Logan’s Story
A Sand & Clay Prequel Novella
Sarah Robinson
Logan’s Story © Sarah Robinson
Editing by Michael R. Burhans
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Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Robinson
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental. Any mention of trademarked brands are not meant as copyright infringement.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete and support the author by purchasing the book from one of its many distributors. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the entire Eckle family. I’ve written almost all my books on your couch when I was babysitting your children, who I have grown to love more than I ever thought possible. I am so honored to have them as my flower girl and ring bearer at my upcoming wedding. I love you all!
Secondly, to my amazing author assistant, Holly Morales, my rocking Team Tainted street team led by Holly, Jennifer Pierson, Destiny Wright, and Beth Hurley. Without you guys, I would be nothing. You are appreciated more than you will ever know!
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Robinson is the three-time Amazon Bestselling Author of Sand & Clay, Tainted Bodies, and Tainted Pictures. Her very popular trilogy, The Photographer Trilogy, includes Tainted Bodies, Tainted Pictures, and the not yet released Untainted. Her latest publications include Sand & Clay and Logan’s Story, both in the Sand & Clay Series. All of her novels have reached Amazon’s Bestseller Rank in Crime, Crime, Thriller, Contemporary Romance, and/or Romantic Suspense. She also has a very large social media following, including over ten thousand Facebook fans.
Her writing often concentrates on the complexity of love in emotions, combining psychological complexities and human flaws to create very real characters that readers can relate with. Her work focuses on redemption and forgiveness, learning to build on what has been broken. Her characters are often in conflicting situations, leaving the reader to decide what is right and what is wrong. She uses her stories to hold a mirror up to the reader and ask them to see things they never knew, or had forgotten, about themselves.
Sarah Robinson is a native of the Washington, DC area and has both her Bachelors and Masters Degrees in criminal psychology. She is newly married to her soul mate, Justin, who is just as much of an animal rescue enthusiasts as she is. Together, they own a zoo of rescues including 2 dogs, 7 cats, and 5 turtles, as well as volunteering and fostering for multiple animal shelters.
PROLOGUE
1994
There was absolutely nothing that could have made him feel more helpless than sitting in the hospital waiting room next to his father, swinging his little legs that didn’t quite reach the floor and counting the tiles on the floor. Logan wanted to run home and grab his Superman cape that he kept hidden underneath his pillow. He wanted to fix everything like they did in the cartoons he was allowed to watch every Saturday morning before his parents woke up.
A tall man in scrubs walked into the room and pulled the surgical mask off his face, unveiling a grimace as he looked toward Logan and his father. Logan was startled at the sudden movement as his dad jumped up out of his seat and rushed over to the doctor, leaving Logan alone on the plastic chairs wondering what was going on.
“Mickey Clay?” The doctor asked looking first at Logan’s father, then past him to see Logan watching them intently with a look that begged the doctor for good news.
“Yes, that’s me. How is my wife? Is she okay?” His speech was hurried and hoarse, betraying his tough exterior with the depth of his emotional turmoil.
“Laura is doing fine, she came out of surgery pretty well and is still sedated. We are going to keep her under for a while longer to give her body and her brain time to heal. The trauma was severe.” The doctor explained to him.
“When can I see her? When will she wake up?”
“You can see her now if you want but I have to warn you that she is hooked up to a lot of tubes and wires, it might be frightening.” The doctor nodded toward Logan indicating that a five year old child might not be equipped for the sight. Mickey nodded then brushed it aside. They were proud Irish men. Irish men could handle tough, they could handle pain, and his son would learn to handle pain.
“When will she be awake?” Mickey asked again.
“Let’s see how she does overnight first and then maybe her vitals tomorrow will indicate that she is ready to be awoken.” The doctor told Mickey, as he looked back down at the papers in his hands as if to visually confirm what he was saying was accurate.
“Okay, I want to go see her.” Mickey said firmly, crossing his arms and daring the doctor to try to stop him. The doctor was no fool and knew that this giant, six and a half foot man with the broadest shoulders he had ever seen was not someone who could be told what to do.
“Of course, I will have one of the nurses take you to her immediately. Uh, Mr. Clay, there is one more thing I need to talk to you about.” The doctor cleared his throat and Mickey stared at him, his stomach up in his throat waiting to hear what else could go wrong.
“When your wife’s car hit the pole, the car stopped but her body kept going. Good news is that she was wearing her seatbelt, which is the only reason that she is alive. However, the bad news is that the seatbelt held her bottom half still and the jolt forward of her top half broke several vertebrae at the very bottom of her spine.” He avoided direct eye contact with Mickey, always hating to give news like this to patient’s families.
