He bowed his head with a quiet sigh. Not even flinching when a giant pink tongue came out of nowhere to cheer him up. Hardly noticing when he started scratching Spartacus absent-mindedly behind the ears. The two locked eyes, and Logan flashed a sad smile.
“What do you say, buddy? You want to go for a walk?”
The dog’s ears perked up at the very word, and Logan hopped off the counter in search of the leash. After checking the traditional drawers and key rings, he opened a closet in the hall.
Bingo.
The leash fell onto the ground in front of him, along with a huge stack of envelopes that had been messily shoved inside. Logan bent over automatically to put them back, when a picture on the ground beside them caught his eye. He picked it up carefully, then gazed down with an affectionate smile.
It was Dylan. At about six years old. He was wearing a baseball uniform and smiling widely at the camera. Wide enough that Logan could see he was missing three of his teeth.
His eyes flickered down to the giant box the picture had fallen out of, but a wave of guilt froze him in his tracks. It’s not technically snooping if he’s family, right? He’s my brother and I know nothing about him. Plus, I know he’s snooping over at my house...
Before he could talk himself out of it, he sat down on the ground—setting the leash aside and pulling the box into his lap. Sure enough, there were about a hundred more pictures stuffed inside. Pictures of Dylan at all stages of life—but mostly when he was young. The years that Logan should have been with him. The years he had missed.
He flipped through with a nostalgic smile, realizing, for the first time, that it was possible to miss someone he never even knew. He saw Dylan at sports events and out on fishing trips with a man who was clearly his adoptive father. Junior high graduations and football games in which he always seemed to be in the process of tackling someone to the ground. From birthday parties to the high school prom (to which Dylan naturally took two dates), it was all in there. There was even one or two of Spartacus as a puppy.
But photographs weren’t the only things Logan found in the box.
“You’ve got to be kidding me...”
His eyes widened as he pulled out a crumpled diploma tossed carelessly on the floor. It was a bachelor’s degree in structural engineering. From a little school called Princeton. A school that Logan had been a breath away from going to himself, before he’d settled on Stanford instead.
Why the hell is he doing hard labor with an Ivy League degree?
It was one of a million questions he wanted to ask him. Along with how a man pulling in a construction salary couldn’t afford to pay his bills. It was a steady job. Benefits. The works.
The electricity wasn’t the only one. Judging by the envelopes from utility companies and collection agencies alike, Dylan was in some dire straits. Not that the man seemed to care. He had taken all the correspondence and simply stuffed it into the nearest box.
What’s your plan, brother? What are you going to do?
There was a high-pitched whine, and Spartacus dropped his head onto Logan’s shoulder, nudging the leash forward with his paw. Logan chuckled and pushed to his feet—hastening to put everything back how it was, before snapping the leash onto the dog’s collar.
“Alright buddy—let’s go to the park.”
Chapter 25
It was a beautiful walk, and one that Logan did at a leisurely pace. It seemed no matter where he went in the city, a freshwater breeze would find him—dancing his wavy hair in little clouds around his face. At first, Spartacus was straining to go faster (Dylan must have had a habit of jogging him around) but Logan held firm, and before long, the two of them were strolling casually through the tall grass of a park just a few miles away from the house.
This. This is what I want. He looked around the sweeping lawns, coming to a stop in front of a literal bed of roses. The delicate fragrance washed over him, and he closed his eyes with a smile. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. I’ve earned the right to be happy, haven’t I?
The distant sound of honking taxis permeated his secluded little bliss, and he glanced towards the skyscrapers downtown. Like flipping a switch, a wave of stress shuddered through his body, and he turned deliberately back towards the park.
He’d only been away a few days, and already, he was dreading going back to Florida.
I don’t even like Florida. Why the hell did I move there in the first place?
Another shudder ran through his body, before he glanced suddenly over his shoulder, looking at the skyscrapers in a brand-new light.
Maybe I could open up a resort over here...
The devil on his shoulder liked that idea very much. He liked it so much, that the two of them began plotting as Logan wound his way through the garden—pausing every now and then so that Spartacus could chase his tale and jump at birds.
Hours passed. Logan spent almost the entire day wandering around outside. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. The freedom of not having an agenda. The novelty of making spur of the moment decisions. Where to go, when to leave, what to do. It wasn’t written on a schedule somewhere, kept safe on Annalise’s desk. It was all up to him.
In the end, it was Spartacus who wanted to go back. Not long after the sun began to slip behind the trees, the giant dog lay down where he stood—right in the middle of the sidewalk. It was a spectacle which caused many a pedestrian to stop and laugh, as Logan tried to coax the massive hound back to his feet. When that failed, he picked him up and carried him the seventeen blocks home. (Not an easy task, considering the dog was over two hundred pounds.)
“There, you happy?” Logan deposited him on the living room couch, then headed to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. “I’ve lost absolutely all feeling in my arms.”