incomparable
pairing | logan x mc
word count | 7.4k
warnings | there’s a lot of angst in this one, and it’s definitely an emotional hurt/comfort fic! if you don’t like the idea of logan trying to move on, then this one isn’t for you!
tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @senatorraines, @dionneserrano, @blainehayes, @rodappreciationweek
author’s note | a while ago, my sweet friend and fellow mod @/pixeljazzy suggested a fic plot that’s angsty and absolutely demonic, aka logan tries to move on, so i decided to write it! i’d been working on this before the mods decided to create the time capsule challenge, so i’m very content that this fits into the theme well !!! and to clarify, this is an au where my mc raquel writes down her experience with the mpc and ends up publishing it and unintentionally becomes a best selling author! also yes rodaw brought me out of my choices writing break and i’m not mad at it at all
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She wasn’t Raquel.
That much was obvious – she was taller. Her shoulders were broader. Her hair was short, bluntly cut at her collarbones, and dark brown.
She was tattoo free. The skin of her arm was bare – a clean slate. Untouched.
She seemed more innocent, too. Not in the way that Raquel was when they first met.
This woman was grown with a full time job and a comfy apartment in the heart of the city, but… there was something missing.
She probably had no clue that there was a seedy underbelly to her home. Didn’t have the misfortune of crossing paths with someone like him when he was at his worst.
She was privileged enough to go about her life while a whole microcosm of crime happened right under her nose. And she didn’t want to know. Didn’t need to know.
Logan wasn’t exactly jazzed to shatter another woman’s innocence the way he did with Raquel.
This girl seemed… safe. Level headed, secure, and millions of miles away from the life he’d abandoned.
It kind of happened by accident. Meeting her, that is.
It wasn’t a carefully crafted “accident” like with Raquel. She actually just… caught his eye.
He’d gotten an honest job as a mechanic on the outskirts of L.A., working mostly with the struggling working class that had long been banished to the dingiest corners, despite being the most important cogs in the city’s machine.
The autoshop was family owned, and had been for generations – the owner, Nicandro, had accepted Logan as his own, and Logan had practically become a part of the Alvarez family.
He hadn’t anticipated finding his own home in the same city that’d chewed him up and spat him out time and time again.
A couple months into working there, he was finally settling into his routine. Nine-to-five job on weekdays, community college classes on weekends, and the occasional Saturday mass when he was invited by the Alvarezes.
He was functioning. He had a routine. And then this girl came in and disrupted it all.
The Honda Civic girl.
When the average looking car pulled up outside, he didn’t give it a second glance.
He went back to work, arms deep in the engine, grimy and stained from repairing Miss Anita’s ancient artifact she insisted on saving even though it was less than a thousand miles away from crumbling cartoon-style till only the wheels were left.
(But she was family to the Alvarezes, so Nicandro insisted on repairing the car for free nearly every week when she needed something new tweaked.)
He heard her voice from across the room and still didn’t look up from his hands.
“Hi, this is embarrassing, but my engine light thingy came on and I have no clue what it means,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I’m on my way out of town for a couple of days, so I thought I’d stop and get it checked out before you closed for the night.”
“Aye, Lo, can you help her out real quick? We’ve gotta truck coming in with parts soon and I gotta keep watch,” Nicandro called across the garage, shooting Logan a toothy grin as soon as he looked up.
“Sure,” Logan smiled politely, scrubbing his forearm over his brow, the sweat managing to hold a couple strands of his hair captive against his skin.
He was assuming it’d be a typical oil change, but the second she came into view, the ghost of the last time he left L.A. gripped his heart and squeezed until adrenaline shot through every vein in his body.
Her t-shirt, tucked neatly into her denim shorts, read “Langston”.
It wasn’t the sweatshirt, but it was the same design, same color.
He knew staying in L.A. was a gamble, but he was willing to risk it. Staying away from Raquel was priority for her safety, but… he couldn’t bury the inkling of hope that pushed its way to the surface when he walked into a coffee shop or a bookstore – places he knew she’d love.
Once he saw the shirt and her big brown eyes, he was done for.
She wasn’t Raquel, but something about her lived in this stranger.
Before he could stop himself, he was comparing her to his first love – a disaster waiting to happen.
