Page 44 of Everything Has Changed
“Okay,” I reply quietly before pulling my hand from his and marching down the steps. My head is held high in an attempt to not look back at the father-son stare down I can feel happening at my back.
16
Logan
“Father,” I sigh. My head shakes as I fight against the real words I want to lash out and filter to find ones that were appropriate for the location we were standing in. I was all too aware that even when you thought you were alone in this town, eyes and ears were always listening to get dirt on you. Or maybe that was just the bullshit suspicions my father hammered into me.
“I thought I told you to stay focused,” he hums out. There’s a casual tone to his voice that a normal person might think is harmless, but I know the truth. It’s a facade. A dangerous one.
I roll my eyes, going to step around him to grab the door handle. His hand instantly reaches out to grab my forearm in a crushing grip. I stop all movement. An unfortunate familiarity rings out in my mind. It sounds a lot like alarm bells, only if they were sad and tired. The difference now is that I have a few inches and pounds of muscle on my father that weren’t there when I was a kid.
I lock up as he leans in closer. “Don’t walk away from me, boy. I told you to do something, and you’re not doing it. Do I need to remind you again what is expected of you?”
Slowly, I turn my head from one side of the street to the other. My eyes narrow as I gauge our surroundings, only to relax when I find what I’m looking for.
“Bernie!” I call out, sending a blinding smile in the direction of the older gentleman walking his tiny dog on the sidewalk in front of the building.
Dad’s hand falls as if it touched fire. I notice the quick change from demanding father to local celebrity out of my periphery. No matter how often I’ve seen it, it never ceases to amaze me how fast it happens.
“If it isn’t our favorite father-son duo,” Bernie stops to wave at us. His miniature schnauzer yipped at his owner. “Give me a minute, Buddy.” Bernie pats the little guy on his head as he stretches up to him. “Heaven forbid we stop for two seconds,” he chuckles.
“How’s Terry doing? Haven’t seen him since I’ve been back.”
At the mention of his husband, Bernie’s expression softens, a sweet smile unraveling on his face. “Busy at the salon, as always. Oh, since I have you, Logan. He mentioned he wants to donate a spa package for the silent auction again. Your mom mentioned you were helping organize this year.”
“That’s incredibly kind of him,” father speaks up before I can. His hand claps my shoulder when I drop my mouth open to respond, digging his bony fingers into one of my trigger points so hard I resist the urge to flinch. “You’ll have to get in touch with Gwen Prescott, though. Logan is more, how should we say it, the face of the operation. Leave the party planning to the girls, shall we?” He attempts a simple chuckle, obviously a tactic to ease the tension created by his words.
But I can see the confusion on Bernie’s face as he looks between us.
“Alright, Mr. Mayor. Will do.” Buddy gives a tug and one more yip. Bernie looks down at him and nods. “I guess we better go. Y’all have a good day.”
My father waves with his free hand while his other holds me in place. He only lets go when Bernie is out of sight and a quick scan of the area tells him no one else is around.
A push with the palm of his hand catches me off guard, and I stumble slightly as he lets go of me.
“Get into my office. You’ve been dicking around for far too long. It’s time to get your head out of your ass and act like my son.”
He doesn’t confirm I’m following him as he wretches open the glass door, striding in with his head held high. I stand for a moment, collecting my thoughts and feelings like I’ve trained myself to do—something I had to learn in anticipation for when this time in my life finally came. When I can’t be Logan anymore. When I have to fully become the son of Mayor Spencer. The future of Willow Grove.
The memory of the moment I shared with Gwen just a few minutes ago plays once again in my head. I take a mental snapshot of her bright green eyes looking up at me with a slight stain of blush on her cheeks and her small smile shining up. Wrapping that picture up with a mental bow, I imagine myself placing it into a locked box and pushing it to the corner of my brain.
My father is a professional at tainting all that’s good in my life. When I was a kid, it was my dreams of becoming a famous hockey player. When I was a teenager, it was the pressure he put on me with Camila, my first real girlfriend, that felt more like an obligation. Now, with my future.
But I’ll be damned if he taints Gwen. She’s too good to be damaged by anything that my father deals with.
By the time I finally follow to my father’s office, on the opposite side of my mother’s and one floor up, he’s already perched himself in his leather chair at his desk. I halt in the doorway when I notice we aren’t alone.
In one seaton the opposite side facing him sits Camila, with a smug look on her face. A face I once thought was beautiful, with kind eyes, that I thought saw a side of me that others didn’t. While I can still say she is objectively beautiful, subjectively it’s a different story. Because those once kind eyes are actually incredibly calculating.
“Sit,” my father barks out as he adjusts his suit jacket.
I look to the open seat, pulled unusually close to Camila’s, and I know she propped it there on purpose. Just close enough that I know if I took it as is, her bare legs crossed over each other in her inappropriately short skirt would inevitably brush up against mine. This causes a visceral reaction through my body that almost makes me want to hurl.
Approaching the chair, Camila looks up at me from beneath her long lashes in what I know is her attempt at seduction. Once upon a time, it worked on me. Too well, if I’m being honest. I thank all that is holy every day for waking up from that fantasy she crafted specifically for me.
I grab the back of the seat, pulling it across the carpet easily. I place it back where I can see the previous indents it left behind. Camila scoffs under her breath from next to me.
“What’s this about?” I cross my ankle over my knee, leaning back as if I’m unbothered. When in reality all I want to do is bolt, and the locked grip I have on my leg is keeping me planted.
