When Love Breaks (2 page)

I slump into the kitchen chair, rest my head in the palms of my hands, and wonder how I’m going to get through the rest of this shift.

Lunchtime comes and goes, and Logan’s no different than he was after breakfast. Although I’ve learned to ask how he wants his food prepared, I feel as though it really doesn’t matter. He seems bound and determined to find fault with everything I do.

Before disappearing back into his room, for who knows how long, he stops in front of a fairly large pile of boxes and bags. They’re all but blocking the entrance to the living room, and I would imagine that they make it hard for him to get around. He shakes his head in disapproval.

“Dammit, Michael. How the hell am I supposed to get to the thermostat? Why the hell wouldn’t he put this shit in his room?” Logan says, clearly irritated.

“I could move the boxes…if you’d like.” I’m hoping my offer will cause him to lighten up a bit when it comes to my abilities to be helpful.

He looks back at me, and his eyes sweep over my small frame. Is he assessing my strength? I stand taller, with my shoulders pulled down and back.

“You’re really that bored?” I shrug, and he sighs. “Fine. I don’t think there’s anything heavy in them. Just move them to the bedroom, down the hall from mine, then shut the door. After that, turn the temperature down about five degrees.” I nod, and he heads toward his room, closing the door behind him again. I begin the task before me.

He’s right. The boxes aren’t heavy at all, and I’m glad I have something to do. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re probably filled with a bunch of his brother’s stuff, since the name ‘Michael Turner’ appears on most of them. I’m also assuming it’s his brother’s room I’m placing them in.

As I open the door, I’m shocked. This room looks nothing like the orderly, well-kept rest of the house that I’m used to seeing. No, this place looks like a tornado touched down. There’s a bed, which isn’t made, a dresser, that has clothes spilling out of it, and more piles of boxes. I find a clutter-free spot on the floor and stack the first two boxes there. I continue this process, until everything is inside. Looking around to ensure no one’s watching me, I take a few minutes to snoop a bit. The room is sparsely decorated, but that’s probably because his brother just moved in. I see a few trophies, which look as though they’re from his high school or college days. I pick up a framed picture and wipe the glass a bit. It’s a portrait of a handsome couple. They’re most likely in their late fifties or so. I squint to see if I notice a family resemblance, but the picture is too small.

The next one I pick up is a photo of two men. They have their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, and both are wearing military uniforms. They have huge grins on their faces and upon further inspection, I recognize one of them—it’s Logan. He’s tall, and his hair is much shorter than it is right now. His five o’clock shadow is nonexistent, which brings out his amazing eyes. His smile is bright and, for the first time since I met him, I find myself unable to look away. He’s stunning. I can’t help but feel as though I’m seeing a completely different person, both literally and figuratively. Then, I look lower and notice that his legs are intact. I stare at them, wishing I could go back in time, for just a moment, to see what he was like when this picture was taken. He looks happy. Then, something distracts me, so I look up.

“Are you done rifling through my brother’s things?” Logan asks. His face is expressionless. Embarrassed for being caught red handed, I quickly put the picture down.

“I—I’m sorry. I was just looking at this picture,” I say, pointing to it. “Is it you and your brother? I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t care what you
didn’t mean to do
. I asked you to turn down the thermostat. Did you even get to that yet, or were you too busy snooping?”

Sheesh. What’s his problem?

“Um…”

He scoffs and shakes his head.

“Can you go do it now?” His tone is patronizing, and I’m getting a little fed up with his bad attitude.

“Sure,” I say curtly, then exit the room on my way to my mission. After I pass him, and with his back to me, I show him, with one finger, exactly how I feel about him at this very moment.

After a boring, isolated afternoon, I begin to prepare dinner for Logan and his brother. I look around the kitchen and ultimately decide on baked chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes. Including prep time, it takes about an hour to cook, in total, which brings me almost to the end of my shift. I’m relieved at the realization that I get a reprieve from this hell for the rest of the evening.

Suddenly, I hear the squeak of a door as Logan exits his room, but he doesn’t come out into the kitchen. I listen carefully, then hear him say a few choice words, so I quickly go to investigate.

“Do you need some help?” I ask through the closed bathroom door. Then, I hear a bang and something fall to the floor. “Is everything alright?” I touch the doorknob, ready to rush in, if need be.

“I’m fine. Go away,” Logan’s muffled voice replies.

“Are you sure? I can help if you can’t—”

“
I said I’ve got this!
What part of that don’t you understand?” he snaps. His voice cuts through the door, hitting me directly. He’s really angry, more so than any other time today.