Their first date was anything but – she insisted on bringing him a vanilla milkshake from his favorite burger place to his work.
“How’d you know I was working?” He asked earnestly, mirroring her soft smile.
“I didn’t. Nicandro told me vanilla milkshakes were your favorite and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise so…” she shrugged, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve, uh, brought milkshakes up here every day this weekend.”
He laughed – a real genuine surprised laugh – and took a sip from the styrofoam cup. “You didn’t let them go to waste, did you?”
“Nah, Nicandro’s been really happy with me.”
“Yum,” he hummed. “I’m happy with you, too.”
She grinned in delight, taking a sip from hers. “I’m glad my hard work paid off.”
She stayed there for his whole lunch break, and they chatted, casual conversation with no substance, and he actually enjoyed himself.
The last time he remembered having casual conversations about nothing with a girl his age, he was curled underneath the sheets with Raquel, tracing the outlines of her sleeve of tattoos. He could’ve listened to her talk for hours.
This girl… she was pretty tolerable – she listened to him (hung on every word, even) and cared about what he had to say, even though it was a laid back, low stakes conversation.
“My name’s Renée, you know. I realized I haven’t told you,” she smiled, resting her cheek on her hand. She was facing him, and they were seated on the same side of the old wooden table out back behind the garage.
“Renée,” he repeated, shaking the styrofoam cup to gather the last bit of milkshake at the bottom before tipping it back to lap it up. “I’m Logan.”
“Logan,” she nodded. “It suits you.”
“S’not my real name,” he shrugged.
He didn’t know why he was telling her that. If he told her too much, it’d end the same.
She tipped her own cup back, tapping the bottom to get little stray ice chunks out. “Fine by me. I still think it suits you.”
She was way too trustworthy of a man she didn’t know, but… wasn’t that what attracted him to Raquel in the first place?
Without a shred of judgement in her eyes, Raquel took everything Logan said as the truth, despite how many times he’d fucked up. Betrayed her.
Renée didn’t look at him like he was a criminal and… well… he wasn’t one anymore. He was still in the criminal mindset, though, since he’d been ostracized for so damn long.
The next couple weeks were uncomfortable – not because Renée made him uncomfortable in the slightest. If anything, she was doing the opposite, and that was the problem.
He’d had to reopen himself to caring about another woman, and to say it was a difficult task was an understatement. The gates were stubborn, rusted shut, so much so that he had to force them apart, ignoring the grating screech of metal and the inevitable pain that came with being vulnerable again.
They went on a few dinner dates. She brought him lunch at work. She invited him to her apartment. They went to a food truck festival together.
Renée disrupted his routine, and it was a breath of fresh air.
He’d gotten so comfortable with his quaint life and his work family that he hadn’t pushed himself to do much more than that.
But the first time she held his hand, he froze.
She casually grabbed his hand to lead him through a crowd and his body reacted like he’d been electrocuted. It wasn’t wrong, but it felt wrong.
“Are you good?”
“I’m fine,” he reassured her, wiping his clammy palm against his jeans before letting her grab his hand again.
It wasn’t wrong, but it was wrong.
He should’ve ended it that moment, but he didn’t. He’d convinced himself that if he could push through the initial weirdness of it all, he’d be happy. Eventually.
So he went through the motions with her, trying his hardest to push his comparisons of her to Raquel to the back of his mind, but every so often it’d bubble to the surface.
It’d manifest in the most random ways.
She liked Coke icees, not cherry.
Oh we watched that rom-com together, and she hated it because it was too corny.
She likes that TV show as background noise because she thinks it’s dumb, and I do, too.
It was unhealthy to think of Raquel that much – to compare Renée to her that much – but he couldn’t help it.
The last time he was happy, safe, loved, was with Raquel. He hadn’t chased that feeling for a long time (because he wasn’t sure he could find it again), but with Renée he was getting closer to what he used to have.
Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted that warmth – that comfort – again.
She wasn’t Raquel, but she’d have to do.
A month into their casual dating, Renée kissed him. Well, she tried.
She’d insisted on driving him to a boujee rooftop bar near her place and was thoroughly buzzed off a couple of cosmopolitans less than an hour into them being there.
The party was in full swing around them, the corny ass cover band on their fourth “tribute” to Billy Joel.
He was out of his element to say the least.
