Chapter Text
[Sargeant Beachside Estate—April 24, 2010, Spring Gala]
Fernando eyed the guests as he walked around the lavish beach side estate. The party was properly in full swing, guests idling around as he kept his eye out for the Sargeant boys. He could see the eldest tugging around the youngest, the ten year old looking severely uncomfortable as guests fawned over him.
The young boy, Logan, smiled sweetly at the guests as Dalton shook hands with the man standing besides the woman. The twelve year old looked far too grown, face twisting oddly as the man whispered something into Dalton’s ear before it was schooled into a calmer look, nodding as he waved over a servant. It makes something in Fernando shift uneasily, the idea that Harvey Sargeant has his twelve year old son involved in his business.
Logan is whisked away by an overly-excited four year old Lia Block, his own expression shifting into something softer as he hauls the younger girl into his arms. Dalton disappears with the man, the woman finding company with a smaller group of women, their heads ducked together and champagne glasses that never go empty.
Fernando is so caught up trying to keep an eye on the shrinking back of Dalton that he doesn’t notice a shorter child standing next to him. The kid can’t be any older than at least nine, the little bow tie making him look almost younger than that.
“You’re looking a bit too hard.” The kid says, looking around. His voice is twisted with a heavy accent, clearly Australian; he has dealt with enough Australians, thank you very much. He has that childish tilt to it, a soft lisp accompanying his young voice. Speaking of them, he looks around again, finding his partner in an intense looking conversation with Roger Penske.
The kid is still staring at him when he turns back around, brown eyes staring him down. For the first time in years, it makes Fernando feel uneasy.
“How old are you?” He finds himself asking, looking around again as if the kid’s parents will pop up out of thin air.
The kid shrugs, taking a sip out of his glass, “Nine, I’m just small for my age.” He says, his eyes now on the still mingling crowd, “Y’know, I thought it was going to be difficult to locate the Fernando Alonso, but once I saw Mr. Webber, I knew you wouldn’t be far behind.”
Something cold ripples down Fernando’s spine as the kid, turns back to him, saying, “Went through all that effort to find information on you and here you are.”
There’s something terrifying about his smile, a child-like grin soaked in saccharine, but his eyes are all-knowing, seemingly aged with knowledge Fernando feels a little too nervous about.
“The Sargeants have been involved with underground gambling for at least ten years,” The kid adds on, voice dipping down to just above a whisper, his voice cracking slightly, “If you go down the hall, three doors on the right, it’s the farthest one. It looks like a supply closet, but you can only get in if you’re taken personally by Dalton or Mr. Sargeant himself.”
Fernando blinks, his grip on his champagne glass tightening just as Mark looks over, immediately making his way over to them when he sees the startled look on his partner’s face. The two have been through a lot, have done a lot and little surprises Fernando nowadays—he looks like a ghost, shell-shocked with a stiff back.
The boy is gone by the time Mark makes his way over, Fernando following the gentle bob of the kid’s head as he easily weaves his way through the crowd. He loses sight of him completely once he goes past the double doors, out into the main area of the house.
“Amor, the gambling house is under the estate.” Fernando said, voice stable despite the clinging chill in his bones. Mark makes a noise, his hand a steady weight on his lower back as he carefully leads them to the outside parlor.
Mark blinks, wondering how many years they’ve had in the Force and how it never occurred to them that the gambling house is right under them.
“Well shit.” Is all Mark can say, hands now on his hips. They had been following a semi-cold tail from the Sargeant family, funds from small businesses being funneled out and disappearing into thin air. The only viable clue they had was that the Block family was involved, one way or another.
“Who do we send?”
“Lewis?”
“No, he’s on that mission with Nico. Jenson?”
“Maybe? Him and DC were supposed to be back a few hours ago from Baku.” Mark said, pulling out his phone as Fernando looked into the window. The kid was back, standing just besides Logan, his bow tie wonky and a squirming Lia clinging to his back.
He gets Mark’s attention, pointing out the kid, “Do you know who he is?”
Mark has the phone pressed to his ear, staring at the kid as he mutters into the phone. He shakes his head and Fernando frowns, forcing himself to stay still when the kid suddenly looks over, meeting his eyes through the throngs of people and smiling.
A chill runs down his spine.
[Sargeant Beachside Estate— January 3, 2015]
Logan frowns as he steps into the foyer, a trail of sand following him. He puts his backpack down, kicking his shoes off before turning to look for the broom. He’s usually the one to track sand in so he took it upon himself to clean up.
