“He’s alive?” Logan mumbles, running his fingers through his hair. I kneel beside Logan and take his hand in mine. Logan scoots his chair back and pulls me onto his lap, holding me tight.
“Of course he’s alive,” Jeff spits. “He was at the house a few hours ago. Or were you too fucked up to recognize him?”
I leap off Logan’s lap and slap Jeff Harris across the face. I know his secrets. Know the abuse Logan endured for years because of him. Back in middle school, I had a hard time connecting the monster Logan described to the supportive family man I saw in the football stands. I see it now, everything Logan warned me about. I guess it’s true what they say, people’s true colors eventually show and Jeffery Harris’ are black. “I could have you arrested for assault, little girl.”
“Do it,” I growl. I’m not afraid. Jeff Harris is nothing but a bully, and I love bringing bullies down. “When the cops ask why I hit you, I’ll tell them I couldn’t stand to see my boyfriend be abused by his dad.”
I don’t miss the snapping up of Logan’s head from the corner of my eye. I’ve never called him my boyfriend out loud. I didn’t mean to let the title slip, but if there ever was a time to stand up for Logan and call him mine, it’s now.
“Danika,” Dad puts his hand on my shoulder and backs me towards Logan. “What do you know about this situation?”
Logan sits upright and holds his arms open. I find my place in his lap, sheltered from the mess unfolding in the kitchen. “I know that sick fuck Dr. Shaffer sexually abused Logan for years and I know this asshole never did anything about it.”
Jeff Harris smirks and opens his briefcase. He drops a handful of pictures on the table. Judging by the top photo, I’d say they’re evidence to the crime Logan committed. The one Sarah’s dad inadvertently warned her about. “Did Logan tell you about any of this?”
I pick up one of the photos and stare in horror. I don’t bat an eye at Alan Shaffer’s mangled body surrounded by a blanket of crimson or the bruising on his skin. It’s how much blood is splattered across the walls and how destroyed the room is that gets me. The chairs are smashed, the desk is flipped over, papers ripped to pieces, scattered across the mess. This was a crime of passion. A reaction of rage.
Sheriff Tomlinson picks up another photo and stares at it, likely reliving parts of that night. He drops the picture back on the table and sighs. “Jeff called your dad first. Logan was panicking. Said he’d beaten Alan to death with a baseball bat.”
Dad pulls another chair over to the table and sits. “Alan wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t doing well. We had a short window to decide what our plan of action would be. I called Ryan. No matter which way I spun this, Logan was in serious trouble. We needed a plan, some insight on how to make this situation disappear. It wasn’t until we saw Alan’s laptop that we put the pieces together.”
Logan hides his face in my shoulder. His body shakes, trembling with silent tears again. I can’t begin to imagine how hard today has been for him. I rub small circles with my fingertips on his back. “So, why did Logan think he was dead?”
“Because I told Logan he killed him,” Jeff says nonchalantly. I stare at him, jaw slack. He what? I turn my gaze to Dad, who shrugs and nods. Jeff grabs a cup of coffee that’s probably lukewarm now. He sags into a chair, looking slightly defeated. “The plan was to blackmail Alan. It worked, because he signed a waiver, releasing Logan and us from all liability if we stayed quiet about his indiscretions.”
“But those other boys?” I look from each of them, waiting to hear how they vindicated the other victims. All three men look down at their cups. I grit my teeth, disgusted.
“I had to think about my boy,” Mr. Harris booms. “Besides, I didn’t think Alan would survive but your dad is damn good at what he does.”
Dad chuckles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I thought I was going crazy,” Logan mumbles. He looks up at his dad with sad puppy dog eyes, red rimmed and wet. “I’ve seen him. For years.”
“Fucking prick,” Sheriff Tomlinson yells, shoving the table. The only untouched cup of coffee splashes and spills onto the wooden surface. “We’ve got to do something, Jeff.”
Jeff Harris runs his hands through his short black hair. Logan got his coloring from his dad. Dark hair. Olive skin. Ember eyes. Cooper, he took after Mrs. H. “We can’t do anything, Ryan, not without legally jeopardizing Logan.”
“Do you have the agreement you all signed?” I ask.
Jeff looks at me like I’m stupid. Maybe I am in his eyes, but it’s been years since they read over the document. Maybe there’s something they overlooked. “Why? Think you can find something I missed? I wrote the damn thing, little girl. It’s airtight.”
“Fresh eyes, Jeff,” my dad defends.
With a grunt, Mr. Harris shuffles through his briefcase. He drops the contract in front of me and leans against the counter, arms crossed. It’s smaller than I anticipated, only two pages, so it doesn’t take long to read. Even with the fancy verbiage, it’s pretty straight forward.
“Here,” I touch one of the sentences. “Conditions of abuse. The whole document you’re talking about Logan. Nowhere does it state any other child. This makes the sentence sound like Logan’s abuse.”
Jeff snatches the agreement from my hands. He reads over the contract again and mumbles, “Well I’ll be damned.”
Sheriff Tomlinson holds out his hand and takes the paper. He skims over it and asks, “Will this hold up if we prosecute the other cases?”
Mr. Harris rubs his chin and paces the kitchen. After a few minutes of silence he says, “I’ll have to approach the other families. They have to be the ones to press charges but yeah. It should.”
“I love you,” Logan whispers. It’s the first time he’s said those words and while it wasn’t some big romantic gesture like when Gunner homecoming-proposed, Logan's announcement was better. It came from a place of true vulnerability.
I kiss his cheek. I’ll tell him later. I love Logan, I do, but I want him to feel my words. Not assume I’m saying them just to say.
“Things could get messy the next few days. Logan, I think you should leave town. I can’t risk you causing a scene again and fucking things up,” Jeff says, scrolling through his phone. “I booked you a room in Miami for the week.”