Just as he was about to lean over to tell her he needed to use the bathroom, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and smashed her mouth against his, planting sloppy, sugary, open mouthed kisses on his parted lips, frozen in shock.
“Logan,” she breathed, squeezing him tighter, not even registering how tense he was.
“Renée… hey, hey,” he said, gently but firmly pulling her away from him. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”
Her big brown eyes welled up with tears and his chest twinged with guilt, the distant memory of the first time he’d betrayed Raquel floating around the back of his brain.
“I’m sorry I – I don’t know what came over me –” she turned away from him, dabbing her eyes with the crook of her finger.
“It’s okay. No need to apologize,” he reassured her, rubbing his palm in small circles on her back. “We’re good.”
“I wanted our first kiss to be special and I royally screwed that up,” she sighed, swivelling back till she was facing him again.
“Can’t do worse than me.”
She chewed her lip, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh yeah?”
“I was a girl’s first kiss… five minutes after we’d outrun the cops.”
Her laugh was a surprised one, her bright smile replacing her disappointed expression almost immediately.
“That’s surprising. I never pegged you as a law breaking type,” she blinked, the alcohol clearly making her a bit more ballsy than she normally was.
It was his turn to laugh – he doubled over, nearly knocking over her half empty glass in the process.
“I used to be quite a troublemaker.”
Despite her not-so-subtle hints over the next few weeks, he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her.
She probably thought he was the prudiest of the prudes, the local catholic church’s golden boy, the working man’s poster child of abstinence till marriage.
He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Yet.
He was wearing himself down more and more each day – he was on the track to kiss her in… a couple months to a year. Probably.
Two months in, she invited him to a swanky event her job was hosting.
She was one of many accountants working in the financial department for a large publishing company. She had a really cool gig, and she knew it. She never bragged, but she was proud of her accomplishments.
So why was she dating a mechanic who was making a third of her income? He had no idea.
Either way, he tried to enjoy himself. The car that picked them up was luxurious, and that and the food and booze reflected just how much money their company had made that year.
The venue was huge and packed to the brim with hundreds of people, the standing tables a couple feet apart all throughout the ballroom.
“Damn, they weren’t playing around with this, huh?” He mused, taking a sip from his mug, filled to the brim with locally brewed beer.
“Yep, they’re serious about giving a warm welcome to new authors,” Renée said over the rim of her drink, gesturing vaguely to the room around them.
“Yeah, so is that what they’re doing?”
“Mhmm. Every year we hold a big party to celebrate our deals for that year. It’s really just to pat ourselves on the back and give our new authors a sense of comfort here, you know?”
“Can I get a booklist or something? I might wanna check out some of these books afterwards. I feel guilty as hell eating duck, drinking their expensive ass alcohol, and rolling back home without, ya know, doing anything,” he shrugged, the fabric of his hand me down suit straining with effort at the motion.
“One of the authors insisted on not being included in any of the party promos so… she kinda ruined it for everybody. But she’s our number one best seller for this year, so…” she rolled her eyes, tipping back the last of her cosmo.
“And don’t worry about it. We budgeted for this and we’re good,” Renée nodded, giving Logan’s hand a squeeze over the table.
“So what’s the itinerary for the night?” Logan asked, rolling his mug around by its base, the beer swirling around the edges, just barely kissing the rim, but not quite overflowing.
It was stupid to relate to a fucking mug of beer, but he did.
Anytime he pushed himself to his limit with Renée, he retreated, never breaking past that threshold, that barrier he set in place for himself long before he’d ever met her.
“The President is gonna give some speech – he’s that guy right there –” she said, scooting around the table till her arm was pressed against the sleeve of his jacket, “Then the Vice President – that woman – is gonna introduce the guests of honor, and they’ll give introductions. Then a brief presentation from my boss about how much money we raked in this year, then… yep. We can leave.”
“Sounds painless enough.”
She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thanks for coming with me, Lo. I really appreciate it.”
Before he could register what was happening, she’d tipped his chin towards her, pressing a tender, gracious kiss on his lips.
She pulled back, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
He mirrored her smile, but inside he was screaming.
He felt nothing. The kiss elicited absolutely nothing from him.
She kissed him and it felt like he was kissing a friend. Completely platonic.
