is all meaningless, you know,” He says quietly; “It’s a disguise that your father taught me put on; to hide who we are and to blend in.”
“Logan, you don’t have to tell me anything, you know.”
He shakes his head; “Hang on, this is important.” We’re at the end of a hallway in front of a door, and he fishes a key out of his pocket and slides it into the lock; “You asked me before what your father saved us from,” He opens the door and leads me inside; “I want- I need to show you my life; where I really came from.”
He flicks on the light, and I gasp.
The whole room is full of framed photographs, hanging on the wall; hundreds of them. They’re of dusty, run-down-looking streets running past grimy looking oil derricks, of a young kid who can only be Logan with that grin on his face leaning against a beat-up looking pickup truck. My eyes scan over the walls, seeing pictures of the desert; of tanks and burning buildings. I stop on a snapshot of Logan in full combat gear, older now than the boy with the truck and looking completely shattered.
I gasp, bringing my hand to my mouth as I step into the room and let my eyes just follow the timeline of the life of the man I love. There are villages in Africa, of smiling kids kicking a soccer ball around a grungy looking field; pictures of Hudson and Logan gritting their teeth and grinning as they sit in chairs getting tattoos in some hut of a building, Bryce smiling sadly at the camera, Hudson striking a pose, Logan wearing boxing gloves, looking sweaty and triumphant with Javier of all fucking people standing with his arm around him.