“Armando! Have you seen the broom?” Logan calls out to the butler that usually lingers around the living room and kitchen. There’s the sound of rustling before Armando’s accented voice rings across the room.
“Oh, leave it Mr. Sargeant, I’ll take care of it.”
It’s the first sign that something’s wrong. One, Armando hasn’t called Logan Mr. Sargeant in years, having taken to calling him Lolo. Second, Armando was on strict instructions that the foyer was Logan’s area to clean. Third, there were traces of nerves in the Italian man’s voice, something Logan found odd as Armando was anything but nervous.
Slowly, Logan edges his way into the living room. Armando is there, hands clasped tightly behind him, hands nearly trembling. Sitting on the old recliner, the Miami Herald spread open in his hands, was Harvey Sargeant.
Logan hasn’t seen him in years, not since he walked out when he was ten.
Armando seems relieved to see him, shoulders minutely relaxing as Logan steps besides him, a flurry of emotions festering in his chest. His father has always been an enigma, an out of reach man that governed over their family.
The sound of a door opening and closing, softly and quiet almost as if not to be heard. His mom exits the hall, an apron around her waist and flour all over her. Her face is pale, tension lining her face as she spots him.
But Logan can’t focus on her, not when his father had placed the newspaper down and was staring at him.
Harvey Sargeant’s presence alone could fill a room. He had seen it when he entered, saw the expressions on the house staff’s faces. Armando had been quick to govern the staff again, fixing the house up while he entered the kitchen.
His wife had looked as beautiful as he had left her, an apron wrapped around her waist, flour all over her hands and shirt. He had waited until she noticed, her face slackening before every expression was hidden behind a tired mask.
He didn’t ask for forgiveness for disappearing in the middle of the night, didn’t even offer an explanation as he left. He hears her let out a shuddering breath as he climbs up the stairs, heading towards Dalton’s room.
His son is at his desk, a pair of headphones on his head as he scribbles on a notebook. Dalton was smart and horribly observant so he turned his head, looking over his shoulder. He doesn’t look surprised and he shouldn’t be if Dalton was listening to the right channels, befriending the right people.
He probably knew about Harvey’s return before Harvey himself.
“Where’s Logan?” He asks, peeking out to see Logan’s bedroom door tightly shut. The old blackboard is no longer there, the stickers that they had put together scrapped away leaving a bare white door behind; it sends an odd feeling settling in his chest.
“With the Kirkwoods,” Dalton said, sliding the headphones off and turning to give his attention to his dad, “When did you get back?”
“A few hours ago, touched down in Orlando, circled the Block.” He says, tone edging into something knowingly. Dalton doesn’t react, steely green eyes tracking his every move. It’s unnerving, but it’ll help him down the road.
“When will he be back?”
“Dinner, a few minutes from now.” Dalton replies, standing up. He’s taller, no longer the kid that looked up at him but rather a young man that can level his gaze with him. His gaze flickers, a few emotions flitting by before they’re gone.
“He won’t want to see you.” Dalton says, crossing his arms, “You don’t exist to him.”
Harvey scoffs causing Dalton to frown, “I’m being serious Dad, you left days after his birthday. He thought it was something he did. Do you remember what kind of kid he was? He’s nothing like that anymore, he’s skeptical of those around him.”
Harvey shakes his head, almost patronizingly. It makes Dalton’s blood thrum under his skin, the years he had taken to cover for his dad, for his immoral business and sick under the table deals that soak his seventeen year old hands in innocent blood.
“He’ll deal.” His dad says, shrugging. It aggravates Dalton, thinking of all the nights Logan had cried, wondering where his father had gone, if he had been too much, had asked for too much. Dalton swore he would never forgive him, swore he would give him a piece of his mind, but Dalton is just a kid in the grand scheme of events, a replaceable pawn in his dad’s game.
His dad is gone before Dalton can say anything else, the sound of doors slamming and the staff scurrying around, out of sight.
✩✩✩
Dalton makes his way downstairs when he hears Logan call for Armando, hears the way his voice dies away and makes it to the landing just as Logan catches sight of their dad.
He has the Miami Herald opened on his lap, disinterest etched into his features. Logan looks over at him, flashes of hurt flitting by before he blinks and they’re gone. His face shifts into nothing, the flush he had walked in with had disappeared almost immediately.
