Not A Hero: A Bad Boy Marine Romance Page 22

  “How did we make out?” Dylan called out to him.

  “We might be able to all split a beer,” Logan called back, emptying the contents of the jar into a bank envelope to be distributed later along with the fifty dollars that the bar owner paid them for the night.

  A few of the band members sighed, and Dylan looked frustrated but no one said anything. They were artists, it wasn’t supposed to be about the money. And the truth was that it wasn’t about that at all, but they all still had bills to pay and Logan was more familiar with that than any of them knew. He handed the envelope to Dylan and grabbed his guitar case that had already been packed securely with his red electric guitar inside.

  “I’m going to head out, guys. See you Friday at McGinny’s?” He pulled on his jacket and swung the guitar case strap over his head. “We go on at nine, right?”

  “Yup, but try to get there early for sound check, Logan. We need to be on our game Friday,” Dylan reminded him. “That scout from New York New Music is going to be there.”

  Logan turned and looked quizzically at him. “I thought he wasn’t coming?”

  “Apparently his daughter is a fan of our band and changed his mind.” Dylan grinned at Logan, clearly excited.

  Logan’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  “Alright, you caught me, she is mainly a fan of yours. But hell, we are part of Haven too.” Dylan tossed up his arms and looked at the two other band mates in Haven, Rock and Charlie, who joined in laughing at Logan.

  They were all used to young women fanning over the lead singer. Logan grinned at them, waving them away and ignoring their jokes. Dylan grabbed his drum sticks and smacked his drums, doing a rim shot to highlight his joke.

  Charlie threw an empty water bottle at Dylan and everyone rolled their eyes at the band comedian. The men continued to laugh and joke with one another as they packed away the remainder of the instruments and loaded them into Rock’s van, which was pretty much the band’s van at this point.

  ***

  Logan’s car took quite a few turns of the key before it finally churned over and started with a deafening roar. He quickly looked around at the houses whose windows were all completely black, hoping that he hadn’t awoken any of his neighbors in the dead of night. Tossing the gears into reverse, Logan looked behind him as he slid out of the driveway onto the street and took off toward his second job.

  Keeping his eyes on the road, he leaned over and opened the glove box and pulled out a CD. Glancing at it, he deemed it acceptable. Pushing it into the stereo, he really needed something to pump up his energy as he headed to work. He had only just gotten home from the bar gig with his band, where he only had time to change into some more comfortable clothes and shovel a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches down his throat.

  He smacked the power button and waited for the music to start playing as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, only to be met with a screeching and scratching sound from his dashboard. The music was suddenly just radio static.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Logan smacked the dashboard as if that would make the ruined CD suddenly repair itself.

  Irritation built up in his stomach and rose through his chest as he smacked his hand against the steering wheel several times in anger. He hit the gas and floored it, not planning on wasting another minute in his piece of shit car.

  Logan’s mind was clouded with anger and self-pity. He wanted to just turn around and go home, fall into bed, and not get back out, but that wasn’t an option anymore. The bills were closing in, like a boa constrictor wrapping its way around his body and slowly squeezing the life out of him. They weren’t even his, yet somehow he felt the responsibility rested all on his shoulders.

  He was still feeling sorry for himself when he pulled into the employee parking spot behind a large warehouse and grabbed his back brace off the passenger seat, wrapping it around his waist and pulling the straps over his shoulders for support. The sky was dark, but the warehouse was bustling as his co-workers were loading boxes onto eighteen wheelers for deliveries that day. Everyone was wearing a brace similar to his, along with hats and gloves, and orange vests with reflector tape.

  “You’re late, mick,” Joey growled from behind the warehouse counter where he was marking packing slips as he glanced up at Logan.

  “Sorry, boss. Gig ran late.” Logan ignored the ethnic slur and grabbed his time card, punching it through the slot, and then replacing it on the rack.

  “Like I haven’t heard that from your sorry ass before,” Joey grumbled, not directly calling him out but making it clear he was irritated with Logan’s multitasking lifestyle. Logan just put his head down and walked out of the office and into the larger part of the warehouse, nodding to some of the guys on his way over to the last loading dock. He hopped into a forklift and shifted the gears, picking up a pallet and taking it toward the truck.

  The job was tedious and Logan hated it, but the paycheck was good since very few people eagerly worked twelve hour shifts beginning at three in the morning. He was used to starting his days this early now and then taking an afternoon nap before he headed out for a gig or band practice. On his rare day off, he would sleep longer and then practice on his guitar. It was the only thing that soothed the exhaustion in his body and soul.

  Music was everything in his life and even as he hauled pallets onto a giant truck, he hummed songs in his head to remind himself of who he was.... or who he was going to be.

  2

  “Dad, wake up.” Logan shook his father who was slumped over in his favorite chair in the living room, fast asleep. Logan didn’t normally see him this tired, but his mother had been having a tough week and it took a serious toll on his father. “It’s almost dinner time.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m up. What’s for dinner? You cooking?” Mickey Clay asked his son as he yawned and achingly pulled his body out of the chair.

