Every night I sit here by my window... Thinkin' 'bout the things we used to do
Logan lies on the motel bed, staring out towards the frosted window, watching idly as the occasional car passes by. Every day, over the last two decades he's contemplated returning to the mansion, returning to Marie. Yet he always decides to wait, not yet trusting himself to see her, his Marie in the arms of that Cajun. He doesn’t want to begrudge her happiness, Logan of all people knows she deserves it, so he keeps on moving, never stopping for more than a few days. Hoping that if he runs far enough, fast enough he can leave the more complicated thoughts behind.
So he ran, he left via Nova Scotia. Caught a freighter to Murmansk, wanting some excitement in his life, excitement enough to keep him moving, to keep him from his thoughts of Marie. He spent years in Africa drifting from one war to the next, a few years in Europe guarding one famous person or another, for many years he wandered through all four corners of the world, always running, never stopping.
Finally after two long decades he returned to Canada, purely on a whim. His five-year trek across Asia following the more intense competitions there ended with him as the undisputed champion. Unfortunately after what the Far East had to offer, full contact, the hundred plus men, free-for-all in a grand arena, the cage fights here are almost like a vacation. Reluctantly dragging himself out of bed, he dresses himself, worn leather jacket, frayed jeans and an old white t-shirt.
It is the worst on snowy nights like these, where running is not enough, that’s when he ventures out into the night, looking for ways to bring some feeling into his life. That usually meant boozing, fucking or fighting, and he has done his share of all three. Now though fighting is what he prefers. It's what gets his pulse racing, his heart pounding and his mind to forget.
He finishes the last of his leftover Chinese takeout and stares at the large map pinned to the wall. There's only one match this evening, autumn is near its end, the fighting season is just about done. And soon it would be his time to leave, no more fights, no more traveling, just him, a cabin, and the great wilderness. He is tired of running, so very tired, he is ready to confront himself at last, ready to admit that she is gone.
Memories are all I have to cling to, the face I see each day belongs to you
For the years after Marie was married, he clung to the memories of her, of them together. It was what kept him going, but little by little her memories started to fade. At first, he cursed himself for not keeping mementos of their time together, no pictures, no trinkets, nothing. He of all people should have known that memories are unreliable, that they change as the years roll by. Perhaps the worst part of it all is that back then he never expected them to be apart. He never realized the depth of his feeling for her, till she'd already left him behind, and by then he didn’t really want to keep any of those memories.
He missed the days he spent with her, her easy laughter, her kindness, her enthusiasm for life. He missed the days they spent lazing about the mansion, the nights they spent huddle in front of the TV, each to avoid a nightmare of their own. He missed the Saturdays at the beach, Sundays at the park, the weekday afternoons they spent training in the danger room. He missed all those days he had with her and realized each of those days are long gone.
As more and more memories fade, he got angrier with himself, angry that he did not realize what they had before he lost it, angry that he was not good enough of a man to be happy for her, angry that he wasn’t man enough to be there with her, angry that there won’t be any new memories of her, angry that he is unable to hold on to what little of her he has left.
Now after two decades, the only memories remaining are of her face. Memories of how she used to smile at him, how her eyes sparkled wherever she saw him. He used to see her every day, in the crowds at the cage matches, the faceless people he passed on the streets, in his dreams on restless nights. But now even that is fading, with every new day her features are fuzzier, her expression are blurrier, her laughter ever more distant. He is not sure how much longer he can hold onto them before time sweeps it all away.
When I'm not thinkin' of just how much I love you
It is fitting, in a strange way to end his journey here, where he first met her, in this cage when she first saw him. Standing in it, his sees his opponent, inexperienced, unskilled, weak, it won’t take much to put him down. But he wants to make this fight last, he needs to make this fight last. It had been a mistake to return to Canada. There are too many memories here, the cage matches he so fondly remembered are not enough, not enough intensity, not enough blood, not enough pain. Because for one more night he wants to keep those memories away, for one more night he wants to pretend she is still his.