“Dinner is ready.” Their mom says, voice tight as she ducks back into the kitchen, away from this, from them. Unknown to Logan, the past, present and future of Sargeant Holdings were currently together. After Dalton, Harvey expected Logan to start learning the ropes of their company, maybe not the dirty parts, but the actual business work.
“I ate already,” Logan says stiffly, body ramrod straight. He’s pinned by his father’s unrelenting gaze, cold and calculating as he stands up slowly. It’s almost terrifying, the way he advances towards Logan, as if he’s the predator and Logan the helpless prey.
“In that case, the young Master can put away his laundry,” Laurel interrupts, hustling into the room, “He is, after all, old enough to do so, aren’t you?”
Logan is heading for the stairs before anyone can say anything else. Laurel never does his laundry, having taught him how to do it when he was twelve and going through outfits quicker than the staff could wash. He can hear his father say something, muffled by the floors between them as he enters his room.
Oscar had suggested a go-bag, stuffed with his documents and clothes. He had thought it was weird at first when Oscar had suggested it, but Oscar had explained it was just a precaution since they lived on the coast and you never know when the sea will turn on you. So Logan grabs it, swinging it over his shoulders and carefully opens his window.
The drop isn’t that far down, years of scaling the pristine scaffolding and the sand that muffles his footsteps helping his escape. He ducks around the corner, his bike leaned against one of the walls. Once he’s cleared, he bikes into town, almost subconsciously making his way to the Piastris.
They’re probably having dinner, Nicole will try to feed him and he would be helpless in saying no. The girls will want to play with him and Logan has always had a soft spot for the young Piastri girls. It makes his heart twist as he turns into the nearby park, deciding to hang here until he can either go back home or until Oscar finds him.
He lays on the grass, his hands crossed over his stomach as he watches the tree above him. The sound soothes him, his eyes closing as the faint sound of leaves rustling and the far away sound of waves crashing onto shore surround him.
The thought of his father returning had never occurred to Logan once he got older, once the abandonment had eased into something akin to quiet resentment. He hated his father, hated that he disappeared, fell off the face of the Earth and let them drown. Sure the money never stopped flowing, the staff were paid on time, they never had to worry about not having a roof over their heads or food on the table, but his mom became a shell of herself, Dalton at the age of twelve had to step up.
And Logan had to readjust his own expectations on who his father was.
“Sun’s down.” Oscar says, climbing up the little hill to collapse next to Logan, “Dal called.”
Logan props himself up on his elbows, turning to look at Oscar, “He’s back.”
Oscar sighed, legs crossed and fingers mindlessly tugging at the grass, “Yeah, I heard.” He had heard more through his own channels, the whispers of a man with a blood trail coming for his family, for the steadily growing empire his eldest son was leading.
Silence engulfs them, nothing but the sounds of mosquitoes and cicadas. Logan has laid back down, the darken sky having taken over the warm sunset. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, let alone how he’s going to face the oppressiveness of his father’s presence.
Oscar nudges him, “C’mon, I’ll ask Mom to drop you off.”
Logan sighs, standing up and making his way back to his bike. Oscar smiles at him, comforting and gentle, but his eyes twinkle in that same way when he knows something that Logan doesn’t. Logan has always felt that Oscar knew more than he let on, the things he would say that made the hair on the back of Logan’s hair stand on edge.
The two ride down the familiar streets of Oscar’s neighborhood, similar houses lining the streets, the silence edging out to noise as the faint sounds of families and children echo around him. It feels warmer here, almost brighter than the cool blue edges of the Estate.
Nicole feeds him first, and Logan plays with the girls for a bit before his bike is being loaded into the back of the Piastri truck. She lets Oscar drive, pretending that she’s not nervous as he carefully navigates his way through the streets.
He gets dropped off a few minutes away from the Estate, needing the short moment of solitude. Oscar gives him a barely concealed look of worry as Logan waves them away, hopping onto his bike and making his way to the boardwalk that leads him home.
Somehow, he can feel the gloominess from here, at the top of the boardwalk. The Estate is visible, the backdrop a stormy ocean night and all he can do is sigh, pedaling forward as the chill eats away the last of the warmth protecting him.
[Sargeant Beachside Estate—June 16th, 2016]
Dalton disappears just like their father.
