In This Life (3 page)

“Then feel free to leave,” I said, motioning to the door.

Logan didn’t move.

“Logan, if you believe you’re mature enough to be on your own, then why not just do it? Why come back here? Why leave a suicide note for your mother in the first place, when you could just take off and be done with it?”

“I told you already. To teach her a lesson.”

And we had come full circle.

I glanced at the clock. We’d been talking for nearly fifteen minutes and Logan’s mother was due in another twenty. If I used my time wisely, I might be able to maneuver both him and his mother into my office at the same time. A long shot, but one I hoped for.

And as I thought about the suicide note a little more, another thought came to mind. “Logan, what exactly did your note say?”

For a short second, Logan’s large eyes widened with recognition and intelligence, and he grinned. “So Doctor Morgan’s gears all finally clicked into place, huh? I didn’t leave the bitch a suicide note. I told her I was leaving home and don’t come find me.”

I remembered the three occasions when Logan ran away from home and ended up in a local rehab center. The most recent time lasted about one month — long-term by Logan’s standards — until he ran away from the center, too, only to find his way back into his mother’s house where he’d lived for the past several months. He didn’t want to be with his mother, and yet he kept returning to her over and over again.

Just like he kept returning to me.

“So your mother misunderstood your note,” I told him.

Logan laughed. “She didn’t misunderstand it. She lied so she could get to
you
.”

The news left me feeling a little dumbfounded. I’d only considered Logan’s situation from Logan’s point of view because he was my client. Not once did it occur to me that his mother might want help from me, too.

“Hey.” Logan snapped his fingers. “You okay? You look kinda somewhere else.”

“I’m fine,” I said, but there was a sudden rushing noise in my ears and I was having trouble focusing on the conversation. I was hearing the laughter and music again, too, and trying hard to ignore it.

“Yo, doc,” he said. “What’s the deal?”

Logan’s voice sounded muffled and distant, like he was talking to me underwater. He slid over to the end of the couch, closer to me.

“Maybe David needs to make you more soup and tea,” he said. “Take you back home and get you under those chocolate brown bed covers. They
are
chocolate brown, right? Isn’t that what the package said?”

My eyes went wide and I swallowed down a nervous knot the size of a fist.

“What are you gonna do when he goes away in a couple of weeks?” Through a thin, blurry haze, I thought I saw Logan grin. “Unless my calendar is wrong. He is supposed to go away, right?”

A sick feeling churned in my stomach. One that had nothing to do with the flu. Logan shouldn’t have known about David, or anything about our lives.

Logan leaned forward and even though ten feet of carpet and furniture separated us, I felt the walls begin to close in. “See?” he said. “This is what I mean. No one gives me credit for what I can do.”

My chest tightened, my throat went dry, and the room swayed and spun around me. I gripped the desk to steady myself. Sweat broke out under my arms and trickled down my back, and the unusual scent I’d smelled since this morning filled the room. I shut my eyes and squeezed the desk harder, trying to calm my breathing so that I didn’t pass out.

I felt a presence, nearby and drawing closer. I felt body heat and sensed someone else’s attention.

“Do not worry,” another voice said, and although I recognized the voice I did not know where it came from.

I tried answering but my throat swelled and I had trouble taking in air. Something was wrong. The place. The time. The feeling.

Me.

Hands settled on my shoulders, then caressed my hair and my arms and my back. The scent came at me again, and I could not help but breathe it in. It smelled intoxicating and reminded me of something wonderful. Decadent.

I drew in deeper breaths, wanting that scent to engulf me and take me whole. Yet I knew something was wrong. Somewhere, deep down, I sensed it but I could not understand why.

The hands on my body felt different now, no longer attentive but rough. Urgent. A warm breath caressed my face and soft lips pressed against mine. I returned the kiss, wanting more of those lips, more of his body, more of that powerful, exotic scent.

“Lottie?”

My body shook and my surroundings sharpened into focus. I breathed in and tried to find him again, but he was gone. My lips felt warm, tingling with the memory of the kiss that lingered there. An ache grew in my belly and moved lower. I felt empty, wanting him.

