Fighting Fate

  Paige sat stone still across the circle from him, staring a hole into the back wall. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through. Losing two people so terribly in the space of three years was simply unbelievable.

  Beside her, Kevin reached out to take her hand in a sympathetic squeeze. Logan stared hard at their connection, hoping she found some measure of comfort from the contact. But Paige politely slipped her fingers out from under Kevin’s and folded them in her lap.

  Silence echoed through the large Crimson Room. Logan wanted to shout for someone to console her already. He couldn’t handle watching her hurt, knowing he was the reason.

  “I sense a lot of anger still in you, Paige,” Samantha finally said. “You sound mad at your mother for deserting you as much as you sound upset with the boy who fought with your brother.”

  Logan held his breath as he watched Paige meet Samantha’s stare. “I am,” she said simply. Her shoulders shuddered as if it took everything she had to contain her rage. He closed his eyes, unable to watch.

  “And if this boy or your mother were here right now,” Sam pressed softly, “what would you say to either of them?”

  Oh God.

  Opening his lashes, he glanced up and found her looking directly at him, dooming him with her glare.

  Here it comes.

  Chapter Eight

  THIS WAS HER CHANCE. Paige could tell him whatever she wanted. She could say she hated him, she wished he’d gone to jail for what he’d done and been gangbanged by a crazed group of tattooed skinheads every night, or that she wished it had been him instead of her brother. She wanted him to pay for hurting her. She wanted him to hurt as much she hurt.

  But when their gazes met, all she felt was sick.

  He knew what she could do to him, what she planned to do to him, and he just sat there, accepting it, his expression bleak and so freaking desolate, she could only shake her head, confused. This wasn’t how he was supposed to react at all.

  “I don’t know,” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d say.”

  Across the circle, Logan Xander’s chest heaved. Looking up at the ceiling, he blinked repeatedly.

  “Would you tell them you forgive them?” Samantha asked.

  She shook her head, making a tear slither down her cheek in a crooked trail. “No.”

  Lurching upright, Xander startled the two girls on either side of him. “Excuse me.” He lifted an apologetic hand to them. “I need to…” His voice cracked. “Bathroom.” Stumbling to the exit, he slapped a steadying hand against the wall just as he turned and disappeared from the doorway into a hall.

  His departure broke the spell inside her. As if returning to her body after a long vacation, she blinked and glanced around, realizing what she’d just done. The other students and even the group leader stared as if she was an alien being. Spilling her entire sordid story had been to torture Xander, but in doing so, she’d shared everything with a roomful of complete strangers.

  She hadn’t even told Bailey and Tess this much.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wincing and wishing she could take back the last few minutes. Not only had she not meant to share so much so soon, but torturing Logan Xander hadn’t been as fulfilling as she’d always dreamed it would be. “I didn’t mean to say so much.”

  Samantha shook her head. “No, no. This is healthy.” She laughed. “It may not feel like it now, but you’ll feel it later. Trust me. And honestly, I’m proud of you for admitting your anger and telling us you’re not ready to forgive yet. It’s a very positive step in the right direction.”

  Kevin leaned toward her and nodded with a glint of admiration in his eyes. “It really is,” he said for her ears alone.

  Her face heated at his praise, and she forced a smile, hoping he didn’t hold anything against her for pulling away from his touch. He seemed really nice. And Tess had been right; he had gorgeous brown eyes and amazing wispy blond hair.

  Around her, grief group continued. Paige remained silent for the rest of the session, and her nerves eventually loosened with each passing minute, feeling closer to the other members than she thought should be appropriate. But they understood. They honestly knew some of the pain, anger, and denial she was going through.

  Logan Xander didn’t return. She kept waiting for him to blow back into the room and spill some big tragic story—all lies—about his own past. But he didn’t. And by the time the meeting let out, her anger at him for even being at a grief group meeting had unwillingly drained from her.

  “Paige.” Samantha approached as soon as everyone stood and loitered around the refreshment table. She set a sturdy, comforting hand on Paige’s shoulder. “I really want to thank you for coming tonight and for telling us your story. I think you’re going to work through this and be just fine. But if you ever find yourself needing to talk, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

  A business card appeared between her index and middle fingers. Paige accepted the generous offer, grateful the group’s leader wasn’t irritated with her for sending another member racing from the room.

  As if reading her mind, Sam sighed and slipped her hand off Paige. “Well, I better go see if I can track Logan down and talk to him. He looked pretty affected by your story, but I doubt he’s gone far. He always sticks around to help me put things away after every meeting.”

  Paige’s brow crinkled, a little confused to hear about such a considerate quality in him. So he drove drunk girls home from parties and didn’t take advantage of them, plus he cleaned up after grief counseling meetings? Neither aspect fit with the boy she’d built him up to be in her head. Rich, spoiled lawyers’ sons didn’t do such things.

  They didn’t take responsibility for their actions and they didn’t act sorry for what they’d done.

  Shaking the thought away, she watched Samantha leave through the same doorway Logan had earlier. But she turned left at the exit when he had gone right.

