That’s me all right.
I take both those things out of the closet and drop them on the bed, then pick out a matching black bra and panty set from my dresser drawer.
Logan tracks my naked body with his eyes the entire time.
“Yvette,” he says.
“Logan?” I say back.
“I can’t help us if I don’t know the truth.”
“Us?” I ask him.
He closes his eyes. Slowly. Lazily. Like he’s trying to muster up some patience with me, but having a hard time.
“If we could all get out of this—” He stops in the middle of his sentence. “I would like for all of us to get out of this alive,” he says, switching tactics.
“Me too,” I say, slipping on the panties.
Again, he tracks every movement with his eyes.
I reach for the bra, slip my arms into it, then reach behind my back to fasten it. Then I lean over and adjust my breasts so when I stand up again, they are spilling out over the cups just enough to be sexy.
He sighs and I almost laugh.
“Well, we can’t do that if you’re not honest. We know you’re protecting the kid.”
I shrug and start pulling on my jeans. Then slip the top over my head and adjust the laces so my bra is showing through them.
“I did what I had to, Logan. I gave him up. He was adopted—”
“Yes,” he says, cutting me off. “I think that part’s true. The part I think you’re lying about is knowing where he is.”
“Why do you need to know that?” I say, walking back into my closet to choose shoes.
“Because I need to predict what Damon might do if I don’t complete this job for him, that’s why. I need to understand how invested he is in this outcome.”
Yesterday’s boots were my absolute favorite but they don’t go with these jeans. So I choose a pair of snow boots instead. White ones with fake fur lining that spills out over the top. They are for looks, mostly. Super cute. But they keep my feet warm too. And I might need that later.
If I survive this little meeting with Logan, that is.
“Where’s AJ?” I ask, suddenly wondering why Logan’s in here alone.
“I think he’s plowing the parking lot.”
“What?” I say, coming out of the closet. I throw the boots on the floor and go fishing for thick socks. Then sit on the bed in front of Logan and start pulling them on.
“I saw him go into the shop out back and start something up. He said you have a tractor in there? So I’m just assuming. But that’s something AJ would do.”
I picture this in my head and say, “Yeah, it kinda is.”
“He’s into you,” Logan says.
I stare at him for a second, then nod. “OK. I can see that. And you?”
Logan shrugs. “I might be into you too.”
“How far into me?” I ask.
“Far enough to help you live through this day.”
I take a deep breath and let it out.
“If that’s what you want,” he adds.
I don’t know if that’s a real question or not, so I continue to say nothing.
“Is that what you want?”
“Look,” I say, suddenly feeling irritated. “I don’t know you. And whatever it is you think you know about me, I’m ninety-nine percent certain that it’s wrong. So if you think I’m gonna spill my guts to you, you’re mistaken. You don’t get to know what I want, Logan. You don’t get to understand what I feel. You haven’t earned it. You were sent here to kill me. And you had no problem with that before we got stuck in a blizzard together. So why should I trust you? Or AJ, for that matter?”
“Fair point,” he says. “All good points. But Yvette, we’re the only chance you have.”
“I don’t need your last chance. What part of that isn’t sinking in?”
“So you’re gonna take the pills?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you want to live?”
“I don’t know! God, just shut up!”
He presses his lips together and leans back in the chair. And this casualness, combined with his new appearance… I don’t know. Makes me feel like I’m overreacting. Being stupid.
I am being stupid. And it’s got nothing to do with Logan or AJ. I was going to kill myself last night. And even though the sadness is still there, somehow everything feels different now.
My plan feels absurd, and simplistic, and maybe even selfish. Not that there’s anyone left in my life who gives that many fucks about me. Sure, the locals would talk. Some might even be sad. My mail person, probably. She and I chat when she comes in. And there are a few truckers who drive this highway often who stop by and always seem happy to see me.
Not much left after that. Chris’s family, maybe. But… by now, I’m just a loose end in their lives. Just a leftover. They’re nice but… we’re not friends. I don’t call up and chat with them or anything like that.