“Play the victim?” She huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “Wow.”
I shrug. “Hey, you’re the one who wants to die. Do I look like I give a fuck, Yvette? Do I look like a guy who goes out of his way to do anything? Because if I gave you that impression, I’m sorry. I’m not that guy. If you run, I’ll chase you. The way Damon’s men used to chase you across the lawn.”
It’s a low blow, but I don’t care.
“I’ll chase you, knock you down, shove your face into the snow, and then bring you back to hell with me.”
“Nice,” AJ says. “God, you’re a dick, Logan. He’s not gonna do that.”
“No, maybe not. But only because if she runs it’ll be to make me take the responsibility off herself. Why did you wait so long? If you want to die? Why today, of all days?”
“Are you trying to talk her into this?” AJ asks.
Maybe I am. Maybe I’m the coward, not her. But I don’t say that. I say, “Hey, if it makes my life easier, why not? Just go die somewhere then. No one wants to be around a pathetic victim, Yvette. The world loves a winner. And you are so clearly a loser—”
She throws her cider into my face. “Fuck you.”
And then she walks out.
“What the fuck are you doing?” AJ asks.
I walk over to the sink, grab a paper towel, and wipe off my face before I turn to look at him. Then I shrug. “Being the monster,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because someone has to play that part.”
And I walk out too.
Chapter Sixteen – AJ
By the time I follow them out of the kitchen Logan is behind the bar pouring two glasses of whiskey and Yvette is standing in front of the jukebox. Leaning forward a little, her long, blonde, still mostly wet hair hanging over her face, as she stares at the list of songs.
Logan comes out from behind the bar holding two glasses. I’m not really in the mood to drink, but I take it anyway.
He stares at me as he sips. No shirt. The muscles of his bare chest looking cut and contoured in the dim glow of yellow sconce lights. I don’t know the last time I’ve seen him in such casual clothes.
His feet are bare, like mine. And his jeans are well-worn and faded. Like mine. Usually Logan is a suit guy. And that look fits him, I guess. I’m used to it. So I don’t bother checking him out much, but I can’t help myself now.
He does the same to me. Even though he sees me casual all the time. I don’t really do suits. Not my style.
He smiles a little. And even though I’m having a hard time finding something to smile about, I smile back.
I think he’s provoking her to try to change her mind. Which doesn’t make much sense. We are here to kill her. There’s no getting around that order without completely upending our worlds. But I really do believe he’s just playing devil’s advocate.
Good cop. Bad cop.
OK. I’ll play.
I take myself and my drink over to the jukebox. It’s at the end of the bar, near the front window—which is high up on the wall so you can’t really see out of it. But it’s iced over with snow anyway, so makes no difference. I take a seat on the barstool closest to Yvette and lean back on the bar to watch her pretend to be interested in songs.
“I lost my mom to cancer,” I say.
She turns her head to the side just enough to peek out at me through her hanging hair.
“I was about…” I look over at Logan. “What? Fifteen?”
He nods. Not that Yvette notices. She’s turned back to the songs.
“So I know how bad that sucks. She went pretty fast too. It wasn’t one of those long, drawn-out processes. So it was weird, ya know?”
Yvette straightens up. Looks at me. Nods.
“It felt like one day everything was cool. Then she got diagnosed and just like that”—I snap my fingers—“shit changed. It sucked too.”
“What did you do?” Yvette asks. “Did you have a father to help you?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He died couple years earlier. Actually,” I say, correcting myself, “he killed himself.”
Yvette’s mouth forms into a tiny o shape.
I nod. “Yeah. Blew his brains out in our basement.”
She looks over her shoulder at Logan, who is leaning against the bar a little farther down the room.
He says, “No. I didn’t know him then.” Like she asked a question, when she didn’t. “So I wasn’t there for that one.”
Yvette looks at me again and I continue. “So, yeah. No. I don’t know you. I just know me. I know how it felt both ways. To watch someone die of disease and to be told someone was dead due to suicide. And I don’t know much about your life, but I do know this, Yvette. You have one. Here. Up on this mountain with all the weirdos who live up here with you. So even though you think you’re alone, you’re not. You’ll be gone, but everyone who comes in here will hear about you and what you did. And every one of them will hurt because of it.”