A man crouched down in front of me. A man with a handsome face and shocking green eyes that stood out against his dark, near-black hair.

“Lottie?”

Another man was speaking to me now and I heard worry in his voice but did not understand why it was there. I felt so very good and yet he seemed upset.

Two other people stood by his side. One woman with short, silvery hair, and another with locks of gold wrapped tightly atop her head.

I looked at all three and asked, “Who are you?”

The man looked up at the two women with him and then looked back at me. He sat on his haunches, both of his strong hands clasped on either side of my chair so that I could not get away. He was powerful looking with well-defined muscles, and though his size was intimidating, I could see that he was not prepared to hurt me. I may not have been able to run past him but I knew that running would not serve any purpose. In my heart, I knew he was here to protect me.

He blinked and a small smile emerged on his face, but I saw no mirth behind his expression. He seemed confused. More so, he seemed uncomfortable for feeling that way.

“Who are you?” he said, repeating my words. “Not funny.”

An odd silence moved in and it took some time for me to understand why. The man wanted me to respond and I felt unsure as to what I should say.

“I did not realize that I was behaving in a manner that amused you.”

His gaze narrowed and his expression deepened and intensified, while small worry lines crinkled his forehead and the corners of his eyes. I recognized the expression and understood that it suggested fear, but could not explain why I knew it to be so. I simply knew that he felt it.

I reached out to him and traced my fingertips over his forehead and down his face. His skin came alive, blazing with heat under my touch. He drew in a deep breath and held it. I dared not pull away, dared not be separated from him and no longer able to feel the fire between us. Yet I knew that if I did not, touching would no longer be enough for either one of us.

I withdrew from him but I longed for more. For a moment, I wondered if he had been the one who kissed me.

“Lottie?” The man spoke just above a whisper but his urgency was clear. “What’s wrong?”

“Lottie?” The word felt awkward as it rolled off my tongue. “What is Lottie?”

His face paled and he looked away, as if he were trying to make sense out of something that confused him. It pained me to see him in such discomfort and, against better judgment, I touched his cheek, needing to feel him again.

The heat between us swelled and climaxed and I pulled away with a gasp. The man remained steady and crouched before me, but what I saw in his darkening gaze made my body ache and my flesh burn. Images of the two of us came to mind. Images of a time and a place when we were alone and wrapped in each other, with only our love and our future, and no one else trying to break us apart —

“David?” I said.

I found David staring at me with a look that I recognized but didn’t see often. Something was wrong.

“Lottie?”

The way he said my name sounded strange, as if he wasn’t sure it was me. David always radiated confidence, even during his most difficult times, but right now I saw only hesitation and doubt.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

“Of course, I’m okay.” In fact, I was better than okay. For the first time in days, I felt normal and healthy again, and like the flu had become a long forgotten memory. I was relieved to finally feel better. And hungry.

He looked up at Alicia. “Call 9-1-1. Now.”

Alicia hesitated, watching me. Mrs. Reynolds, whom I recognized from a photo Logan once showed me, stood beside her. I wondered when they’d come into the office, and then I wondered where Logan was.

“Logan’s alive,” I blurted. “Where is he? Have you seen him?”

David fixed Alicia with a hard stare. “Call 9-1-1,” he demanded again.

“No, stop. I’m fine, see?” I grabbed his hand and pressed it to my forehead. The fever and nausea were gone and I was raring to go.

I tried standing but David stopped me. “Do you know where you are?” he asked.

“I’m in my office,” I said. “And I want to know where Logan is. What did you do with him?”

David drew in a breath and held it.

And I wasn’t going to wait anymore. I tugged out of his grip and went to the open window, fingering the tear in the screen and scanning the parking lot for signs that Logan might still be around. I swung around and looked at Mrs. Reynolds.

“Your son is alive,” I told her. “He was here, in my office, and we had a conversation about the note he left in his bedroom.”

David walked to the window and inspected the damage.