  “Already made, but I only have a few minutes to eat with you guys before I need to leave for the bar. We have a scout coming to see us tonight from New York New Music, so I want to get there early for sound check,” Logan said over his shoulder as he walked back into the kitchen and pulled the pasta off the stove.

  He spilled it into the strainer sitting in the sink and shook off the excess water before pouring the noodles back into the empty pot. Cracking open a can of diced tomatoes and some pasta sauce, he mixed them all together and threw on a bit of seasoning. He put it out on the table and then pulled the garlic bread he had made earlier out of the oven where it was staying warm. He sliced it up and threw some pieces in a bowl, placing it next to the pasta. A few minutes later, the dinner table was neatly, yet humbly, set for three people and Logan could hear his parents heading out of the bedroom and toward him.

  He stifled a yawn and decided to add a little caffeine to his meal, pulling a can of soda out of the fridge and cracking it open as his father walked by. Logan glanced at him as he carried Logan’s mother, Laura Clay, in his arms and sat her gently in a special chair at the table. It had been exactly twenty years since his mother had been in a car accident and lost all function below her waist.

  The paralysis was only one of the resulting medical problems that the accident left her with and his father had been forced to quit his job in order to take care of her full time. Trips to dialysis and doctors filled his parent’s days and the doctor bills continued to fill their mailbox. Since there was no insurance or enough money to pay for a nurse, Mickey stayed home to take care of Laura and Logan worked to pay the bills. It wasn’t the average life for a twenty-five-year-old, but his parents were everything to Logan, he owed it to them.

  He sighed quietly to himself as he went to join them at the table and pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He really wanted to stop having these pity parties, but over the last few days it had been a very tempting rut to hide in. His nerves were on turbo drive due to tonight’s gig at McGinny’s Bar.

  “Logan? Your hand, son?” his mother asked hi
m and he blinked back to attention.

  She was sitting beside him, holding out her hand to him. His father was as well since they were preparing to say grace. He quickly took both of their hands and bowed his head.

  “Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for the food our boy has prepared for us tonight and pray that you watch over him tonight during his audition. We pray you bring healing to my wife and thank you for all you have done for our family. In Jesus’ name, Amen,” Mickey spoke solemnly, his eyes closed and his head down.

  Logan and his mother echoed their amens and then picked up their forks, hungrily devouring their food.

  It wasn’t an audition tonight, but Logan didn’t bother to correct his father. They didn’t understand his love of music and all the time that he put into it, but they were supportive anyway. His family was Irish Catholic and adhered to a strict way of life. Even with all their values and beliefs, the trio were bonded with such strong love and nothing was ever going to change that.

  “You sure you want to go out tonight, Logan?” His mother glanced up at him with her big, round eyes full of concern. “You look so tired.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Momma. I’m fine.” Logan grabbed his mother’s hand and squeezed it lovingly. “Hell, I’m excited!”

  “Watch your mouth around your mother,” Mickey grunted at his son as he shoveled a piece of bread into his mouth.

  “Sorry, Momma,” Logan immediately corrected himself, knowing to never curse in front of his mother.

  His father had always been traditional with his rules, but his mother just rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder softly.

  “I’m not a porcelain doll, Mickey. Logan’s all grown up.” She turned to her son, motherly pride beaming through her glimmering blue eyes that she had passed down to Logan.

  Logan grinned back at her and then ducked his head down to scoop another forkful of pasta into his mouth. His dad glared between the two of them, grumbling beneath his breath. Mickey was perpetually angry, but in truth, it was just a rough exterior. He was a teddy bear inside with a gruff outer shell that liked to stomp around and be irritated even when he wasn’t.

  Although in truth, he was angry at his life, so maybe his gruff persona was based on an internal struggle. Logan always wondered about this, but hoped his father wasn’t as unhappy as he appeared.

  ***

  When Logan got to McGinny’s, he realized that he was the first of Haven to arrive. Since he was waiting on Rock and Charlie to bring the van, he camped out at the bar and decided to order a drink to soothe his nerves first. They had never had a scout come to see them before and he knew that tonight could change his life.

  He didn’t want to sound melodramatic or over think it, but he knew in the back of his mind, he couldn’t screw this up. He wanted to be famous and live out the dreams of a musician, but more than any of that, his family needed him to succeed. His mother needed him to succeed.

  “Seriously? An Irish man drinking a Guinness? Wow, you’re a real rebel, huh?”

  Logan turned his head to see the owner of the sultry voice that was simultaneously dripping with sarcasm. A tall, thin rail of a woman was staring back at him with emerald green eyes squinting at him while she leaned against the bar, supporting all of her weight on one leg and sticking out her hip. Her hand was propped on her hip in an aggressive manner and everything about her came across combative, and yet inexplicably gentle and friendly.

  “What’s it to you?” Logan grunted at her and went back to his drink, turning his head away.

  He didn’t have time for the distractions, like groupies, and this girl’s eyes were only saying one thing to him. He cleared his throat at the thought and took another sip of his beer while the girl pulled up a bar stool from a few feet over.

