wild woman

"Baby Graham! Deanie and I are having our birthday party at my folks' place in Cape Cod. You coming?"

Your eyebrows furrow, a small smile playing at your lips. "I didn't get an invite."

Just your luck that they were doing their silly little announcement outside of the building you just finished class in. Beau's got a plastic crown sitting on his head and Dean somehow got a drum. Every year they did a joint party— and every year the theme was more outlandish. Your phone chimes immediately, making you look down. Low and behold, the very extra digital invitation gets sent to your phone. Dynamic duos. Huh.

"Well then, I suppose I will be there. I was gonna be at the game anyways."

At the game, you're right upfront with Jules. You may not really be interested in their gossip account, especially since most of the fifth line's posts are about your brother and his "bunnies," but the two of you have spent years supporting older brothers at hockey games. It feels weird to be without them now.

Garrett spots you immediately during warm-ups, pointing his stick right at you. It's the quiet acknowledgment that he sees you, and that he can feel you supporting him from the stands the same way you always have. You in turn give him two thumbs up for encouragement. You got this. Looking entirely too pleased with your little routine, he skates off.

This is why you come to games.

Not for the hockey, though you've absorbed enough of it by proximity to understand what's happening. You come because Garrett's face does that thing when he sees you in the stands —and you have never once been able to not show up for that.

You settle in as the warmup winds down, pulling your sleeves over your hands, and focus very deliberately on your brother.

Garrett is good tonight. You can tell even before the puck drops — something about the way he's moving, easy and loose, the way he talks to the guys on the line. He scores in the first period and you're on your feet before you've decided to stand, and the student section erupts around you, and you're grinning like an idiot because that's your brother out there and he's brilliant.

You clap until your hands hurt, and scream until your throat feels raw.

You do not think about the fact that Logan got the assist, or about just how well they flow together.

You sit back down and watch the ice and keep your eyes exactly where they're supposed to be.

~

Logan knows you're here before he even steps on the ice.

He doesn't look for you during warm-ups because he knows exactly where you are. Like clockwork, you sit right at the front near the glass, which makes you incredibly hard to miss— even when he's trying desperately not to look at you.

The first period is fine. He's present. He's in it. He passes to Garrett and the crowd cheers and he doesn't look at the stands.

He doesn't.

He skates back to the bench and Garrett drops down next to him, breathing hard, grinning that classic Graham smile.

"She's losing her mind over there," Garrett says, jerking his head toward the stands.

Logan takes a long drink of water.

"Good," he says.

Garrett gives him a look that lasts approximately half a second too long and then turns back to the ice.

Logan puts his helmet back on.

Second period. Third period. The final buzzer. Briar wins and the locker room is loud and celebratory and Logan showers and changes and tells himself the thing he's been telling himself since Arlington.

She's Garrett's sister.

He's been telling himself that for three weeks and it is getting less convincing every time.

~

The drive to Beau's house takes long enough that your roommate has cycled through every opinion she has about the party, the theme, the guest list, and Beau Maxwell's general existence as a person.

"I'm just saying," she says, for the third time, "Batman and Superman is not a dynamic duo. It's a rivalry."

"It's a duo." You adjust your shirt, looking in the visor mirror. "They're in the Justice League together."

"That's so—"

"We look amazing and you know it, so just shush."

She looks at you. Looks at her own costume. Concedes with a noise that means you're right but won't say so. You're Clark Kent, hair pulled half up stylishly with glasses perched on your nose, the classic white shirt pulled open to reveal the S on your blue undershirt. To complete the look, a short black pencil skirt with the classic chunky knee high boots. Your roomate has done the exact same, but with a gray shirt and the bat logo underneath instead.

When you finally reach the door you can hear the chaos of the party. Your roommate links her arm through yours as you push inside, the warmth of the house hitting you all at once after the cold, and immediately the noise swallows you whole. Somebody cheers when they see the costumes. You laugh and wave them off and scan the room for a familiar face.

You find Garrett first, because you always find Garrett first.

He's across the room, wearing a cape with a white shirt underneath. Across from him is a very pretty girl wearing a white outfit and bunny ears. While your roomate immediately leaves to fetch you both something to drink, you approach them curiously.

"Baby!" Your nickname falls from his lips as his face splits into a grin when he sees you. He pulls you into a one armed hug that nearly knocks your glasses sideways. "You made it."

"Obviously." You straighten your frames and look him over. "What are you supposed to be?"

He looks down at himself, then back at you, deeply offended. "I'm a magician."

"You're wearing a cape and a white shirt. You couldn't spring for a wand, or a hat, or something?"