Even now he catches her scent in the air, over the sweat, the alcohol, the smoke, she still smells sweets, wonderful, no matter how much time has passed she still smells like the first time he met her. And when his eyes sweep the bar, and he thinks he caught those soulful brown eyes, red luscious lips, all framed by glittering silver streaks. But he can't be sure, since his return he has seen her, smelled her, everywhere, in so many different places, at all hours of the day and not once had she actually been there.
The scent is driving him into a frenzy, it has never been so intense before, so real. He chuck it off to the location, this is where they met after all. Of Course his senses would be in overdrive imagining things that don't exist. For the first time since he returned he lets himself loose, all thoughts of prolonging the fight forgotten. All that remains is the urgent need to finish this fight, so he can leave, to confront this reality and move on with his life.
He charges his opponent with a roar, his full fury unleashed in an instant, ramming into the poor man like a freight train. His years of training, hundreds of techniques paid for by blood, forgotten. The animal pounds at his opponent, like an unrelenting storm. When they finally stop the fight, barely thirty seconds in, he stands victorious over his opponent’s battered and bruised body. A strange sense of accomplishment surges within him, he is the superior male, everyone here now knows it. Now he just has to claim his mate.
...there's not a single sound ...there's nobody else around
And she is there again, so close now. Just on the other side of the cage, one hand clutching the steel bars. She looks as delicious as she did the first time he saw her. Her voluptuous form filled out even more, now sinfully curvaceous. Encased in a tight little black dress, that leaves little to the imagination. She looks more beautiful than ever, cascading long chestnut hair, outlined by two streaks of silver. Her chocolate eyes, ruby red lips, innocent yet sexy, familiar yet different, she stands before him, real for the first time since he cares to remember.
He stalks towards her, taking in more of her intoxicating scent with each breath, he gives her his trademark grin, when he sees her trembling almost backing away, but she stands her ground. He grasps the bars just next to her hand and rips a section of the steel cage free, the loud sound of grinding metal draws everyone’s attention, silencing the entire room. But in his eyes there is no one else, before she can back away, he wraps her up with one arm, crushing her against him. His lips descend onto hers, silencing whatever protest she might have mustered, his tongue presses against her lips, demanding and devouring. He feels her relax against him, her nails scraping against his chest. His free hand runs down her side lifting one of her legs and grinding her sex against the pressure in his jeans.
After what seems like forever, he finally breaks the kiss and grins at the flustered look on her face. Without warning he hoists her over his shoulders and walks toward the door, the crowd parts before him. Stopping only to grab her coat he takes her straight to his SUV and secures her into the passenger seat. Marie seems to finally start recovering from her shock when he starts the SUV.
“Logan?” She calls out to him tentatively, her eyes seeking his.
"Why are you here?" He knows the answer but he asks anyway. The question is practically growled out, the effect on her is quick and obvious by the scent of her arousal.
“I’m taking some time off, I kinda figured-”
Her absentminded reply is quickly cut off by him. “How long?”
“A month or so, till the new semester starts,” she continues on distractedly, before realizing that the SUV is pulling out of the parking lot “Wait, Logan! Where are we going?”
“My place, it’s quite, secluded and has a big sturdy bed.”Logan manages to suppress the growling this time, with her in his SUV, their scents mixing in the confined space, he feels much calmer, much more fulfilled.
Marie flashes him one of her brilliant smiles, smiles he has been missing for a long time, then she takes his free hand, interlacing their fingers together and leans back into her seat. Logan barely catches her whisper, “That sounds great, sounds cozy.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Here is the Logan POV. A big thanks to my Beta cschoolgirl for all her suggestions and advice. The song is "Things" by Bobby Darin. A rather peppy sad song. Lyrics are bolded.
Chapter End Notes:
That's it for this story. Thanks for reading.