He’d sunk months into getting comfortable with her just for it to blow up in his face. The second he’d let his guard down so things could progress naturally, it backfired.
He’d taken Raquel for granted. Being with her was so effortless that he didn’t have to think about it, and he let that slip away without trying to get her back.
He thought he was doing the right thing by her, but it was hurting him more than he’d ever anticipated.
It wasn’t that he considered her another notch in the bedpost. It was the opposite – the bedpost didn’t exist anymore.
There was only her. No one else. No matter how many times he tried to remedy his broken heart, it’d just bring him right back to her: the only woman that ever had the privilege of making herself a home there.
“I, uh, need to go to the restroom. Excuse me,” he said, jabbing his thumbs toward the double doors, heading outside before she had a chance to respond.
He pushed his way out of the room, his heart in time with the slap of his shoes against the flooring.
As soon as he was out of the doors, he kept walking, striding past the laggards mingling in the hallway, past the bathrooms, past the security, till he felt the dirty L.A. air coat his lungs.
God, if he could only catch his breath maybe he could go back in there and salvage the night. Maybe even make himself look less like a skittish idiot.
Despite the fact that his brain was wired to unintentionally treat her like a friend, he didn’t want to hurt this girl.
He didn’t smoke often – just a taste of nicotine when he was drunk or the occasional cigarette when he was stressed.
There was a crumpled pack in his glove box that’d been there for months.
Why didn’t he just drive? He was fucking stranded. He couldn’t run. Couldn’t put distance between him and this situation that he’d willingly put himself in.
None of this was Renée’s fault. There wasn’t a single aspect of the situation that was her fault.
She was a girl who wanted to date a boy because of reciprocated interest.
He felt like the biggest loser in the world. Here she was, a beautiful girl with a lust for life and ambitions that dwarfed anything he’d ever imagined for himself.
And all she wanted to do was love him.
And he wouldn’t let her. Couldn’t let her.
His back slid against the brick wall until he was squatting, arms braced against his knees while he tried to gulp down fresh air as fast as the wind whipped at him.
He’d managed to find the one corner of the building that was completely unoccupied. For once, he was thankful for his gut instinct to lurk in the shadows.
He’d barely gotten a minute of solitude before the door closest to him flew open, a blur of tulle streaking across his peripheral.
The person’s breaths were labored, panicked, as they ran the opposite direction until they were at the edge of the pavement.
They bent down, just like he had, and clasped both hands over their mouth, letting out a small muffled scream.
When she was finished with that, she tilted her chin upwards, her skin illuminated by the light from the parking lot that spilled onto their side of the building.
If he thought breathing was difficult before, it got a whole lot worse when she noticed he was there.
She jumped, yelping like a wounded animal before stumbling back, catching herself with her hands. “Oh my god, I didn’t know anyone was here – I’m sorry –”
Pushing herself back up to stand, she brushed her palms off and shook the tulle skirt clean. “I’m just a little stressed. Sorry again for the outburst.”
That can’t be her. There’s no way, he thought, his mouth drying out when he got a clear view of her face.
“Raquel?” He asked, timidly, voice cracking on the first syllable.
She froze, searching the shadows, her hands white knuckling her skirt.
He didn’t speak, and neither did she. He couldn’t tell how long they’d been quiet when he pushed himself to his full height and took a step towards her.
“No, no, no, there’s no way,” she whispered, stumbling backwards, catching herself on the brick wall.
“It’s – uh, it’s me –” he said, laying his palm flat against his chest. “It’s Logan.”
His voice trembled, the effort of speaking (despite nearly being rendered speechless) was more than he could handle – it was as if he had to manually pick up his words like stones and drop them, and they were heavy, and he was weak.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She didn’t respond.
“I… uh, what are you doing here?” He asked finally, forcing the question past his lips.
If he didn’t say something he’d be drinking her in all night. It’d been a couple years, but she looked exactly the same.
Yeah, her hair was mid-length, the ombre traded for a black tone, and she’d gotten a few more tattoos that he could see, but she was the same old Raquel.
Same old Raquel, but professionally styled. He wasn’t self conscious of his hand-me-down suit until he noticed how polished she looked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she breathed, a strained tone followed by a struggled breath.
His heart dropped to his stomach. He’d completely forgotten about Renée.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened and closed it again, like a fucking fish out of water. There was no way to beat around it.