“Okay, okay.” I roll my eyes and sigh before walking away. This is my job. What does he think I’m here for?

Minutes later, Logan comes into the kitchen, a slight sheen of sweat is on his brow.

“I’ve cooked dinner for the two of you. It’s chicken. I hope that’s okay,” I say, trying to gauge his mood.

“Fine,” he says petulantly and without looking me in the eye.

“It’s almost time for me to go. Is there anything else I can do for you, before I leave?” He shakes his head. “Okay then, I’ll be on my way.” I grab my coat and head for the door. I almost expect him to say good bye, but then, I’m not dealing with the average man here. I’m right, when I walk out the door without so much as a ‘
see ya
’ from him.

Closing myself inside my car, I rest my head on my hand as I run through the events of today. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m disappointed by the lack of appreciation for the shit I put up with. I’ve never been made to feel so stupid, or purposeless, in my life. Clearly, this man has some issues. I’m used to caring for the elderly, not someone who’s bitter about the hand he’s been dealt, and who’s got a giant chip on his shoulder. I rub my face with my hands and sigh. I don’t want to go back tomorrow; I can’t go back tomorrow. What am I going to tell Melanie?

“What’s for dinner?” Daniel asks, lifting the various lids from the pots on the stove. I playfully slap at his hands, scolding him.

“I’m cooking several things, actually, none of which are ready yet.”

He smirks at me in the way he’s done for most of my life. I fist my hands on my hips, trying to appear angry, but it’s no use. I’ve never been able to stay mad at my one and only brother.

“It smells good. Is it some sort of holiday I don’t know about? Why are you cooking for a small army?”

I lift the lid off one pot and stir it.

“No, it’s not a holiday. I just figured I’d get ahead with making our meals for the week. I’m going to freeze them, so we can just pull one out as we need them.”

“You’re stress cooking,” he says.

“No, I’m not. Can’t a girl just cook to cook? Do I really need to be stressed out to get ahead for the week?”

“Most people don’t cook this much when there are only two people living in their house.” He knows me well.

“Well, that’s not why I’m doing it.”

“Okay, Okay. I get it,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “Feel free to vent about whatever it is when you’re ready. Besides, all this preparation will come in handy when your hours change with your new client.”

I stop stirring, remembering my earlier encounter with Logan.

“I already started that job, but I think it was a one-day deal.” I look up to his puzzled expression, and feel I should elaborate. “He’s a tough client, and I just don’t think we’re a good match.”

“Oh?”

I sigh, not really wanting to get into too much detail, and knowing Daniel can be overprotective.

“Yeah. He’s had it rough recently. His current health condition has made him a little bitter and hard to please.”

“So, he pissed you off?” he asks.

“No. I just think he’d rather have someone else taking care of him, that’s all.”

He nods his head.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find another moldy oldie to take care of.”

“Daniel! These people are human beings, and they’re usually very sweet. I’ve told you before,
be nice
.”

“All right. I guess I’ll never understand why you love to wipe ass for a living.” I reprimand him with my angry glare, so he backs off the subject.

My phone rings. Daniel picks it up, then hands it to me.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Elora. How did it go today at Logan Turner’s house?” I excuse myself and walk out of earshot of my nosy brother.

“Hi, Melanie. It went okay, but I don’t think—”

“I’m so happy to hear that! I know he can be difficult, but I appreciate all your efforts.”

“But I don’t think I can go back there.”

“Elora, as you can imagine, this case has been particularly difficult to staff. As long as he didn’t ask for someone new, I’d like to encourage you to stay on it. Frankly, I’m running out of options for him.” The pleading tone to her voice makes me feel a certain obligation to her. Melanie’s my friend, as well as my supervisor, so I reluctantly agree.

“Ugh! Fine. I’ll just figure out how to stay out of his way as much as possible. But, if you hear about his murder, then have trouble finding me, you’ll be able to guess what happened,” I say wryly.

She laughs.

“I may help you bury the body,” she says.

We finish our call, then hang up. I drop onto the couch, thoroughly exhausted.

Although Melanie and I walked right in yesterday, today I feel I should knock, or ring the doorbell, before gaining entry into Logan’s house. I’m apprehensive about what his reaction will be when he sees me standing in the doorway and inwardly hope he’s in a better mood. It takes several minutes for him to appear, and it’s an obvious struggle to open the door, given his wheelchair is in the way. When our eyes finally meet, I witness a mixture of emotions wash across his face. He goes from shock, to, if I’m not mistaken, relief, but then quickly, and clearly, he shuts down into irritation.