The pretty girl laughs— easy and warm, the kind of laugh that makes you like someone immediately. "That's what everyone else said."

It takes a second for you to connect the dots. "You're his rabbit," you laugh, looking between the two of them with a very wide smile. You've never seen your brother like this before.

Garrett points at you. "Don't."

"I literally did not say a word."

"You were about to say something." The girl interjects, but not in a rude way. Just wanting to make this interaction easier for the both of you.

"I'm Hannah." She offers politely, a shy smile filling her features. You smile back.

"The tutor," you realize. You take one of her hands in yours and squeeze it gently. "Thanks for helping him. He needs it. Like, desperately." Garrett lets out a quick, offended, noise at your words, but you continue to speak, introducing yourself as his sister.

"Love the costume," Hannah offers.

"Clark Kent," you confirm. "My roommate is Bruce Wayne, though she maintains that superbat is not a dynamic duo. I personally think if the characters are getting shipped it's free game." She laughs at that, and Garrett rolls his eyes, gently nudging you away from Hannah.

"Alright. That's enough from you, weirdo." You stick your tongue out at him and he flips you off.

"It was nice meeting you, Hannah. Hope to see you around!" You say with a wink, before leaving to find your roomate amongst the crowd.

You turn away from Garrett and nearly walk directly into Logan's chest.

You take a quick step back, hand coming up to straighten your glasses, and look up at him. He is wearing a Hawks tank top with the s crossed off, a pair of wings strapped to his back, and an expression that suggests he is fully aware of how this looks and has made his peace with it.

You stare at him for a second.

"What are you supposed to be?"

"I'm a bird."

"That's—" you press your lips together. "That's your whole costume."

"Tuck's a bee." He gestures somewhere behind him where Tucker is, as you'd imagine, dressed as a bee. "Conceptually it's very strong."

"Conceptually?"

"The execution may leave much to be desired." He looks you over once, quick and easy, and lands on the glasses. "Clark Kent."

"John Logan." You mirror his tone back at him.

The corner of his mouth moves. "Didn't know you were coming."

"Beau cornered me outside of Aldrich yesterday." You adjust your glasses. "Hard to say no."

"Yeah." Something in his expression shifts, just barely. "It is."

You open your mouth—

"OKAY." Your roomate yells over the music, two plastic cups in hand. She hands one off to you, and encourages you to take a sip. When you do, your tongue is hit with the overwhelming and bitter taste of gin, much to your dismay.

"What, did they run out of soda to mix? That's awful. Warn me next time." She ignores your comment, and hooks her other arm through yours. "We are dancing. Hi Logan. Bye Logan."

Logan raises his cup. The wings shift slightly with the movement and you almost laugh and then you're being pulled away before you can.

You try not to look back, but do anyways, only to be met with his unwavering gaze. God you are so fucked.

Meanwhile, Logan is perched beside Tucker in the kitchen. Despite the fact that he's actively trying to look elsewhere, he easily finds you.

"How's the bird holding up?" Tucker asks, not looking up from whatever he's making.

"Fine." Logan leans against the counter. "How's the bee?"

"Thriving." Tucker slides something across the counter at him. "You look like you need this."

Logan takes it, but does not immediately drink it. Across the room, you and your roomate are laughing and dancing like the world is going to end, the alcohol in your cup already taking affect in your body. You look comfortable, maybe because of the gin, but Logan thinks it has to do more with you. Your personality, the way you walk into a room and how you, like Garrett, seem to charm anyone.

He downs whatever Tucker gave him.

"She came," Tucker observes mildly.

Logan looks at him.

Tucker looks back with the expression of someone who knows exactly what he just did and will not be apologizing for it.

"Yeah. She's Garrett's sister."

"I know that," Tucker picks up his own drink, leaning back against the counter, "Telling yourself that over and over again won't stop whatever this," he gestures with his free hand at Logan, "is."

Logan says nothing. Tucker doesn't push.

Across the room you've abandoned the dancing temporarily, your roommate pulling you toward a group of people she seems to know, and you're laughing at something with your head tipped back and your glasses slightly askew and Logan looks down at his cup.

"I'm gonna go find Garrett," he says, to no one in particular.

"Alright." Tucker says pleasantly.

Logan pushes off the counter. The wings catch slightly on the cabinet behind him and Tucker reaches over without looking and frees them, and Logan goes without another word and Tucker watches him go with the expression of someone who has just watched something very inevitable begin to happen.

The party goes on as they often do— relentless and messy in all the best ways. You're not quite sure just how much you've drank, and neither does anyone else in this house, but it's certainly not stopping you from drinking more.