“I’m a plus one.”
Her perfectly gelled brows furrowed, and his gut clenched at the motion.
He was scared as hell, but damn did she look exactly like she did when she was hunched over a textbook, scrawling notes as quick as her brain summarized the words on the page.
“You didn’t… deliberately come here to see me?” She asked, searching his face for something (the truth, probably).
He ran a hand through his unruly hair, an inch or so shorter than she’d last seen it.
Why’d he have to run into her after he’d gotten a trim? He’d imagined this moment going so many different ways, and every scenario he’d pictured them looking like they did the moment they parted – if he had it his way, every detail would be exactly the same as the day he disappeared into the night, from his head down to his shoes.
“I, uh… No, I didn’t,” he stammered, taking another step her way, and that time she didn’t move back.
Shaking her head, she watched him, expression incredulous. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Just because I didn’t come here for you doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you,” he said, reaching out towards her.
He thought she’d flinch away, but she stayed planted in place, her eyelids fluttering shut when he stroked the pad of his thumb against her jaw, revelling in how soft her skin was. Just like he remembered.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
She turned her head just enough till she could kiss his palm, leaving a streak of lipgloss on his calloused skin. “This doesn’t feel real.”
“It is, baby,” he reassured her, before testing her even further by tugging her into a hug. “This isn’t a dream, but it sure feels like one.”
She ran her hands across his back, like she was refamiliarizing herself with his frame, before squeezing him tight, her arms shaking with effort. “You smell exactly the same.”
He laughed, burying his nose into her crown, pressing a kiss there. “You do, too. Like lavender’n’heaven.”
Raquel was in front of him, just as warm and pretty as she was the last time he’d seen her. She even felt the same in his arms, molding to his shape like no time had passed.
Adrenaline surged in his veins, and he took advantage of his momentary courage by tipping her chin upward to get a good look at her.
God, she was so fucking pretty.
Nothing else mattered to him anymore. His mechanic job, his car, his friendships, his home in L.A. –
He’d made a home in those dark brown eyes, and he was willing to drop everything and follow her to the ends of the earth if that meant he’d be back in the one home he’d ever known.
She blinked away a few tears, her bottom lip trembling, dimpling her chin.
He cupped her face between his palms, cradling her face as gently as he would with something breakable, soaking in the moment for as long as he could.
He could’ve held her like that and re-committed every inch of her face to memory, but she broke first, closing the gap by pressing her lips against his and Christ did she taste sweet.
Their mouths, arms, bodies, slotted together perfectly, not an inch of space between them.
Just as he parted his lips for her, she stiffened, retreating from him immediately.
“You taste like cherry. I hate cherry.”
Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. “You hate cherry.”
He went rigid, the details from a few minutes before flooding back to him. Renée was wearing cherry gloss.
“Oh my god… you’re here with someone?” She asked, but she said it with such conviction, because she knew it was true, and she was begging for it not to be.
His mouth popped open and shut again. “I’m sorry –”
“You don’t have to apologize. You’ve moved on and that’s okay. I’m happy for you.” Her voice was trembling with each word – the stones were heavy, and she was struggling, and he could tell.
“No, Raquel, it’s not like that. I promise –”
“Please don’t make me any promises, Lo. I don’t know if my heart can take it,” she said, palms up in surrender.
And she said his nickname. It sounded wrong coming from anyone but her.
“I’m serious, baby, I didn’t think I’d see you again, especially at a schmooze fest like this.”
She blinked, once, twice, processing what he’d said. “So… not only did you insult me by showing up with another woman, but you’re insulting this event that I’ve worked so hard to attend, and you’re insulting me.”
“Raquel… I never meant it that way, I… I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes, groaning in frustration. “I stayed in L.A. in case I ever saw you again, but I didn’t think it’d be this soon, and I dreamed up lots of scenarios but none of them went like this. I fucked it up majorly and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t fucking know.”
She didn’t say anything for a while, her arms folded across her chest while she mulled over his words. “I never tried moving on.”
It hit him like a gut punch, grabbing his organs and twisting till pain shot throughout his body. “You didn’t?” Was all he could manage.
“No, I couldn’t. There’s no way I could when I’m still in love with you.”