Logan had felt it, had felt the sinking feeling when he woke up and heard the stuttering sobs of his mom. His father was out, probably already at the office when he gathered the courage to leave his room.
There’s a letter taped to his door, Dalton’s familiar scrawl etched onto the paper. He feels his stomach sink, twisting with nausea as he slips back into his room, the letter clenched in his hands.
Dear Lo,
I’m sorry that I left, that I couldn’t keep our promise of escaping together. I wish I could’ve brought you along, that I could’ve kept you with me and not leave you with him. Shit got difficult with the company and Dad and I couldn’t deal with it anymore.
I’ll come back for you one day, I swear I will. Hold on until then. Do not trust Dad and promise me that you will do whatever possible to not be involved with the company. Stay away from it, promise me that please.
Your Big Brother,
Dalton.
It makes something sick curl in Logan’s stomach, threatening to split him open. Dalton had promised, swore up and down that they would leave this twisted Estate together and now—now Logan had to face it alone.
Oscar is furious when he finds out, the letter clenched in his hands as he tries to get his thoughts together. There has to be some other reason Dalton left, the Dalton Oscar had grown to admire, to respect as an older brother, would never, in a million years, leave Logan alone, leave them alone.
But he did and Oscar will never forgive him for it.
Logan stays out of the house for as long as he can, from morning until sunset, taking refuge at Oscar’s house or the rickety boat he had bought two summers ago that threatens to overthrow him. He sometimes ends up at the Kirkwoods, curled up on Kyle’s beanbag, his friend trying to keep him busy.
Eventually though, Logan has to go home.
The Estate had lost its warmth, replaced the ever-present chill that lingers around every corner. Dinners are stilted, quiet and tense making Logan aware of every move his father makes.
It’s here, sitting across his mom, a seat down from the head of the table that he sees it. At first he thought it was a shadow, her hair let loose and over her shoulders until she tilted her head to the side, a visible hand print on her neck, two deep bruises at the hinge of her jaw.
Ice trickles into his stomach, the world around him spinning as he puts his fork down. His eyes flicker to his father, he’s cutting into his medium rare steak, chewing and humming. He sees the flinch when he drops the utensils on the ceramic plate, the noise vibrating in his ears.
His mom’s hands tremble as she cuts her own steak, and Logan doesn’t know what to do. His gaze flickers back to the empty seat beside him, where Dalton would’ve sat. Dalton always knew what to do, always knew how to reign their father in, but Dalton isn’t here, Dalton left them to save his own ass.
“Can I be excused?” Logan says, hoping his voice didn’t tremble as his father looked at him, “I ate too much at Kyle’s.”
“Yes, baby,” His mom says, voice tight, “Just wash your dishes.”
His father’s eyes follow him the entire way through.
Logan’s feet drag against the floor like if they had sand bags tied to them, feeling the world spin around him as he enters the kitchen. He disposes what he didn’t eat, quickly washing his plate before escaping out the back kitchen door. The salty air is biting when he stumbles down the steps, covered in sand as he runs.
The sound of waves crashing onto shore is deafening, the wind blowing him over until he falls to his knees. Everything is wrong, or maybe everything has already been wrong and he’s just realizing it, no longer protected by Dalton.
The sand shifts under him, his hands sinking into it and he hopes and begs it takes him under; its hard to breathe once sand collapses onto you, the grains refusing to shift and move no matter how hard you fight, how tight your chest gets. It’s the worst way to die, yet Logan feels that there are worse ways.
The wind howls around him, the plants seem to scream alongside it and Logan is left to brave the cold by himself.
[Piastri Household—July 10th, 2016]
The letter sits unopened for three hours. It had arrived in the middle of all the other mail, Hattie leaving it on the table. Nicole knew what it was, or at least had an idea of it. Her husband sits next to her, eyes focused on the letter like it would burst into flames any minute.
It was a warning, they knew that, had known since Harvey Sargeant stepped back into their town. They had to work quickly, a warning left by a Spaniard with tired eyes, someone Oscar had found himself entangled with, fingers twisted in a world he had no right to be in.
There’s an acceptance letter right beside it, the posh boarding school Mark Webber had enrolled Oscar into. They had asked and borderline pleaded if there was another way, any chance of Oscar staying but the answer had been quite clear: Oscar, whether he knew it or not, was in danger.
[Sargeant Beachside Estate—August 12, 2016]
Oscar had left the week before, fuming until he was standing at the airport, Logan standing besides him. He had been furious when he found out his parents enrolled him to some stupid posh boarding school while they returned to Australia, effectively leaving Logan all alone.