Garrett and Hannah slipped away about an hour ago for who knows what, so Logan just leaves him alone. He periodically checks on Jules, who is a little buzzed but still coherent, which soothes the weird anxiousness he feels. He grabs another drink.

He finds a spot near the back of the main room where he can see most of the party without being in the middle of it, which is not something he would normally do but tonight his feet just keep finding that particular patch of floor.

You're still with your roommate. Then you're not.

He watches as she gets pulled away from you by some guy, a guy she clearly knows, and her body language shifts when they talk. She leans in to you to whisper something in your ear, and you sober up long enough to make sure this is what she wants. When your roomate nods, you wave her off with the easy generosity of someone who means, go, I'm fine.

Now you're standing alone in the middle of the party with your glasses pushed up your nose and your cup almost empty.

You look around, not lost, but untethered. Not as steady as you were with a friend by your side. Before he can even think about it, Logan is headed straight for you.

"Roomate abandon you?" You turn, and something in your expression does a quick recalibration when you see it's him. Not bad, just— adjusting. Like you weren't expecting him.

"She found someone," you say. "It's fine."

"Mhm." He hums, you down the rest of your drink.

"How much have you had?"

"A very small and classy amount."

"That's not a number."

"It's a concept," you look at him, "I'm fine, Logan. You don't have to babysit me. I'm a big girl."

"I'm not babysitting you."

"Then what are you doing?"

He looks at your for a second, before looking back out at the party.

"Keeping you company." There's a quick pause before you finally respond.

"Okay. You can stay, then."

It's not much later that Logan is gently nudging your shoulder, and pulling you off the wall.

"I think you're done for the night." You slump onto it some more.

"I'm not that drunk."

"I know."

"You keep looking at me like I'm going to fall over."

"You're leaning against a wall."

"I like this wall." You tip your head back against it and look at the ceiling. "It's a good wall. Very supportive."

The corners of his mouth twitch. You don't argue as he leads you up the stairs with a gentle hand on your hip. He finds an empty room at the end of the hall— clean and quiet, with a very large and comfortable looking bed.

"Shoes off before you get in the bed," he says.

"I know how beds work, Logan."

"Glasses too."

You oblige, pulling off the boots and placing your glasses on the nightstand. You blink blearily at the closet across from where you sit, which makes Logan internally melt at the sight.

"Thank you," you say. "For tonight. You didn't have to."

"I know."

"You keep doing things you don't have to do."

He blinks, and doesn't say anything in response.

You look at him from the edge of the bed, tired and honest and warm all the way through, and he's just standing there being so careful and so himself about everything— and you're so tired of the distance between you feeling like something that has to be managed.

You stand up.

It's only two steps to the doorway and he doesn't move when you close them, doesn't step back, just watches you come with that same unreadable expression and his hands very still at his sides. You reach for him and gently adjust his skewed wings, before your hands curl into the tank.

Before you know it, your lips are on his face, pressing softly against his cheek. He lets out a breath you think he's been holding in ever since he jumped your car in Arlington. He doesn't pull away. When you're done, he gently cups your face in his hands, thumb rubbing up against your cheekbones.

"Get some sleep," he says quietly, before pulling back.

It's not a rejection. You know that much. He's just being Logan— careful, and responsible, and frustratingly sweet,— and you're too tired and too honest to be anything but okay with that right now.

You step back. Sit on the edge of the bed again.

"Goodnight, Logan."

He stands in the doorway for exactly one second too long.

"Goodnight." He pulls the door shut behind him.

~

"G, don't panic." Are the first words out of your mouth when you call your brother. This of course has the opposite effect. In the background, you can hear Garrett hastily quieting the others.

 "What happened? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm not hurt, but I'm—"

"Are you alone?"

"Yes, but—"

"Are you somewhere safe?"

"Garrett, if you let me speak, I could tell you that I'm fine." You sigh, a hand coming up to run through your hair. "I think my car battery died. I'm somewhere on the side of the road in Arlington."

A beat of silence. You can kind of hear the chatter from the other line, the absurd overlap of four, twenty-something-year-old, hockey players, discussing what's happening. Then, somewhere in the background, you hear someone — you don't even have to guess who, you could pinpoint him in any hectic frenzy— say "G, is she okay?"

Garrett ignores him, "What do you mean you think the battery is dead?"

"I mean I was driving back to campus when my lights started flickering and the next thing I know everything in my car is off."

"While you were driving?"

"Yes. What was unclear from the story?" You say bluntly.

"Holy shit, Y/N, did you get into an accident—"

"Relax, Gar. As I said, I managed to pull off to the side. I was the only person on the road. The point is, there's no one around to jump my shit and everything is closed."

