Before You Go (YA Romance) (17 page)

16

Logan stared at her chair, across from his.
At her napkin, balled up at the edge of the table.
She’d been clutching it. He could almost see the imprint of her fingers.

Yet she’d been fearless when she stood to leave, almost mocking.

For a wild second, he considered going after her. In that crescent of time, nothing seemed to matter except apologizing. He actually mumbled “Excuse me,” and pushed his hand against the table. His leg muscles twitched, eager to carry him up.

The conversations started again as he watched her shadow disappear under an arch. His insides rearranged themselves, and Logan brought his hand up to his mouth and coughed.

He couldn’t go after Margo. Of course he couldn’t. What the hell was wrong with him?

He turned back to Cindy. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled.

“You’re fine.” Her hand touched his wrist, the fingers cold. “I hope my daughter hasn’t been too burdensome.”

“Not at all,” he said. “She’s…nice.”

A waiter re-filled his glass with wine, and Logan leaned back in his chair.
Graystone’s
wheels had just started turning, meaning they could be sitting here for hours. It wouldn’t do him any more
good
to wish for Margo then wish for a billion dollars.

*

Margo
squeezed the puzzle cube hard enough to make the tendons in her hands show, and then she dropped it on the balcony’s floor. She pressed her heel down on it and eased out of her chair, hoping she could break it. She couldn’t.

She adjusted the folds of her robe and stepped into the bedroom, hoping the thing would be occupied. It was not. Benedict Logan was probably making out with Cindy right now. Whatever it took to get ahead, right?

Margo couldn’t believe she’d let him brush her off the night before, and then she’d run to her mother’s closet to cry about how pitiful she was. And then when she’d dropped her fork at dinner…

“I’m just clumsy.”

Had she really acted like such a doormat?

She wished she could hit rewind and do it over. She would tell them that day school was better than boarding school, and that having piles of money didn’t make you interesting, nor did it mean you could eliminate all of your contractions. She would tell the Austrian scientist that his teeth were creepy and he shouldn’t stare. She would remind the physicist that her name was Margo, as in the planet Marge, which Logan had named for her in exchange for the kiss she’d given him in a moment of absolute insanity. She would tell
Johnathon
Graystone
that his hair was cut so short she could see the mole on his scalp, and that from where she sat, he looked like a giant tool, so how was that for rich and clever?

And then she would slap her mother’s laughing face. How terrible was it that she wanted to punch her own mother in the nose? She wanted Cindy to be the one in a weird place with a head injury and with no one to sit with her, uncertain what her place
was,
who her mother was, taken advantage of by a hot guy who turned out to be a big egotistical COCK.

There!

She’d done it!

She’d called him a cock.

“Cock, cock, cock,” she chattered, untying her robe and stepping into sleep shorts and a top.

As she marched down the hall, powered by rage that billowed like steam, she thought about his foot, hooking her ankle underneath the table. Had he
wanted
her to trip? Was he so desperate to impress everyone that he actually wanted her to fall?

Who
was
Logan Greer, she wondered as she hiked the stairs. Why had she met him?

Margo had no conscious plan at all until she reached the familiar steel observatory door, and then she thought she just might curse him out.

She flung open the door and searched the room for the mess of his hair.
Only computers and other things that went beep.
Oh, but there were noises from above.
Human noises.

As Margo ascended the stairs, she thought about what she would say—had it all down, perfect, in her head—and was actually smiling when she heard a burst of words in German. At least she was pretty sure it was German. She didn’t speak it well or hear it very often.
She looked down between the stair rails, scanning the big research room below. She heard the strange consonants again.
Definitely German, definitely coming from above.

She wondered who around here would be speaking German. Was it
Graystone
maybe, or some other visiting douchebag? Could they possibly be chewing out Logan? Tugged by a ghost of concern, and a sprinkle of curiosity, she took another few steps.
Peered into the dark room.

That’s when she heard her name. Well…maybe. She heard something that could have been “Margo,” followed by a sound that sounded a lot like “Ford.” And after that, an angry bark that was definitely: “Logan!” Followed by…something…and something else…and, in English: “focused on her, all the time!”