  Not quite sure what possessed her, Paige followed, curving right when she left the Crimson Room. She honestly didn’t want to come across him. As she’d already said in the meeting, she didn’t know what she’d say to him if they did meet up. But she wanted to know if Samantha had been right. Had he stayed close by to help put away the tables and chairs?

  Was he really that kind of person?

  It didn’t seem possible.

  She wandered through the halls, feeling like a fool on a meaningless mission. From the way he’d left, there was no way he was still in the building.

  The Student Union was quiet, most of the rooms darkened, and even the passageways were barely lit by the occasional red glow of an exit sign or emergency light. She was about to turn around and try to find her way back to the Crimson Room, because she only knew how to get out of the building from there, when she went around a corner and came to a shuddering halt.

  He sat on the floor, his back propped against the wall, his knees bent as his legs sprawled in front of him. But he’d crossed his arms over his chest as if he was cold, and he’d tilted his head back so his face was upturned toward the ceiling. With his eyes closed, he swallowed, the muscles in his throat working through the motion.

  One overhead light caught his cheek perfectly, reflecting a glistening track of skin from the bottom of his eye and down along his jaw. Recent tears.

  Slowly, he opened his lashes and rolled his head against the wall, lulling it her way until their gazes met. He looked exhausted and beaten.

  Broken.

  It wasn’t satisfying at all to realize she’d made anyone look broken—no matter who he was or what he’d done.

  He didn’t seem surprised to see her. He appeared to be actually waiting on her.

  “You didn’t tell them it was me,” he said, his voice so dry and raspy, it croaked.

  Damn it. This was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be so ruined. He was supposed to be cocky and arrogant, boasting about defeating her brother in that fight. Smug he’d gotten away w
ith murder without any punishment.

  Suddenly angry with him for toying with her feelings, for confusing her, she hissed, “No one here knows, do they? No one knows what you are.”

  He jerked, every muscle in his body seeming to torque at her accusing tone. When he shook his head, she exhaled harshly and knotted her jaw. “Well, isn’t that just convenient for you?”

  He squinted, staring at her as if he had no idea what convenient meant.

  “Why didn’t you tell them?” he asked, his eyes bright with what looked like another batch of approaching tears. “Why didn’t you point at me and tell them everything?”

  She didn’t know. She’d started out with every intention of revealing him to everyone, but when it came down to it, she hadn’t been able to. It would’ve united them together if she had. Everyone would see her as her brother’s survivor and Logan as her brother’s killer. People would automatically think of him when she was mentioned and vice versa. She didn’t want to share that kind of link with him, didn’t want to share anything with him. It would be too intimate. Too binding.

  When he shifted, slowly pushing off the floor and to his feet like a drunk old bum, she skittered a step back, realizing she hadn’t answered him yet. Stiffening her jaw, she tilted her chin up defiantly.

  “Who says I won’t?”

  Even standing, he continued to lean against the wall. Gulping loudly, he nodded, once again accepting her condemnation. Sweat coated his forehead with an unnatural gleam. He looked like he might be physically ill. But he didn’t beg her to keep quiet about his identity.

  Closing his eyes, he asked, “Do you want me to drop out of the grief group?”

  “Yes,” she said. No way could she go to another meeting, knowing he’d be there. And she desperately wanted to attend another meeting.

  He inhaled a sharp, pained breath but nodded his compliance. A split second later, his expression crumpled and his gaze clashed with hers, begging. “I don’t think I can.”

  Her mouth fell open, incredulous. “What do you mean, you don’t think you can?”

  “This group has helped me a lot.” He looked embarrassed to admit it.

  She shook her head, confused. “Helped you with what? You didn’t lose anyone.”

  His jaw bunched as if offended.

  Angry heat surged through her veins. “What are you even doing in this kind of support group anyway? No one in your family died, did they? You’ve never experienced loss.” She lifted one eyebrow, daring him to admit he was a total fraud.

  His face cleared, and he shook his head. “No,” he confessed quietly. His eyes narrowed almost defiantly. “But all the Murderers Anonymous groups were full up, so I had to make do with the grief group.”

  Spinning away, he stalked off, swerving a wide berth around her so they couldn’t come into any kind of contact.

  She fisted her hand, wanting to punch him. “Hey,” she growled.

  He barely paused. “I’ll quit the goddamn group, all right?” His stiff back still faced her as he jerked around the corner, disappearing.

  Paige stared after him, her emotions a confusing mix even she couldn’t discern. She wanted to rejoice in her small victory. She’d gotten him out of the group so she could attend another meeting. But instead of victorious, she felt kind of crappy.

  It’s helped me a lot, his rueful confession echoed through her.

  As much as the group had helped her already, she had to believe he’d been telling the truth. But the meetings had helped him with what? Who had he lost?

  He and Trace hadn’t been close. He couldn’t possibly be mourning her brother too. They’d been adversaries, attending separate schools. The only times they’d ever met up were at ball games, where each of them had been the star player of his team.