“That screen’s been ripped for days,” Alicia said. “Since just after you went out on sick leave.”

She and David exchanged a look and I didn’t like what I saw beneath it.

“My son is
dead
,” Mrs. Reynolds insisted, and she turned to David. “Is something wrong with her?”

“David,” I said, “I’d like to speak with Mrs. Reynolds. Can you please wait in the reception area with Alicia until we’re done?”

Mrs. Reynolds clutched her Louis Vuitton handbag to her chest. “Why are you telling these lies?”

The room swayed again and I heard a distant voice. A woman’s voice. I couldn’t make out the words but her tone sounded harsh and accusatory. As if I had wronged her.

But no one else in the room was talking.

David was staring at me as if he knew something was wrong and was ready to do something about it.

I didn’t give him the chance. “I’d like to explain what I believe is happening,” I told Mrs. Reynolds. “I’m not lying and I want to know if you’ve seen Logan dead or how you can be so certain that he committed suicide.”

Mrs. Reynolds took two steps in retreat, her eyes trained on David. “She needs help. I don’t know why she’s making up such stories — ”

“I’m not lying.”

Mrs. Reynolds tapped a pointy black Ferragamo on the carpet. “I intend to report your erratic behavior to your director. I will not be patronized. I’m dealing with tremendous loss right now and here you are, telling me I’m wrong.”

“Mrs. Reynolds, I assure you — ”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’ve already seen too much.”

She marched out of my office as tightly wound as the blonde hair pinned to her head.

I leaned against the wall and stared at the open office door. “I don’t understand. This makes no sense. Logan was here,” I said, pointing to the sofa he’d just been sitting in, “and we talked. You’d think his mother would be happy to hear the news that he’s alive and okay.”

David settled onto the edge of my desk, drawing my attention back to him. “Lottie, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“Paul.”

“I thought you said you remembered Logan.”

“No, I mean I want to talk to Paul.”

I started for my desk phone but David stopped me. “Okay, assuming what you said is true,
when
did you see and talk to Logan?” He held up his own phone and showed me the time. It read ten minutes after eleven.

“That can’t be right.”

“Should I still get help?” Alicia asked.

I peered past David’s shoulder and answered for him. “No.”

David let out a long sigh and turned to her. “Alicia, can you leave us alone, please?”

Alicia paused, looking caught between needing to listen to me because she worked with me, and wanting to obey David because he looked more intimidating. After a few moments, she nodded and shut the door after her. David refocused on me and I didn’t like what stared back.

“I tried writing off this morning’s episode as an anomaly,” he said. “Something that was the result of the flu and maybe a bad night’s sleep. But what am I supposed to think when it happens a second time, Lottie? And worse, when you can’t even remember your own name? Or me?”

“It’s not uncommon for people to have these types of reactions when they’ve been very sick, David. You’ve been through similar situations — ”

“I’ve lost memory because of a concussion, and that was something entirely different. But this?” He motioned between us. “This isn’t normal. And you scared the shit out of me.”

I could see that I had and that made my heart ache. David was the solid one. The one who always stood firm and always had answers. He was the one who had enough strength for both of us during those times I had none.

Restless, I moved around the office, hoping something along the way would jog things back to life in my head. But the only things that kept coming back were questions about Mrs. Reynolds.

A fragment of a conversation eased into my head.
You are angry with me. Why?

It was me, speaking to someone else. I knew it as surely as I was standing in my office, but I wasn’t talking to David. I was talking to the woman whose voice I heard minutes before. My tone was insistent, even a little sharp, as if I was trying to make her understand something she refused to accept.

“What made you come to my office anyway?” I asked, turning to David, the other conversation fading away.

“Mrs. Reynolds came in while I was waiting for you in reception.” David walked over and pretended to show the same interest in my diploma. “Alicia phoned you and when you didn’t answer we got worried because you’d been so sick. So we came to your office. We found you alone.” He stared at the diploma but I could see he wasn’t really looking at it. “You weren’t yourself.”