“Yep. Have a good day at work.”
But Jenna stayed put behind the wheel. “Look, I know it’s still too soon to think about dating again—”
“Yet you’re bringing it up anyway.”
She sighed. “I just hate seeing you so miserable—and don’t bother telling me you aren’t. I know you don’t like me worrying, but newsflash: I worry anyway. And maybe dating would help.”
“It wouldn’t.” The thought of meeting a woman and trying to impress her, getting to know her, inviting her into the shit show of his life—it was exhausting.
Hell, Logan hadn’t even had the energy to hook up with guys beyond a half-hearted hand job in a bathroom stall at the mall a few weeks ago. It had been quick and rough, the way Logan liked it with men. No kissing, no hugging, no need to be tender and concerned about feelings.
That’s how he knew he was straight. He only wanted that other stuff with women. Men were for getting off and nothing more.
Jenna sighed again. “You’re right. I don’t know why I said that.”
He gave her a small smile. “Because you’re desperate to fix things for me.” Because Jenna was good and kind. He didn’t deserve her. “Don’t worry about me, all right? You’d better get inside or you’ll be late.”
“Oh, did you hear about the warehouse job?”
He shrugged. “Not yet.” He’d put in a bunch of applications other places, so maybe one of them would call. For now, there was no point in worrying Jenna more by telling her he’d failed yet again.
“I’m knocking on wood.” She rapped her knuckles on her head, then leaned over the console and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Have a good day.”
He walked around the vehicle, waving to her before she disappeared inside. Logan had a good foot on his baby sister, and as he adjusted the driver’s seat and mirrors, his phone rang again. He pulled it from the pocket of his leather jacket, his stomach dropping. The landlord. He let it go to voicemail. He didn’t need to hear Mrs. Politano tell him again that the rent was overdue.
He hadn’t been able to afford the rent on Veronica’s house after her death, and he’d moved into a tiny bungalow in a rundown neighborhood. Even if he’d had the money, the thought of sleeping every night in the room where Veronica died had been unbearable.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he drove out toward Rencliffe. It was about forty-five minutes away, and Logan wished he could just be there already to get this over with.
He jabbed at the presets on the radio, and every one played commercials or Christmas songs with sleigh bells and peace on earth by a warm fireplace. He left it on a station blaring an ad for extended Black Friday deals. From what he could tell, Black Friday went for about six weeks at this point.
If that warehouse job had come through, maybe he’d have a hope of a decent Christmas. He could’ve at least bought Connor some presents. But the job hadn’t come through, because no one would hire him once they found out he’d been fired from the railway and blamed for the accident.
No matter that he’d served his country for four years in the Marine Corps after 9/11 and earned a commendation medal. Thank you for your service, but you’re a useless sack of shit now.
He struggled to take a deep breath, the low ache in his sternum that had never fully gone away flaring hot. Logan tugged at his seatbelt. His broken bones had healed, but sometimes he just couldn’t fucking breathe. Usually it was only when he exerted himself, and he knew right now it was probably all in his fucked-up head, but it still hurt.
The sign marking Rencliffe’s curving driveway was freshly painted in gold and navy, proclaiming:
Rencliffe Academy
The Brightest Minds Since 1909
Logan followed the driveway through the towering trees, only a few red, gold, and shit-brown leaves left hanging as winter quickly approached. Visitor parking was empty but for a silver Audi. Birds chirped almost desperately as he walked up the path to the main gray-brick building, which was decorated in massive red-ribboned holiday wreaths and lights that were currently off.
The school was a sprawl of five or six buildings, including the dorms. A newer addition had been constructed in the same style with big arches and turret-type things on the top like a castle. Veronica had called it Gothic, which apparently didn’t actually mean scary, although Logan found it all pretty creepy. Rencliffe was definitely the type of place where a crazed murderer would strike in the movies.
He walked into the vaulted foyer of main building, his boots thudding. He stopped in front of a massive Christmas tree decorated in white lights and old-fashioned wooden ornaments shaped like birds, pinecones, and angels. Probably all made by the students.