She screwed her eyes shut, a sob leaving her before she could contain it.
“Raquel, please believe me –” Logan pleaded, stepping towards her. “If I woulda known you were gonna be here, trust me, I’d be dressed better and you’d be my date and I’d be showing you off to the world –”
Her watch buzzed, startling the both of them. “I… have to go. We can talk after, if you want.”
“Yes, please. That’s all I want,” he laced his fingers with hers, gently tugging her hand towards his lips to press a soft kiss on her knuckles. “I’ll find you after. I promise.”
Giving him one last once over, drinking him in, like she was second guessing if he was real, she stepped back through the doors.
He took a few deep breaths to compose himself before heading in – explaining his outburst to Renée hadn’t crossed his mind till he walked back inside.
He made his way back to the table, running over how he was going to apologize, but nothing stuck. He couldn’t think of anything but Raquel.
Renée was sipping on her second drink of the night, and his beer looked like it’d been dipped into as well.
“Are you okay?” She asked immediately. “I’m sorry about kissing you like that I just – I just thought you were comfortable enough. I screwed up again, Lo, and I’m so sorry.”
“Renée…” He couldn’t get over how unnatural “Lo” sounded coming from her. “The way I’ve been acting has nothing to do with you, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Kinda sounds like you’re breaking up with me,” she laughed once, rolling her eyes. They widened as soon as it dawned on her. “Wait… are you?”
“Can we talk outside? I really want you to hear me out –”
“Logan, if you’re gonna dump me, at least respect me enough to not do it in the parking lot,” she sighed, chugging the rest of her drink.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, sliding his half empty mug of beer her way. “I do respect you, though. A lot. You’re an amazing person.”
Sighing, she tipped back the beer, gulping until he could see her eyes through the transparent bottom of the glass. “I’ve definitely heard this spiel before.”
“I’m gonna tell you this story, and you’re probably not gonna believe it, but it’s true, and it was my life – it is my life,” he started, leaning against the table so she could hear his low tone.
“Years ago, I met the woman of my dreams, and she was innocent and way too fucking good for me. I was breaking the law daily by doing jobs with crews of criminals like me, living off the grid, making money in ways I’m not too proud of.
“She was a part of one of my last jobs before I left L.A. to lay low and I, uh, I fell in love with her. I’m still in love with her. I don’t know what my life would look like if I wasn’t in love with her, you know?”
Her face screwed up in disgust, and she all but slammed the mug down, whispering furiously. “Are you mocking me? Did you seriously just regurgitate the plot of Ride or Die to me? That’s the story you’re going with? One that isn’t even your own?”
“Huh, what? What are you –”
The speakers crackled and a mic squeaked as who Logan assumed to be President tapped the surface of it, cutting off his response.
“Hello everyone, I hope you’re all having a wonderful night so far. As most of you may know, my name is Arnie Harris, and I’m the President of Harris Publishing. When my grandfather founded Harris Publishing back in 1901, he only did so because he wanted to be able to publish a few of his wife’s poems as a gift. Publishers refused to register it under her name, so he made his own company so my grandma could achieve her dream of being a published author, and throughout the years, we’ve been committed to giving voices to women and minorities alike.
“This year’s been one of our best yet, and I’m so thankful to our new authors for seeing something in us and our mission statement. A big thank you to everyone here tonight – Editing, Marketing, Finance, all the staff and employees, hell, the caterers here tonight, valets, everyone. Tonight wouldn’t be possible without you.”
He droned on for a bit longer before the Vice President took the stage, and she began introducing the newest authors that they’d signed that year.
They’d copped quite a few best sellers, which was impressive. Each author took the stage briefly to thank Harris Publishing and give a brief summary of their goals for the next few years.
Renée was ignoring him at that point, refusing to even look his way. He’d be more upset about that if he wasn’t scanning every inch of the room for Raquel, trying desperately to spot the rose colored tulle and midnight hair in the crowd.
“– and the last author of the night, the number one young adult New York Times’ Best Seller for five months and counting, Raquel Olvera with Ride or Die!”
His head snapped towards the stage, his eyes wide. “What the fuck –”
“Renée, she… who…”
“She’s our top seller. The one I said didn’t wanna be in the promos?” She answered flatly, still staring straight ahead.