The speaker sounded furious.
With Logan?
Were the other researchers mad because Logan was spending time with her? Had being friendly with her gotten him in trouble? …Maybe that explained his suck-up act with Bethany.

As the voices above continued their heated conversation, Reagan turned around, moving lightly down the stairs; she felt like she was floating, like a ghost.

Whatever had happened…something had made Logan abandon their…what was it, anyway?
A friendship?
She shook her head. It didn’t matter anymore.

Like everyone else since her father’s death, Logan had gotten close to her and decided she wasn’t worth it. When push came to shove…he’d found her
ditchable
. Not worth having around. Her father’s family had reached a similar conclusion, and clearly so had Bethany.
 

As she pushed through the door of the data room and hit the stairwell, she blinked back tears.

17

Walking quickly through the short, damp grass, Margo felt like a freak in a
Lifetime
movie. Back in Napa, she’d been reasonable.
Well-liked.
Comfy.
Everything was fun, familiar. She hadn’t known a single second of loneliness. How had her life changed so fast?

She was moving toward the hangar, half-sprinting like she could actually go somewhere. She couldn’t. Elizabeth’s family didn’t want her around. She wasn’t
their
daughter. Kerrigan wasn’t open during summertime, and not one of her father’s brothers had bothered to keep in touch. She wished, not for the first time, that the kidnappers would just take her already. That thought calmed her racing heart, made any and all threats seem null and void—even desirable; she stopped running.

She found herself standing by the trail that led down to the stables. She remembered—way too late—that she was being guarded.
Watched.
It was too much, knowing that a bunch of men and women with guns were probably laughing at her aimless little walk. She turned a circle, spotted a lighted greenhouse, and walked calmly to it, holding her head high, like a Kerrigan lady.

Riiiiight
.

By the time she flung the slick glass door open, her eyes were overflowing with tears that blurred the army of plants. She took a deep breath,
then
sank down in the dirt, covering her head with her hands.

“Margo?”

Her head snapped up, but she didn’t need to see to know whose voice that was.

“Logan?” She looked out, toward the rows and rows of tropical plants, but she heard him move behind her. She turned around to face him.
Wiped her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” How embarrassing.
 
 
 

For some reason, Logan looked embarrassed, too. He stood near the door, hands in his pockets, head hanging. She felt an unwanted wave of sympathy for him. He didn’t deserve it—not after what happened at dinner.

She looked at the dirt floor, knowing she couldn’t be as mean as he deserved when she was looking at his face. “Can you please leave me alone?”

There was a telling amount of emotion in her voice, and she hated herself for it. She hated him, too, because he walked over and dropped down beside her in the dirt. He crossed his legs, like he was staying for a while. His blue eyes met hers, and whatever he saw there
must have bothered him, because he looked away.

His voice surprised her, made her jump. “I’m sorry about dinner, and about everything. I feel like a stupid kid saying this, but…ah…” He exhaled roughly. “I don’t dislike you. It’s the opposite. That doesn’t
work
for me, so I tried to avoid you, but then you came to the barn…and I didn’t know how to react to you. I didn’t know how to hide…the way I felt, so I wanted to avoid you.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Margo’s eyes were wide. She shook her head. “Is this some kind of joke? I don’t believe you.” And yet, her heart was pounding.            

Logan’s eyes were locked on hers, his face contrite. “If you don’t, I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve been a dick.”

“Because you like me.”
She arched an eyebrow, and told herself to get a grip. He was so desperate to please everyone, now that he’d sucked up with
Bethany,
he had to make nice with her.

Right?
 

Logan hung his head, and for a long moment looked down at his hands; they were big and the one was still scratched up. She couldn’t breathe, waiting for him to say something.

“I’ve been a dick because I’m a dick,” he said quietly. “That I like you is another thing.”

He looked so handsome, so sincere, she wanted to scream at him, but she bit her tongue until the urge passed. She looked at his face, his posture—still sincere, a little tense.
Like he was telling the truth.
She balled her hands in fists. “Let’s say I decided I believed you.
That you liked me.
I should believe you’ve been acting like you have because—”

He shrugged. “Like I said, it doesn’t work for me.”