"Okay, Okay. I can be there in like, twenty minutes—"

"Thought you were meeting with that philosophy tutor at 9— it's 8:48." You hear him let out a frustrated huff.

"I can cancel—"

"No. You can't, Garrett. Cancelling twelve minutes before a session is fucked up and you need the help." Another pause. You can practically hear him deflating.

"I'll send Logan."

Garrett hangs up before you can protest.

You stare at your phone for a second, then at the road, then at your phone again. Arlington is dead quiet this time of night, just streetlights and the distant sound of the city somewhere behind you. You lean back against the car and try not to think about the fact that John Logan is currently getting in his truck to come and look at your now sad, broken down wrangler.

Which you of course fail at.

Your phone buzzes.

John Logan flashes across the screen and you take one full second to compose yourself before answering.

"I'm in Arlington. Somewhere off Mass Ave, like in the suburbs somewhere? I can send my location—"

"Hello to you too."

You close your eyes. "Hi. I'm about a mile past the intersection off Mass Ave, pulled over by the—"

"Are you alright?"

It's a simple question. One that shouldn't make you lose your breath the way it is right now.

"I'm fine."

"G said you were on the road when the battery died?"

"Yeah." You try to brush off the obvious concern in his voice.

"Must have been scary. Are you alright?" He asks once more. Perceptive as always. There's a pause, but you can hear what sounds like the start of Logan's car. You dodge his question by just staying silent.

"Sit tight. I'm twenty minutes out."

You nod, though he obviously can't see. "Okay. See you soon."

You hear his car before you see it.

The low rumble of his engine cuts through the quiet of Arlington like it owns the street, headlights sweeping around the corner and finding you immediately. You straighten up, cross your arms, and do your best to school your expression. It's just Logan. He's just being a good friend and doing your brother a favor. His car pulls up right in front of yours and he kills the engine, hopping out of the car with both of his hands in his jacket pockets.

He doesn't say anything yet, just looks you over, and then the car.

"Get the hood?"

You furrow your eyebrows. "What?"

"Can you pop the hood?"

"Oh. Yeah, sorry." You mumble, walking to the front of the car where the latches of the hood are, and pop them open. You get the center hook, and Logan is there to put the prop rod up.

You take a step away from the car, giving Logan space. He pulls his phone out,turns on the flashlight, and takes a look at the battery inside. You lean against the driver's side door and watch him work, which feels awkward, so you look at the street instead. Then at your nails. Then back at him because there is genuinely nothing else to look at.

"When's the last time you replaced the battery?" He asks, not looking away from it.

"Um. I don't know."

He does look up at that. Just briefly.

"Garrett bought it used for me about two years ago."

"…So never, then?"

"So never." You pause, approaching his side and peering into the hood as well.

"Is that bad?"

The look he gives you is somewhere between amused and pained. "Yeah."

"Cool." You pull your cardigan around yourself just a bit tighter. "So it's my fault."

"That's not at all what I said—"

"It was implied."

"I implied that your battery was old." He turns to you. "That's not your fault. It's just what it is. Do you have jumper cables?"

"Do I look like I own jumper cables?"

"You look like a car owner, which means you should have jumper cables."

You open your mouth to argue, but close it. He is right. He tosses you the keys to his car, which you narrowly drop.

"Cables are in the trunk."

You take a deep breath, and walk towards his car trying to compose yourself. You can't help just how undone you feel around him. Like all sense of composure ceases being. When you open the trunk of his car, you get a waft of the air inside. It, much to your surprise, doesn't smell like sweaty hockey gear, but like Logan himself. A rich cedar with citrusy undertones to balance it. You locate the cables quickly, which means you have no reason to keep standing there, breathing him in. You grab the cables, and with a little more force than necessary, slam the trunk closed.

When you get back to the Wrangler he's crouched by the front again, looking at something on his phone, and he glances up when he hears you coming. You hold the cables out and he stands, taking them from you.

"Thanks," he says.

"Yep," you say.

Very normal. Totally fine.

"Okay." He holds the cables out toward you instead of the car. "Come here."

You blink. "I don't need to—"

"You should know how to do this." He says it simply, like it's obvious, like he's not just voluntarily extending the amount of time you have to stand next to him in the dark. "Come on."

You oblige.

He walks you through what needs to be done patiently. No condecension in his tone. You imagine if this is how he talks to the freshman boys on the hockey team…or if this is the tone he takes up when talking someone through it.

Pushing that thought to the back of your brain where you hopefully never find it again, he holds the cables out to you. One red and one black clamp.

"Two hands. Don't let these touch. Get into the habit of it." You nod, but reach for the cables with one hand, to which he pulls them out of your reach and shoots you a deadpan look. You shake your head in an attempt to get your mind back.