“Renée, that’s – that’s her, that’s the girl I’m in love with –”
“Oh, please –” She stopped when she saw how genuinely caught off guard he was. “Oh my god, you’re not lying.”
“No, that’s her – I didn’t think – I ran into her outside and she said we’d talk later, but I – I didn’t think she was coming back inside for this –”
“You’re who she wrote about,” Renée whispered, her eyes as wide as Logan’s were, words beginning to slur just a bit. “Holy shit, I just thought the names were a coincidence, but no, you’re him.”
“What… huh?”
“Oh, Logan…” Her eyes filled with tears. “Ride or Die is about you, your old crew, and how she fell in love with you.”
His heart sank. “About me?”
She nodded. “She changed most of the names but kept some, including yours. The ending… you really had to leave L.A. to flee the cops?”
He nodded. “The feds were on our tails.”
“My god… she’s so in love with you. You have to go to her,” Renée shook her head, her hair swaying around her. “No hard feelings at all. You can’t let her go – I’m serious.”
She’d taken the stage, and had begun thanking people while Logan and Renée whispered furiously at each other. By the time they looked up, she was beginning her speech.
“I never really set out to become a writer. Even though I’m a published author, I don’t really feel like one. Every time I step back to assess the response I’ve gotten to ‘Ride or Die’, I’m rendered speechless without fail. I just wanted an outlet to get my story out, and surprisingly – thankfully – the lovely staff of Harris Publishing decided to take a chance on me. I never thought this level of success was possible, and I’m so grateful for everyone here.”
She held for applause, smiling as though she was grateful for each clap.
“But beneath the positivity and praise I’ve received, I’m still healing. I’m still hurting. Most people know that ‘Ride or Die’ is somewhat of a true story. And yes, I know there’ve been discussions on whether this is a fake autobiography and that I wrote this for attention. Honestly, for the first year after they left, I wished that it was fake, because I was in a lot of pain. Emotionally, I was in shambles.
“I’ve loved telling my story as a form of therapy, but I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. The love of my life vanished into the night and I couldn’t do a single thing about it. No closure, no healing, no moving on.
“Stagnancy’s been the norm for me for so long that I forgot what life was like when I was smiling every day. I’m still getting used to happiness being an everyday feeling for me.”
Raquel shook her head, taking a deep breath and dabbing at the corner of her eyes. The audience took this cue to clap again, encouraging her to continue.
Logan watched the monitor on the wall, which zoomed into her face, catching her dazzling brown eyes. He was in awe. She was tough as nails with a heart of gold and he still didn’t deserve her.
“I thought that a life without love was bleak, and that I was doomed to suffer because I didn’t know if I’d ever see Logan again.”
She took another deep breath, squaring her shoulders.
“I’ve realized that I’m surrounded by more love than I know what to do with. By those who love my story, who resonate with my story, and who want or already have a Logan of their own. I get to experience love every day through that affirmation, and I took it for granted till… well, tonight, honestly.
“The end of the story wasn’t really the end of the story for me. I thought that ‘Ride or Die’ was the first and final book, and I’ve been terrified for a while that by the time the hype for this book died down, so would my hope, and I’d have to move on… but like I’ve said, the closure I’ve craved is in everyone that carries my story with them. You’re all healing me by making me feel seen and heard and loved.
“This might be a lot for a speech at a fancy event at the publishing company that signed me, but through all of you who’ve made this possible, I feel like the version of me from years ago when I hopped in a sports car with a stranger who later turned out to be the love of my life.
“The adrenaline, the lust for life, feeling alive – I owe it all to you. Thank you.”
The cheers were raucous by the time she stepped off stage.
Logan’s throat was tight – she still loved him no matter how much it hurt.
Jesus fucking Christ, he would never deserve her.
Renée was sniffling next to him, hand over her mouth. “Logan, you seriously need to go to her. You can’t let her get away again.”
He pulled her in for a quick hug, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. You really do deserve so much better than me.”
She grinned and patted his cheek lightly. “You’ve never been more right.”
He turned, darting towards the doors, shoving past anyone and everyone to get outside.
When he made it out of the doors, he ran smack into Raquel.
Thankfully, the only people outside of the room were the security guards, who’s attention was focused on the front door.
Raquel pulled him down the hallway and stopped at the last door on the left, a sign with her name on it taped to the outside of the door.