“What are you saying? Doc, are you saying Laura is paralyzed?” Mickey’s stomach let go and fell to the floor along with his jaw as his eyes widened and the image of his wife in a wheelchair flooded his brain. The woman he loved more than anything, who he took dancing every Friday night when they could find a babysitter, the woman who waltzed around the living room while she vacuumed just because, confined to a wheelchair just didn’t seem possible.
“Nothing is confirmed until she wakes up and we do some tests but you need to prepare yourself now that this is a real possibility. I am really very sorry that this happened, we did the best we could do but the car accident was so extreme. She is lucky to be alive.” He smiled at Mickey with one of those practiced doctor smiles where his eyes are frowning with pity but his mouth is in a tight upward turn in an attempt to comfort. It wasn’t working.
Mickey
stood frozen as he watched the doctor walk away and contemplated everything that had just happened. Less than two hours ago, he had been talking to his wife on the phone as she told him she was getting in her car to come home from work. She was a nurse working the late shift so it was almost midnight but she always called Mickey anyway to let him know she was on her way. They did everything together and were always in constant communication. She was the love of his life. Laura Clay was the most beautiful woman he had ever met and now she might not ever walk into his arms again.
Clearing his throat and blinking back tears that stung with embarrassment, Mickey turned around to look at his son. Logan was still in the plastic hospital chair with his head leaning against the wall and his legs crunched up against the arm rest. He was fast asleep and had no idea the life sentence his mother had just received. Mickey fought harder to push the tears back.
Men don’t cry. He kept reminding himself of that over and over again but it was becoming harder to believe. He scooped up his son with ease and walked to the nurses station to find where his wife was.
He didn’t care that she was sedated, he was going to be there for every moment. He would be there when she woke up and he would stick by her side through anything that came from today. He decided it all right then and there. He was a man, an Irish man, who had made a vow and no matter what happened, he was not going to break that vow. He clenched his jaw and breathed in deep as he held his five-year old son closer and reminded himself of those promises that they made standing in front of everyone they loved. Mickey Clay would love Laura for the rest of his life. Period.
CHAPTER ONE
2010
“Dude, you’re bleeding.” Dylan nodded his head, looking at Logan’s hand that was currently dripping blood onto the strings of the guitar he was playing.
“Oh, shit. I’ll be right back.” Logan glanced down at his fingers and the placed the guitar down, propping it on the nearby stand.
“Don’t get any blood on the stage, asshole.” Dylan said, rolling his eyes at the lead singer as he headed out to the tiny bathroom backstage. Logan didn’t bother to answer, he was used to the razzing from his band mates. There was no way to explain to someone who didn’t live and breathe art, how much he loved the pain that came with plucking the chords of the perfect song.
Logan opened the bathroom door and immediately let go of the door handle since something sticky had been left on it and had transferred to his hand. He grimaced as he looked at some gloppy, green substance on his hand mixing with the blood from his blistered fingers. He quickly turned on the faucet in front of him, looking at himself in the mirror as he shoved his hands under the not so clear water churning out of the pipes.
One day.
Logan thought about the future as he examined the bags under his eyes from being up all night playing at this bar. One day he wasn’t going to need crappy gigs like this where the only people left listening to them play was a few drunk girls hoping to go home with them and a few career alcoholics who couldn’t find their way out the door.
Dylan was putting their instruments into cases when Logan walked back onto the stage and other band members were loading amps onto a cart to take them out to their van. Logan picked up the tip jar at the edge of the stage and looked inside to see three crumpled dollar bills and some coins. He tightened his jaw, his mind flooding with stress as he thought of the bills he needed to pay.
“How did we make out?” Dylan called out to him.
“We might be able to all split a beer?” Logan called back, emptying the contents of the jar into a bank envelope to be distributed later along with the fifty dollars that the bar owner paid them for the night.
A few of the band members sighed and Dylan looked frustrated but no one said anything. They were artists, it wasn’t supposed to be about the money. And the truth was that it wasn’t about that at all, but they all still had bills to pay and Logan was more familiar with that than any of them knew. He handed the envelope to Dylan and grabbed his guitar case that had already been packed securely with his red electric guitar inside.
“I’m going to head out, guys. See you Friday at McGinny’s? We go on at nine, right?” He pulled on his jacket and swung the guitar case strap over his head.
“Yup, but try to get there early for sound check, Logan. We need to be on our game Friday. That scout from New York New Music is going to be there!” Dylan jumped in, looking around at all the band mates. Logan turned and looked quizzically at him.
“I thought he wasn’t coming?” Logan asked.
“I know! Me neither, but apparently his daughter is a fan of our band.” Dylan grinned at Logan, nodding his head excitedly.
