But she didn't seem to bat an eye, and suddenly cold-shoulder, schedule-stickler, frosty Peyton was marching right up to me in the waiting room and throwing her arms around me in a big hug.
Uh, what?
"He hasn't told you about us, has he."
It's a statement more than a question, and part of me wants to smack that little smile she's only half holding back off of her smug little twenty-year old mouth. I purse my lips, my jaw tensing and my eyes narrowing at her. "No, he hasn't." I say evenly, arching a brow at her. "And look, I really don't actually need to know-"
"Quinn," she cuts me off as she cocks her head at me. "He's my brother."
Whatever scathing retort I'm about to let loose on Peyton freeze in my throat as her words hit me full-force. "Excuse me?"
Peyton's usually stiff face breaks into a grin, and it's an expression I actually recognize because it's the same one pretty much permanently plastered on Logan. "Well, half-brother," she says with a shrug. "Our mom- well, that part I might let him tell you."
"I had to find her a few years ago for- I just had to go home for this thing."
Holy shit.
"Look, I'm sorry for being … " She trails off and looks at the floor.
"A bitch?"
Peyton looks up at me, grinning. "He's always been protective of me, and so I guess I just get protective right back." She shrugs, just like her brother. "I kind of figured you probably had the wrong impression," She says, grinning at me in that wholly Logan way. "He's a dick for messing with you like that. Sorry, he's like that sometimes."
I choke out a laugh. "Tell me about it."
She squeezes my hand in hers as her face takes on a softer loo.; "So, how's the big guy doing, anyways?"
"I- I- He's-" And right then it's like all the pent up fear and stress and emotion of the past twelve hours just comes draining out of me at once, and I find myself collapsing into her. Peyton, of all people.
"Hey, hey now," she's stroking my hair and helping me to sit before she pulls out her cell phone and looks me in the eye. "Hey, just sit tight, I got this."
And, she does.
Bryce is there within hours, and if he has any questions about what at that point is pretty obviously going on with Logan and I, he doesn't say a word. But it's really when Major Lawson arrives soon after and starts mentioning things like "national security" and "State Department" to the concerned-looking State Troopers and hospital staff that the whole thing sort of just gets fixed. Half an hour later, we're all on a jet headed to New York, and for the first time in what seems like a day, I can finally breath.
Contrary to what I guess either of Logan or I thought would happen, Bryce and Hudson actually ended up taking the news about us pretty well, especially when they heard the story of my spur-of-the-moment heroics back in Florida. Actually, I believe Hudson's exact words on the entire matter were "You know, the deal was that we protect them, not the other way around, idiot."
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.
And then there are pictures of my dad.
From there the pictures change. We're out of the jungle and in a city that can only be New York. There's Logan grinning and looking completely out of place behind a thick wooden desk with a view of the city behind him. There are shots of him looking bored at lavish looking parties, and standing next to a new sports car, followed by more of both.
And then we're back in what must be Africa, and my dad's there as well and the two of them are holding shovels and standing next to what looks like a new water pump. We're in the desert somewhere, Hudson, Bryce, Logan and my father standing alongside others I don't know in front of a brand new building that I can tell is a school from the playground out front and the boxes of books being unloaded from a truck.
And it's when I realize that this is everything I never knew about my father that I start to cry.
"This is our past, Quinn," Logan says quietly from behind me. "It's the past that I need to remember."
He touches my arm and I turn as he takes my hands. "I need to know the past, because it's the path I took to get right here to you."
Epilogue
Quinn
What's funny about growing up is watching yourself and those around you change and grow in ways you'd never have imagined. For instance, who would've known that my tom-boy of a middle sister who would have just as soon gotten her teeth pulled than wear a "stupid dress' would've been the first one of us to have the romance novel of a happy ending. The one where everyone ends up barefoot and pregnant and getting married? And by the same stroke, if you'd have told a younger, nerdy, never-miss-a-curfew, never-step-outside-the-lines me that I'd end up with the swearing, tattooed, bareknuckle boxer of a bad-boy, I'd have thought you were nuts.