His best friend kept true to his word, calling and texting whenever he had a chance, muttering about roommates and uniforms that made him seem like he came from actual money. Logan clung to every interaction like a lifeline, wishing he could be there with Oscar rather than this miserable house.
His only light seemed to be Kyle, his last standing friend. He usually spent hours on end at the Kirkwood home, but sometimes Kyle made the twenty-five minute trek to his house. The two would lock themselves in Logan’s room, ignoring the vacant room down the hall.
They would spend hours playing whatever games Logan had, sometimes they snuck out on Logan’s rickety boat or laid in silence, the few rare times they fell asleep together stuck with Logan. He had known, to some degree, that he was attracted to guys. He never quite looked deep into it, but the longer Kyle stuck around, the quicker Logan realized he was in trouble.
Today of all days, on this gloomy humid day, Kyle Kirkwood pressed Logan down on the bed, sun chapped lips pressed against soft rose ones. It’s the first time Logan had been kissed by a guy, the difference is almost jarring; Kyle has spotty stubble, but it drags against Logan’s skin in a way of delightful confusion.
When Logan kisses back, he feels Kyle melt against him, lips separating for just a moment. Logan thinks that if this were his end, despite all that he was going through, that this would be a good ending.
[Sargeant Beachside Eastate— February ##, 2019]
The three years pass in a mix of fast and slow. He still avoided his father like the plague, but there were moments Logan couldn’t escape, small points in time where Logan leaves with more bruises.
The first time he had stepped in between his mom and his father he had been eighteen. While their father was gone, Dalton had signed both of them up for self defense classes, always a little paranoid and on edge. Logan had shown up for the classes, learned what he needed to learn before he stopped going; he was never good with violence, never saw the appeal in it therefore refusing to engage with it.
Except violence has always lived within his family, whether he was aware of it or not, it runs in their blood and Logan is neither lucky nor sane enough to hold it back.
But he does, because he’s a Sargeant, and Sargeants above all persevere, and as much as Logan tries to ignore it, he is Harvey and Madelyn Sargeant’s son and they bide their time, waiting for the shadows to retreat and strike when they least expect them.
He takes the punches and the insults, lets himself be turned black and blue. In stands with his back to his mom, her hands clenched against his back, begging him to move.
Harvey had laughed, a loud haunting thing before he struck Logan down. Harvey had always been harsh, his love and fondness for his sons edged away by blood soaked glory and the mind-altering need to be feared and respected. Logan standing in front of him with a defiant look was nothing he couldn’t take care of.
It’s how Kyle finds him one day, lying in bed after a rough night directing his father’s anger towards him. The injuries aren’t that bad, a few bruises that crawl around his stomach and a soreness that feels bone deep.
Laurel probably let him in, the house devoid of his parents. It’s easier being out of the house rather than being in it, the ever-suffocating presence of his father filling every crack and crevice.
He hears Kyle more than hears him, hears his footsteps before a steady hand lay flat against his back. He can almost feel the tremble in his hand as Logan shifts, side screaming in protest and face twisting as he ends up on his back. Kyle’s hand doesn’t move, fingertips brushing against the worse side of the bruise.
“Who did this to you?” Kyle asks, voice tense, his hand once again flat against Logan’s stomach. Logan lays his hand over his, dragging it away from where it was putting a bit more pressure on bruises.
“Doesn’t matter,” Logan mutters, breath hitching when Kyle kneels onto the bed, trying to lay down next to Logan. A whimper escapes him as the bed shifts harshly, and Kyle gives him an apologetic look.
“I’ll kill them.” Kyle says, his tone harsh and Logan can’t help the snort, his chest stuttering a bit. He was thankful that his father’s kick had landed on the soft give of his stomach and not his achy ribs; he wouldn’t know how to explain that to Kyle had they broken.
“Wouldn’t matter, babe.” Logan says quietly, shifting around again despite the way the bruises burned. His body felt too tight, achy in a way he was too familiar with, and he really needed Kyle to hold him.
[August 2019]
Logan and Kyle had been together for three years. Their relationship had been the light of Logan’s days, having someone far away from his family that he can spend time with; Kyle had become a safe space for him.