She fumbled with the keycard, her hands trembling.
“Shit –” she cursed, the card tumbling from her hands and onto the tile floor.
He snatched it off the ground and scanned it in one swoop. Within seconds, she’d shoved the door open and slammed it behind them.
His heart was racing. The last time she’d been this hasty was their final kiss, and he couldn’t fathom going through that again.
She stood in front of him, his back to the door, her gaze trained on his chest.
From his height he can see that her face is contorted, but she buries her face in her hands before he can get a good look.
“She looks just like me.” Her voice was a mere whisper, like she couldn’t manage anything more than that.
His heart sank to his feet. “Raquel –”
“You say you didn’t know I was going to be here, but then why’d you date someone that works at the same company my book’s being published at?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I didn’t come here with the intention of hurting you,” he started, gently resting a palm on her shoulder. “Especially knowing how hard it’s been for you, I –”
He broke his sentence off, cursing himself. “Shit, I didn’t know you were having just as hard a time as me. I figured you’d go to college and meet someone better than me. I don’t know.”
“You can’t just say you expected me to move on because you clearly haven’t. What, is her name Rachel or something?” She pulled back, putting a step of space between them.
He shook his head. “Renée.”
“It even starts with the same letter,” she shook her head, biting her lip. “You thought I’d move on so you started dating the first person that reminded you of me?”
“I – I’m –” He stuttered, dumbfounded that she’d gotten it in one try, as much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud.
“I want you to understand why I’m upset, Lo. You came back to L.A. because you thought there was a possibility that you’d see me again, but you ‘figured I’d move on’. You’re seeing a girl that looks like she could be related to me, yet you’re avoiding discussing that.
“I’m mad because while I’ve been trying to heal, you’ve been making yourself suffer, and that’s not fair to Renée. You had no idea if you were gonna see me again so you tried to get the next best thing. You have to see why that’s fucked up, Lo.”
“Even if I was dating Renée because she reminded me of you, none of that matters now.”
“You can’t just dump Renée because you took one look at the girl you dated for a month years ago and decided you wanted her instead –”
“Stop. Don’t try to downplay your role in my life, Raquel. You’re not ‘just the girl I dated’, alright? I loved you then and I love you now.”
“You can’t love me and string her along at the same time, Logan,” she furiously whispered, her voice nearing hysterics.
He blinked, shaking his head. “Did… you think I was coming here to show you that I’d moved on? And wanted to rub it in your face?”
She chewed the inside of her lip, her dark brown eyes downcast. “Maybe.”
“Renée ended things first. Just now, actually. The minute she realized that I’m the Logan from your book, she told me I needed to go to you,” he reassured her, reaching out to tip her chin up with a crooked finger, forcing her to meet his eye.
“Raquel, I had no fucking clue you’d written about us and the old crew. All these years, I’ve always known how much I love you but… goddamn, I didn’t know you loved me the way I loved you.”
Her eyes glistened, her surprised laugh coming out as a soft sob.
“So… you really do love me? It wasn’t just circumstance?” She asked, leaning into his palm when he slid his hand up to cup her cheek.
“It doesn’t matter how we felt back then, baby. None of that matters now because we fell for each other while we were apart,” he smiled softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss on her lips.
“God, I love you,” she whispered against his lips, deepening the kiss.
“Say it again,” he murmured. “I need to hear it again.”
“I love you,” she repeated, louder, more confident this time. “I’ll say it as many times as you want, as long as you say it back.”
“I love you,” he said, no hesitation, tangling his fingers through her hair and pulling her in again.
The only time they came up for air was to whisper sweet affirmations against each other’s skin before delving back into silently relearning what they could about each other.
Logan had never been the best with words, and he was at peace with that. He knew that when it mattered, he’d show it. And in the dim lighting of Raquel’s green room, he showed her over and over just how much she meant to him.
Kiss by kiss, they adhered themselves to each other, undoubtedly deciding they’d never let each other go again.
She wasn’t Raquel. That much was obvious. She’d grown into much more than the timid girl he’d met on her 18th birthday, and even more than the headstrong driver he’d left behind.
And he loved her this way and that way – any way he could get her. His love for every version of her was boundless, incomparable to anything he’d ever felt before.
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