  She slid onto it and crossed her legs, leaning them against the outside of his thigh as she angled her body to face him. Her eyes never left him even though he continued to stare straight ahead and ignore her. She had no idea where this sudden courage was coming from, it was completely unlike her, and yet she could not stop herself from walking up to this man in the thick leather jacket, leaning on the bar.

  Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Gina reached across him and grabbed his glass. Slowly and purposefully, she sipped his beer while he stared at her with a face full of emotions ranging from anger... to bewilderment... to attraction.

  She finished off the rest of his beer completely, tipping her head back and exposing her long neck. Her straight black hair fell past her shoulders, revealing streaks of neon colors underneath. There were highlights of pink, orange, green, and blue underneath the black curtain that were so bright, they almost made Logan squint.

  She leaned forward, pressing her chest together with her arms and whispered in his ear.

  “Thanks for the drink.” She winked at him, a faint grin on her face, teasing him as she stood up and started to walk toward the door. Logan’s jaw fell open as he tried to understand what just happened and why he wanted nothing more than to follow her out of the bar.

  Logan glanced up at the clock, he still had a little time before the band would get here to set up. He quickly stood up and pulled a few bills out of his pocket, tossing them onto the bar, then walked swiftly in the direction that she had gone. He swung the bar doors open fast and looked for her, finally spotting her rounding the corner of the building. Boosting to a jog, he went after her hoping not to lose her around the corner.

  What am I doing?

  He didn’t know why, but he knew he wanted her, even if he didn’t even know her name. He rounded the corner so fast, he didn’t have time to look at what he was rushing into. His mystery woman was leaning against the brick siding, one long leather boot pressed against the brick below the hem of her short skirt. She was wearing a red plaid skirt, wrapped high on her waist with a tiny black sleeveless top covering her upper half. Her hair covered her face as he approached her slowly from the side, watching her fire up a lighter and dip the cigarette between her lips in to the flame.

  “Nobody ever told you that those fuckers will kill you?” Logan said in a low, ominous tone.

  This mystery woman may have some sort of hold over him, but he was going to take back control now. She glanced up at him and a quick flicker of fear slipped through the deep, green pools of her eyes. Then she pulled the still unlit cigarette from her lips, holding it between two fingers, and smiled at him.

  “Nobody ever tells me anything.”

  She grinned back at him, her eyes turning into a darker hue as she looked at the figure before her. The perfect embodiment of masculinity with his long, wavy brown hair and tanned skin, that chiseled jaw line littered with stubble, and a body that most weight lifters would envy.

  “You owe me,” Logan said, his voice turning husky as he grabbed the cigarette from her fingers and tossed it to the ground. He placed his hand on the brick wall beside her head and the other in his pocket as he leaned his massive figure over her tiny, thin frame.

  “For what?” She cocked her head to the side and her voice accidentally squeaked as she tried to sound irritated. She was irritated he had tossed her cigarette, but she was having trouble remembering that when she looked into his stormy, blue eyes.

  “The beer. And the attitude,” Logan said, pressing his body slightly closer to hers as he growled the last part of his statement.

  She felt his breath on the side of her neck as he whispered the last part into her ear. That was all she needed, she leaned up and her lips met his. Softly, she slipped her tongue out and slid it across his lower lip as she kissed him, but he didn’t move. His breath hitched and he couldn’t refrain any longer.

  Logan slid his hand behind her neck and crushed his lips down on hers, pulling her tight against him. His other hand slipped around her back and immediately grabbed her cheek, pressing her into him as he pushed his hips against her. She felt a shudder pass through her body as she felt how excited he was against her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, m
ostly for support since her knees were threatening to turn into rubber at any moment.

  “Name?” Logan grunted as he pulled his lips away from hers for a moment. He felt weird enough that he was allowing himself a moment of no self-control, he should at least know her name.

  “Gina,” she said breathlessly, blinking as she attempted to focus her eyes even though her head was spinning from the sensations he was causing her.

  “Logan,” he growled back in response against her skin.

  Gina slide her fingers through his hair. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You don’t know that yet.” He flashed her a fiery look, no smile on his face.

  She felt a flash of fear rush through her at the potential threat, but it also just excited her more. She wasn’t one to give away control though and she knew that she still held all the cards in this game.

  He had no clue what he was in for yet.

  His hand slipped lower down her backside, grabbing her thigh and lifting her leg to wrap around him as he pressed her harder into the wall. Their lips were moving fast, devouring one another, as if this would all disappear if they didn’t hold onto it for dear life.

  Logan reached up behind her and tugged her hair back hard, but it didn’t hurt. Instead, it exposed her neck to him for further exploration, which he quickly took advantage of. He moved further south and shoved the neckline of her shirt, not even thinking through his actions as he allowed their encounter to progress at a lightning fast pace.

  “Well, this is awkward,” a voice said behind Logan, causing his head to shoot up and swivel around.

  Logan found himself staring at a grinning Dylan, attempting to keep an innocent look on his face, as Rock stood beside him snickering behind his hand, completely failing to mask his laughter.