Logan had graduated the year before and despite the gnawing need to break away from his family, he couldn’t leave his ailing mom behind. She had gotten sick sometime the year before, the family doctors won’t tell him what it was, but the signs were there: depression and severe anxiety with chronic migraines and something else they always flounder their way around when he asks.
A real clusterfuck in all of Logan’s problems.
At this point he’s only at the Estate to check up on her, Laurel giving him the run down on her condition when he pops by. It’s not bad, but it’s not good either, her good days becoming less and less as time passes.
Anyway, the point of the matter is that Kyle is lying to him. At first Logan hadn’t thought anything of it, he knew Kyle had a life outside of Logan. The two couldn’t exactly stay attached to the hip as much as they would like with Logan being in school and Kyle interning for his dad.
The thing that tipped Logan off was the cologne sticking to Kyle’s sweater. It wasn’t what they usually wore, but it was stronger, heavier in the way that the scent lingered even as the days passed. He knew Kyle wasn’t cheating on him, knew that Kyle wouldn’t hurt him like that, but the thought lingers longer than he would like.
He gets his answer towards the end of August; the day he meets Colton Herta and everything clicks. The Hertas were the ones contracted to clean up messes and had been working out in the West Coast. Dalton, despite his faults, hadn’t left Logan completely unaware of the families that their family had contact with.
The last Logan had heard, they had been contracted by the Andretti family.
Colton was friendly, smile wide and welcoming but like all families in this type of business, there was something unnerving about him, something that made Logan’s senses go haywire. His understanding of fight or flight had been triggered by his father, days where all he could do was fight and others where exiting a situation was safer than putting up a fight.
Kyle and Colton had quickly become as thick as thieves, always together, conspiratory smiles and inside jokes Logan wasn’t allowed to ask about. Kyle wasn’t cheating, but some days, when Logan laid in what he called their bed, it felt like it.
[2020]
Everything continues to go downhill.
Kyle and Logan argue more often than not, screaming matches that leave Logan rattled and Kyle disappearing for days on end with Colton. It fuels the anger, the absolute disbelief that Kyle chooses to hang out with the Californian rather than to stay and try to solve their issues.
It doesn’t matter either way, Logan is busy with school and his mom continues to worsen. It makes Logan feel like the word is constantly opening under him, his mom laid in bed with fresh bruises.
Logan stops sleeping at the Kirkwood residence, once again taking up his room at the Estate. Kyle doesn’t notice his absence and Logan doesn’t wait for him to notice. He empties his side of the room, shoving things in a box before placing them where they once went back in his room.
He manages to continue with school, shows up for classes, passes them with the highest grades possible and goes back to the house to care for his mom.
Some days are better than others, the days where she can join him at the table and not at the little table he bought for her room. Some days she looks alive, other days she looks like just breathing wrong will send her tumbling.
His father continues to exist, infesting the small corners of light with his presence. He pretends to care for his mom, sitting beside her bed while she sleeps. Logan refuses to leave them alone and Harvey knows better than to attempt anything while Logan is there.
A few months ago, Logan had woken up to sirens and flashing red and white lights. Laurel had burst into his room moments later, inconsolable as she pulled Logan into his mom’s room.
She had bruises all over her, skin spilt and bleeding. Logan barely had time to react before the paramedics flooded the room, voices calm and steady as they asked for information. Laurel is the one to give it, having been a steady caregiver for his mom.
The hospital ride had been quiet, his truck steady under his grip as he followed after the ambulance. He knew who did it, knew who had enough anger and vitriol in them to hurt his mom.
Oscar calls him an hour later, forgoing a greeting to ask: “How is she?”
Logan had learned to stop asking how Oscar got his information, the phrase I know a guy becoming overused the more Logan asked.
“She’s uh—she’s strong,” Logan remembers saying, body trembling as he stood outside, “She’ll pull through, she always does.”
“Where’s Kyle?” Was the second question and Logan feels his heart sink as he looks around the empty front area. They had gotten into another spat, Kyle missing their third dinner date for a sudden out of town meeting with Colton. Logan had been so angry and hurt that he walked out, leaving Kyle alone in a dining room with cold food.
Kyle had left the next morning, leaving nothing behind besides a note that said Going with Col, see you soon. Logan had packed his things that afternoon.
“He went with Colton,” Logan mumbles, “I don’t know where but he’ll—uhm, he’ll be gone for as long as he needs to be.”