"Sorry." You take them with two hands, and he continues to talk about how the cables work.

"Red to dead first." He nods toward your battery. "Always."

You crouch down next to him and clip it where he points. "Red to dead," you repeat.

"Then red to donor." He reaches past you to attach the other end to his own battery, and for approximately one second his arm is right there and you are very focused on the cable. "Then black to donor."

"Black to donor."

"Last one goes on bare metal. Not the dead battery." He guides your hand — just barely, just enough — to a bolt on the engine block. "Ground it here."

You clip it.

He doesn't move his hand immediately.

"Why not to the battery?" you ask, because you are super interested in the car, and not the fact that he's so close to you right now. Definitely not that.

"Sparks," he says. "Dead batteries can off-gas hydrogen. You don't want a spark near that."

"Oh." You look at the cables, then at him, which is a mistake because he is still right there. "That's probably important to know."

"That's why I'm telling you. Now, we wait a few minutes before I start my car."

He leans against the front of the Wrangler, arms crossed, looking out at the empty street. Not at you. You mirror him without thinking about it. Leaning against the hood next to him, not close enough to be something, just next to him. The streetlight above you is doing that orange late-night thing where everything looks a little warmer than it actually is.

It's quiet for a moment.

"You doing okay out here? You know, before I got here."

"It was fine."

"I'm sure it was. But that's not what I asked." He turns his head to look at you.

You look at the road. A car passes at the far end of the street, headlights sweeping briefly over the pavement, and then it's quiet again.

"It was a little scary," you admit. "When everything shut off. The car kept rolling and all I wanted to do was get out."

He nods. Doesn't make it a big deal, doesn't say I knew it or you should have said so. Just nods, like he's filing it away somewhere careful.

"You called Garrett right away?"

"Immediately."

The corner of his mouth moves. "Good."

You look at him. "You're not going to tell me I should have roadside assistance or something?"

"Do you have roadside assistance?"

"No."

"Then there's no point in telling you that now." He looks back at the street. "Now you know you should have it."

You almost smile. "Yeah. Okay."

~

"Okay." Logan pushes off the hood. "Let's try it."

He gets in his car first and you get in yours, and when he starts his engine you can feel it faintly through the steering wheel from the cables still connecting you. You wait the way he told you to. Thirty seconds, maybe a minute. Then you turn the key.

The Wrangler shudders, clicks, and then —

Catches.

The dash lights up all at once and the radio comes back on mid-song and you let out a breath you have been holding since 8:48pm.

You get back out. Logan is already unclipping the cables in the right order, black from ground, black from donor, red from donor, red from dead, staring at the way his hands look wrapped around each clamp

"You're good," he says, coiling the cables back up.

"Thank you." It comes out quieter than you mean it to. "Really. You didn't have to—"

"Garrett asked me to."

"Right." You nod, a pang of embarassment filling your chest. Right. This was a favor for his best friend— your brother. Nothing more. "Still."

He looks at you for a second, then holds out the cables. "Keep these in the car."

"What about you? I can just buy some online when I get home."

"Really? Are you actually going to?" He tilts his head skeptically.

Unfortunately, he is correct in his assumption that you will likely forget. You sigh, but take them, fingers lightly brushing his as you pull the cables away.

"I'll follow you home," he says, and then he's walking back to his car before you can tell him he doesn't have to.

You watch his headlights in the rearview mirror the whole way home.

It's a twenty three minute drive back to campus, and you are aware of him for every single one of them. Every turn signal, every stop light, the way he stays exactly two car lengths behind you like he's done this before. You turn the stereo up just a little bit louder in an attempt to drown out any more thoughts of him from your brain, which of course, fails miserably.

You pull into your complex and he pulls in behind you. You were half hoping he'd just — flash his lights and keep going, waving you off into your dorm room. Instead, he parks.

You meet him just outside of the entrance to the dorm hall, pulling your jacket just a bit tighter around your shoulders.

"Thanks again." you say again.

"It's fine."

"I know…but thank you. I really appreciate it, Logan."

Something shifts in his expression. Just briefly, just enough that you notice and then immediately question whether you imagined it.

"…Call Triple A in the morning. They can come replace your battery." You nod obediently, and he tilts his head towards you just a little bit.

"Get some sleep," he says.

You nod. "Yeah."

He doesn't move for exactly one second too long.

You watch him walk off into the darkness of the parking lot. You keep standing there even after you hear his car start, and even after the sound of his engine fades out down the street. Finally, you scan your ID and let yourself into the building taking a deep breath once you're inside.