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He supposes he should be sad. Or angry. Probably both. But he just felt, nothing. He was still caught up in the whirlwind that was Bea- Cassidy’s violent death and the revelations his verbal suicide note brought both himself and Veronica. Not to mention her dad.
He knew Keith Mars hated him. Plain and simple. Not that Logan didn’t deserve it. He did. He was an asshole. He was selfish, compulsive, probably a narcissist. But by God, did Logan love Veronica Mars. In a way that scared him. In a way that made it hard for him to breathe when he thought about it too much. Changed the way he thought and acted and felt. He’s also a little jealous. Keith’s world revolves around Veronica like a second sun. He cares what she says, what she does. He would do anything to ensure she was okay. Veronica’s world would crumble if something happened to her father.
He ached for a parental relationship like that. He supposed he had it with his mom. But she had her own problems, ones she dealt with booze and pills and dissociative behaviours. Including her suicide – not even leaving behind a suicide note to remember her by. He remembers when he was little and would be home sick from school with a cold, or a black eye. He would wander, sniffling into her large, lavish bedroom. She would pat the bed beside her, cancel whatever socialite plans she had that day, and tickle Logan’s back while they watched movies on the obscenely large screen adorning the wall in the bedroom. One of the only things that calmed him and made him feel better; being safe and secure with his mom. As time went on, and Aaron became more, well, Aaron, his mother folded in on herself. She drank more, hid more, and left Logan to receive the brunt of Aaron’s fury. Not that Logan cared. He would rather break every bone in his body than see his mother hurt. He saw the joy of life slowly leave his mother’s eyes. They became sallow and sad. It reminded Logan of the way the water changes color when a storm is rolling it. It sent a chill into the pit of his stomach.
Now he had to deal with Aaron’s death by himself. Deal with a man that he was supposed to love, but whom he deeply despised for the majority of his 18 years of living. A man that the masses adored. Little did they know that with every smile Aaron gave his doting fans, the moment the door closed, that grin turned into an evil snarl, and he turned his hatred of himself onto his son. Welt, broken bones, a chipped tooth or two. Logan knew that this ‘family secret’ needed to be kept hidden. Even though he knew it would ruin his father’s career, he has gotten used to a certain way of life, and he knew that if the money flow stops – so does the life he knows. So, he kept quiet.
So of course, he is feeling conflicted.
Trina would be no help. She would be wandering the street of Neptune, searching out the paparazzi so they could photograph her mourning her recently acquitted father. Speaking to every news outlet as she could. Patting her reddened eyes, choking back tears. Remembering half-truth memories of their childhood and their father. It was sick. But Logan did have to applaud her tenacity. With Aaron gone, she couldn’t rely on him for work or money. So, the new Trina emerges.
Logan wanted to do Aaron’s funeral as quickly and as cheaply as possible. He didn’t want to think about his father for longer than a few seconds. When he did, his twice-broken nose aches. Most likely psychosomatic, but still, the pain was almost too raw to handle.
When Veronica finds out, she calls Logan in a panic saying that she will get on a plane early to help him. She’s already called the airline and they are waiting for her response. He brushes off her idea, tells her “I’ll be fine” and hangs up as quickly as he can without rousing her suspicion.
Which ends with him sitting at the dining table in his suite at the Neptune Grande, flipping through pamphlets from a fancy funeral home.
“Would it be wrong if I tell them to throw him in a ditch and let the animals have him?” Logan thinks.
The old him would have said it. And meant it. Not that he doesn’t mean it now. But losing a girlfriend, best friend and both parents in a year and a half definitely hardens someone. Long gone is the happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care Logan that existed when Lilly was alive. He’s suffocated that Logan. Shoved him deep, deep down. His childishness doesn’t remind him of the good times of being 16. It reminds him of sorrow and despair and a feeling of emptiness.
He takes a swig of beer and places it back on the table. He sighs.
He blindly picks a service and calls the funeral home. He thoughtlessly picks a date and time. He is running on autopilot. He doesn’t care what flowers or type of casket. What’s said by who and where and to whom. He wants him buried and forgotten.
Logan thinks that his curtness is palpable over the phone, as the older man says, “We will sort everything for you, Mr Echolls,” and promptly hangs up the phone.
He downs the rest of the beer and goes to sit on the couch before a prompt 3 knocks echo through the room. It’s definitely not Dick, he’s dealing with his own funeral arrangements. And misplaced hatred for Logan. And probably a nasty hangover. He knows he hasn’t ordered food, the emptiness in his stomach reminds him.
He pads his way over to the door and pulls it open slowly. In front of him is a petite blonde who should be eating street hot dogs on the other side of the country with her adoring dad. Logan sighs.
“I meant it. You didn’t need to come. Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you should be in New York.” Logan says, he moves aside as a silent invitation. She accepts.
“I know.”
His heart gets hot, and his hands start shaking. Veronica reaches over, grabs his wrist and leads him over to the couch. She pushes him down and promptly follows him, landing softly on the couch cushion beside him. Logan knows he’s crying. And he knows he should be embarrassed. But this isn’t the first time that Veronica has seen him cry. Not even the first time she has seen him cry over the death of a parent. His heart aches.
She softly grabs his neck and brings it down to rest on the small swell of her chest. She strokes his hair and cheek. She’s not saying anything, not even shushing him. She’s just there. A constant. They sit for what feels like an eternity. When he feels adequately emotionally exhausted, he moves his head off her chest and sits up beside her. He grabs her hand.
“I’m sorry.” She says, stroking his hand with her thumb. He responds by looking at her inquisitively.
“About your dad. I know that I shouldn’t be, but I am. I’m sorry you have to go through this by yourself. That’s why I came. You were here for me when we thought Dad had been killed, it didn’t seem right to let you deal with it alone. No matter how much you feel like you are.”
He looks down at her hands as fresh tears heat his eyes.
“I should hate him too. He murdered Lilly. And got away with it. He tried to kill you. And got away with it. But I just keep thinking about the fact that only a few of us know that awful, sadistic man he was. Everyone is going to say it was a tragedy. I mean, it’s not like he died in his sleep he was murdered. But I don’t care enough about him to care. I’m just furious that he will be remembered as a hero, a perfect father and husband and actor, and not the monster we knew him to be. But on the other hand, he was my dad and I have this stupid fucking loyalty to a man who made my childhood hell. He didn’t even remember my allergies for Christ’s sake!” A few stray tears trail down his face. Veronica gently holds her hand up to his face. Logan closes his eyes at the softness.
Veronica just listens. Listens to him go around and round in circles. Saying how much he hates his dad. Hates his dad for what he did to his mom, for what he did to him. But he also hates himself for loving Aaron. This unwavering, terrifying, disgusting love that he has for his father. He cries more. Yells. Balls his fists up in frustration and anguish. But she is there. With one hand on his, squeezing. The other stroking his hair, or the back of his neck, or rubbing lines up his bicep. A reminder of everything that he has gone through. Every horror that he has witnessed or experienced, the loss he has had to face in his life.
From it, he got her.