  She’d loved going to the games when her school had played against Village Heights. Logan Xander had given her brother better competition than anyone else in the division. The games between them had always been exciting, especially since they’d defeated Village Heights more often than not.

  Paige had been a sophomore in high school when they’d been seniors, and she’d always viewed Logan Xander as the Village Heights version of Trace, except Xander wasn’t her brother, so he’d seemed a lot more dazzling from afar. Half the girls in her school—her included—had let out a dreamy sigh whenever he would step onto the court.

  But the defeated shell of a human being who’d just slunk away from her did not resemble the self-assured pretty boy who’d played in all those basketball games during high school.

  She wasn’t sure what was going on with him, but she didn’t like how it affected her. Hugging herself, she retraced her steps back to the Crimson Room, but she didn’t go inside. She found her way out of the building from there and hurried back to her dorm room.

  Logan Xander was dangerous on every level possible. It would do her good to remember that. Whatever happened next, she wanted to stay as far away from him as possible.

  Chapter Nine

  LOGAN PLUCKED THE FRONT of his shirt, letting warm September air stir inside the fabric, barely cooling him. He arrived early for his Sunday evening shift, wishing chillier weather would move in soon, so all his long-sleeved shirts wouldn’t feel so suffocatingly hot.

  When he passed the front entrance of the juice bar on his way to the back door, he noticed the help wanted sign was still posted in the window for the fourth day in a row, which surprised as much as it depressed him. He had thought the position would’ve been snagged within the hour around this neighborhood. Shoulders sagging a little heavier, he wondered how short-handed they’d be tonight. Would he even have anyone else around to help him?

  Grabbing his waist apron off a hook as soon as he entered, he paused after tying it in place to punch his time card.

  Gus had closed his office door until it was just barely cracked. Being that Logan’s boss always left it hanging open wide, Logan assumed Gus was in the middle of something important.

  “…have any experience with food service?” Gus’s rich, thickly accented voice floated into the hall.

  Logan paused when he realized his boss was in the middle of an interview.

  Please be someone hirable, please be someone hirable.

  A part of him craved a little relief from the hectic schedule he’d been working since the onset of the fall semester, while another part of him knew he needed the extra hours—or rather, the extra income—to keep himself afloat. His apartment manager had raised the rent last month, and his textbooks had cost almost twice as much this semester as they had last. Even the price of the e-book texts he’d ordered had been more expensive.

  “I worked at a small ice cream parlor in high school,” the interviewee—a female—answered Gus’s question. “For about…six months, I think.”

  Her voice floated out, stirring something in Logan. Vaguely familiar, it drew him. The texture, the tone, the rhythm of her words were so lulling, he half-closed his eyes, feeling almost drunk from listening to her.

  “But the manager liked my work performance so much he gave me a raise before I had to leave for college.”

  Something about her dialect—the way she strung her words together, the pace and rhythm with which she spoke—reminded him of Creighton County. A homesick ache split a huge gash through the center of his chest before he could rein it in. Her mention of ice cream parlors stirred an image of that old-time shop called Dairy Delight in Landry, the biggest town in Creighton County. They made the best orange cream sherbet; his mouth watered just thinking about it.

  “And this was at…Dairy Delight, right?” Gus asked.

  “That’s right,” the girl answered. “It’s legendary in my area.”

  Frowning, Logan moved closer to the cracked opening. When he made out the back of the girl’s head, he caught his breath. The silky dark hair falling midway down her back revealed exactly who was interviewing for a position.

  He yanked himself backward and bit out a silent curse, no
t sure what to do. Karma definitely hated him. With the size of Granton, he was never supposed to see her around campus again. So what was with seeing her every time he turned around?

  He couldn’t quit. Every college-student friendly job was probably already snagged since school was back in session. His chances of finding another anywhere in town were probably zip. But he couldn’t take Paige’s opportunity for a job away from her either.

  He knew Trace hadn’t come from a wealthy family. She probably needed an income as badly as he did.

  Maybe he could wait to see if Gus actually hired her, then take his boss aside and beg him not to schedule them with any shifts together. Of course, then he’d have to explain why, and Logan wasn’t sure how to finagle a convincing lie.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, hurrying away from the train wreck—er, interview—in progress and Paige Zukowski’s enticing voice.

  Only one guy manned the counter when Logan hurried into the front.

  “We need more large latte cups, medium smoothie cups, long spoons, and straws,” Ricky called as soon as Logan appeared, the rest of his attention focused on the blender where he was mixing something pink. A small line of customers had formed at the counter, waiting to be served.

  “On it,” Logan answered, letting his co-worker know he’d heard him. He disappeared into the back, hurried into the storage closet, and hunted up the requested supplies. His arms were full when he elbowed the door open and entered the hall.

  “Logan!” Gus’s voice stalled him, making him jump and almost drop the box of straws. Fumbling to catch them and not drop the spoons as well, he didn’t notice the girl at his boss’s side until he finally glanced up.

  “This is Paige,” Gus said, setting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing with a measure of what looked like fatherly pride. “She’s going to start tonight. And I want you to train her.”