The silence is heavy on the other line, and Logan lets out a cry, chest tightening and throat closing up. In such a vast world, at this moment, at 2 am on a random weekday, Logan is completely and utterly alone.
Oscar whispers words of comfort, his own voice cracking around his words as Logan cries, cries for him and his mom, cries for the ten year old that was abandoned and then the fifteen year old that was left to survive on his own. He cries until he feels sick, feels his chest ache with familiar dry heaving as he crouches.
(Across the world, a plan forms in Oscar’s mind, the endless favors he has ready to be cashed in)
When the seemingly endless pit of despair ends abruptly, rage seeps into the cracks and Logan finds himself giving into the violence he tried so hard to avoid.
Sargeant Holdings is a pristine skyscraper in the middle of the city. Logan hasn’t stepped foot in this building since he was nine and thought his father was the best man in the world. Now though, he storms through the halls, finding his father’s office and pushing past a fidgety receptionist and slamming the door shut.
“Why did you do it?” Logan asks, keeping his tone steady, “She’s already weak as it is, there was no need to do that to her.”
She had a bruise the shape of Harvey’s hand around her neck, the impressions leaving dark, terrible bruises in their wake. His father grins, a dark sadistic thing that makes the hairs on the back of Logan’s head to stand. This was the point where Logan’s instincts screamed at him to run, to avoid the inevitable beating.
But Harvey Sargeant tried to kill his mom and Logan couldn’t have that.
Logan had lunged at him, a proper right hook catching Harvey on the cheek. When Harvey pulled him by the collar of his shirt, Logan had rammed his head into his nose, his skull vibrating by the pure force.
He doesn’t remember much of the actual fight, only that when he comes to, his father had stopped fighting and was nothing but a bloody pulp under him. A sick sense of vindication runs through Logan, the thought that for the first time, Logan had come out on top.
“Touch her again and I promise you, I will kill you.” Logan swears, fists aching and bleeding, “You’re not the only person that knows a guy.”
Because he’s not, because somewhere around the world, Jenson Button goes on with his life with a burner phone that doesn’t ring, but he continues to carry on the off chance that Logan calls.
“You would’ve been a good fighter only if your brother didn’t make you so weak,” His father growls, “Wherever your brother is, I’m sure he’s disappointed in you.”
It’s so uncalled for and at that moment, it doesn’t even make sense. Why would Dalton be disappointed in Logan? What has Logan done to make his brother disappointed in him? If anything, Logan is the one who should be disappointed in his brother, and he is!
He turns back, thinking that maybe he can get away with killing him before he swings his foot, connecting it with the soft part of his father’s stomach. He used to be on the soccer team before he dropped it and he was well known for his kick.
Logan had moved his mother out of their room, placed her in the one nearest to him and frequently stayed with her while she dozed. Sometimes she was okay, well enough to eat and talk, strong enough to walk alongside the coast with him. Other days he wonders if her dying would be a better idea than for her to continue suffering.
Kyle is still MIA days after. Logan decides he’s over it, he has more things to worry about, his mom and his own life.
It’s two weeks later when Kyle shows up to the Estate, a bruise in his cheekbone and a cut on his lip. Logan had stared at him, wondered if he could add on another bruise out of the pure audacity Kyle had to show up.
“You weren’t at the apartment.” He says, as if that explains why he’s wasting Logan’s time, “So, I just wanted to come and check on you.”
“Kyle,” Logan starts tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face, “My mom was at the hospital for three days, I have exams on top of everything, and my so-called boyfriend went on a three week bender, so forgive me, that I wasn’t at your place waiting for you like.”
Kyle, to his defense, truly does look guilty, “Yeah, I heard—“
“You heard and stayed wherever you were,” Logan says, “You have a lot of fucken nerve showing up at my door expecting something.”
“I noticed that your things were gone,” Kyle says, crossing his arms, “I didn’t—what’s going on? Why are you acting like this?”
Agitation runs through Logan, “My mom could’ve died, Kyle, what part of that isn’t fucking clicking? You fucked off for three fucking weeks after you stood me up for the third time! I thinking I’m acting pretty fucking accordingly.”
“That’s what this is all about?! Me forgetting about our dates?” Kyle shouts back, face flushing and Logan has given into violence, has felt what it feels like to have a man broken and bloody under you, but this? This was a different type of rage, this was Kyle playing him for a fool, for twisting his words and not seeing the image Logan was pointing out.
