Page 6
Logan
011010
I stare at the computer screen, trying to make sense of the jumbled mess in front of me.
10100101
Are those even numbers anymore?
The digits blur, shifting and rearranging into nothing more than meaningless symbols. I blink repeatedly, but they don’t settle.
Office noise hums around me—a cacophony of ringing phones and muffled conversations drifting through the cubicles, but it feels like I’m listening with my head underwater.
I should be working. I should be moving files, approving loans… doing something. My hands won’t move. They hover over the keyboard, almost as if they’ve forgotten what to do with the keys. I can’t remember the last time I typed anything.
Can’t even remember the last time I breathed.
My lungs expand, sucking in air, but it’s painful.
Everything is painful, right down to the simple act of existing. The blood pumping through me cuts like barbed wire and my skin is too tight. I wish I could rip it off.
How long until the clock runs out so I can finally be at peace?
A sharp knock on the wall of my cubicle jerks me back into my body, but it takes a second for my brain to process that someone’s calling my name. The world moves like molasses when I glance up from my monitor—and immediately wish I hadn’t.
My wife stands at the entrance with her arms crossed, looking one wrong word away from throwing a punch. The green flannel she’s wearing hangs open, nothing but a black sports bra beneath. It leaves her smooth stomach and glittering belly button ring on display. My sad, neglected dick twitches at the sight.
Taylor stands next to her, grinning sheepishly with his hands shoved into his pockets like a kid caught in the cookie jar. I’ve seen that look on his face before, and my stomach drops. “No.”
Tay blinks. “Logan—”
“No,” I repeat, gripping the edge of my desk with white knuckles as my surroundings come into focus. The lights are too bright, too loud. “Whatever you both want, count me out of it.”
He blows out a breath, dragging an inked hand through his hair. “Logan, man, we’re not here to fight.”
“Speak for yourself,” Salem scoffs.
I attempt to level her with a glare, but there’s no heat behind it. I don’t have the strength anymore. “If this is about the divorce papers, they’re at my apartment.”
Somewhere. Maybe. I think I saw them beneath five empty pizza boxes piled up from this week.
Taylor steps into the cubicle slowly. “Huck’s worried about you. He says you haven’t spoken to him since Matty and Xed’s wedding.”
Salem tilts her head, cold eyes sweeping over me. “Apparently, you need a fucking babysitter.”
Tay elbows her, but she doesn’t even seem sorry. My chest hollows out as I huff a dry laugh, rubbing a hand over my face. “Well, it certainly won’t be you. I’m an adult. I don’t need supervision. Tell Huck I’m fine. I’ve just been busy.”
Busy trying to blink out of existence.
Taylor shuffles in place uneasily. “Logan, come with us.”
“What?”
“Come with us on the tour,” he says, nodding toward the exit. “Just… Get the hell out of Utah for a while.”
Salem sighs, reaching up to adjust the messy bun on top of her head. “Or stay here for all I give a shit.”
Inhaling slowly, I try to rein in the storm that’s been brewing inside me for days, weeks—hell, maybe my whole fucking life. “And do what, exactly?”