“Really?” Logan’s eyebrows shot up eagerly.
“Alright, you caught me, she is mainly a fan of yours. But hell, we are there too.” Dylan tossed up his arms and looked at the two other band mates, Rock and Charlie, who joined in laughing at Logan.
They were all used to young women fanning over the lead singer. Logan grinned at them, waving them away and ignoring their jokes. Dylan grabbed his drum sticks and smacked his drums, doing a rim shot to highlight his joke.
Charlie threw an empty water bottle at Dylan and everyone rolled their eyes at the band comedian. The men continued to laugh and joke with one another as they packed away the remainder of the instruments and loaded them into Rock’s van, which was pretty much the band’s van at this point.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Logan’s car took quite a few turns of the key before it finally churned over and started with a deafening roar. He quickly looked around at the houses whose windows were all completely black, hoping that he hadn’t awoken any of his neighbors in the dead of night. Tossing the gears into reverse, Logan looked behind him as he slid out of the driveway onto the street and took off toward his second job.
Keeping his eyes on the road, he leaned over and opened the glove box and pulled out a CD. Glancing at it, he deemed it acceptable and pushed it into the stereo, needing something to pump up his energy as he headed to work. He had only just gotten home from the bar gig with his band, where he only had time to change into some more comfortable clothes and shovel a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches down his throat.
He smacked the power button and waited for the music to start playing as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, only to be met with a screeching and scratching sound from his dashboard. The music was suddenly just radio static.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Logan smacked the dashboard as if that would make the ruined CD suddenly repair itself. Irritation built up in his stomach and rose through his chest as he smacked his hand against the steering wheel several times in anger. He hit the gas and floored it, not planning on wasting another minute in his piece of shit car.
Logan’s mind was clouded with anger and self-pity. He wanted to just turn around and go home, fall into bed, and not get back out, but that wasn’t an option anymore. The bills were closing in, like a boa constrictor wrapping its way around his body and slowly squeezing the life out of him. They weren’t even his, yet somehow he felt the responsibility rested all on his shoulders.
He was still feeling sorry for himself when he pulled into the employee parking spot behind a large warehouse and grabbed his back brace off the passenger seat, wrapping it around his waist and pulling the straps over his shoulders for support. The sky was dark, but the warehouse was bustling as his co-workers were loading boxes onto eighteen wheelers for deliveries that day. Everyone was wearing a brace similar to his, along with hats and gloves, and orange vests with reflector tape.
“You’re late, mick.” Joey growled from behind the warehouse counter where he was marking packing slips as he glanced up at Logan.
“Sorry, boss. Gig ran late.” Logan ignored the ethnic slur and grabbed his time card, punching it through the slot, and then replacing it on the rack.
“Like I haven’t heard that from your sorry ass before.” Joey grumbled, not
directly calling him out but making it clear he was irritated with Logan’s multitasking lifestyle. Logan just put his head down and walked out of the office and into the larger part of the warehouse, nodding to some of the guys on his way over to the last loading dock. He hopped into a forklift and shifted the gears, picking up a pallet and taking it toward the truck.
The job was tedious and Logan hated it, but the paycheck was good since very few people eagerly worked twelve hour shifts beginning at three in the morning. He was used to starting his days this early now and then taking an afternoon nap before he headed out for a gig or band practice. On his rare day off, he would sleep longer and then practice on his guitar. It was the only thing that soothed the exhaustion in his body and soul. Music was everything in his life and even as he hauled pallets onto a giant truck, he hummed songs in his head to remind himself of who he was.... or who he was going to be.
CHAPTER TWO
“Dad, wake up. It’s almost dinner time.” Logan shook his father who was slumped over in his favorite chair in the living room, fast asleep. Logan didn’t normally see him this tired, but his mother had been having a tough week and it took a serious toll on his father.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m up. What’s for dinner? You cooking?” Mickey Clay asked his son as he yawned and achingly pulled his body out of the chair.
“Already made, but I only have a few minutes to eat with you guys before I need to leave for the bar. We have a scout coming to see us tonight from New York New Music so I want to get there early for sound check.” Logan said over his shoulder as he walked back into the kitchen and pulled the pasta off the stove.
He spilled it into the strainer sitting in the sink and shook off the excess water before pouring the noodles back into the empty pot. Cracking open a can of diced tomatoes and some pasta sauce, he mixed them all together and threw on a bit of seasoning. He put it out on the table and then pulled the garlic bread he had made earlier out of the oven where it was staying warm. He sliced it up and threw some pieces in a bowl, placing it next to the pasta. A few minutes later, the dinner table was neatly, yet humbly, set for three people and Logan could hear his parents heading out of the bedroom and toward him.