“No, you asshole, this is about you choosing Colton over me, this is about you taking the fucking job his family offered you,” Kyle freezes, paling immediately because yeah, Logan found out, a letter sent by Jenson telling him to be careful because the Herta’s were back in business full time.
“This, Kyle, is you choosing Harvey over me, after everything he has done to me, after the broken bones and bruises that took weeks to heal,” Logan’s chest feels tight, his throat dry as he continues, "You were all I had, after Dalton and Oscar left, after Mom got sick, but you continue to show me that I don’t matter enough to you.”
“Logan please—“
Logan shakes his head, body trembling as he swallows, a chasm tearing through his chest, “So, we’re done. You chose your life, one that has harmed me at every turn, one that took my brother from me. I don’t want to see you or hear from you again and I’m sure you’ll do great in that part since you’ve acted like I’ve never existed.”
He closes the door, hears Kyle pace the front porch before he leaves, the sound of his truck revving away.
[2023]
The years pass by in a blur, Logan doesn’t see or hear of Kyle or Colton, sticking to going to school and keeping up with his mom. She’s getting better, not how she was when he was young, but she seems stronger, healthier.
His father, after the last time Logan let him get away with putting his hands on him a few months ago, stays away from the Estate. Life doesn’t breathe back into it, with just two people and a handful of staff living there.
“So there’s nothing to convince you to come to the UK?” Oscar asks, voice tinny from Logan’s phone speakers. It causes him to look away from his tablet, the shades of green merging into each other. Graphic design hadn’t been his first choice, but it was the furthest from Business and he only has a few months left.
“There’s no point in transferring now, Osc.” Logan says, “I graduate next June.”
“Yeah but think about it! We can graduate together, just like we said we would when we were kids.” Oscar’s tone goes soft, and Logan sighs. Oscar never came back to the States after graduating from his posh boarding school. He had gotten into some fancy university in Central London while Logan attended University of Miami.
“Fine, I’ll think about it.” Logan sighs, “Send me the information.”
Oscar cheers, giggling as he pulls the phone closer to him. They talk for a bit longer, the hours bleeding into each other before Oscar says goodbye.
The process is easier than Logan thought, his counselor telling him it’ll be easy as pie and sends Logan on his way. It leaves him to figure out accommodations and find a job, well, not really, being willingly locked up at the Estate left him with enough time to become a freelancer and he’s done okay so far.
Oscar: Figured out your living situation
Oscar: This is Alex, he lives like twenty minutes from the school
Oscar: He’s cool, you’ll love him i promise
Oscar: [Alex’s Albon Contact]
It all happens quickly, he sends a text introducing himself as a friend of Oscar’s and setting on how much he’ll pay for rent—even though Oscar tells him not to worry about that either—and when he can move in.
Alex Albon: The 2nd of October should be fine
Logan Sargeant: Okay, see you then
[Sargeant Estate—September 30th, 9:45pm]
It all happens slowly.
Logan had let his mom know his plans, and she had been more than happy for him, hands shaky as they brushed his hair away. He didn’t want to leave her behind, but according to him, she was frail, not dead.
Laurel and Armando had promised to keep him updated on everything that happened with his mom and Logan thought, hey, this is pretty easy and it was, until it wasn’t.
Until he opened the door and Dalton was standing there, in a three piece suit with an exhausted look on his face. Logan had slammed the door in his face, rage and disbelief rising inside him like a vengeful tsunami, seconds from causing catastrophic damage. He forces himself to breathe, feels his lungs expand before he opens the door, nearly slamming it shut when he sees Harvey had joined Dalton on their doorstep.
Harvey pushes his way past and Dalton follows, eyes flickering towards Logan.
“Where’s your mother?” Harvey asks, taking a seat on the recliner. Logan should’ve thrown it out when he had the chance.
Logan edges his way towards the stairs, “Asleep, as she usually is at this time.” He says, tone sharp, “I’m sure the cooks left some dinner on the stove.”
His things are loaded into his truck, not a lot, a few suitcases and a box of memories, things he couldn’t leave without. It feels like all those years ago, when his father’s temper rose that not even a beating could round it out and Logan was slipping out of the window to Kyle’s.
He doesn’t know how it happens, but he’s sitting in his truck twenty minutes later; he doesn’t linger, he throws the truck into drive and disappears, the dimly lit Estate becoming smaller and smaller in his mirrors until it’s nothing but bad memories and a shitty life being left behind.