The Thrill is Gone

Summary: Meet the exes.


Remy paced outside the front porch, sucking hungry gulps of cigarette smoke into his lungs.

She was late. And she knew it. He was ready to kick over the large terra cotta pot holding several coleus plants.

Two weeks. She left him hanging two more weekends beyond when she’d promised to let him see Rene. First it was “Mon fils wanted t’go wit’ his oncle Julien t’the movies. Don’ deny ‘im dat, Remy. Rene’s got more family den you.”

Then it was “Promised Rene he could have a sleepover wit’ his friend from school. Can’t break a promise, chere.” Yet she’d happily make it look like Remy could. Putain.

The front yard was dry, the grass a faded green giving way to brown; she hadn’t watered it much since the last time he came. Patches of milkweed and clover overran the begonias he’d planted two years ago, choking them at the root. He sighed. It wasn’t his problem anymore.

Ten minutes ticked by, drifting into fifteen more when he checked the time on his cell. His leg muscles started to burn from standing there. The old brown Adirondack chair he’d left behind had since gone missing from the porch. Again, not his problem, but she never replaced it. He wasn’t about to dirty his good chinos sitting on the front stoop.

He was on his second cigarette when her tiny white Civic pulled up the gravel driveway. Her face was resigned, dominated by unhappy blue eyes as she jerked the parking brake into place. Some of Remy’s irritation lifted as he saw Rene’s head pop up over the edge of the front passenger seat as he craned it to see his father.

“Papa!” he cried over the creak of the rear door before he barreled out of the car as fast as his skinny legs would carry him.

“Dat’s m’boy! C’mere, chere!” Remy drawled, already kneeling for a hug that nearly bowled him over. He drank in the pleasant scent of his son’s hair and the warmth of his wiry young body, hugging him so hard his arms hurt. “Didja miss yer papa?”

“Oui! Maman said y’wuz comin’ today, Papa!” Belladonna tsked loudly from the driveway as she circled the car to shut the door dangling from its hinge. She juggled Rene’s backpack, her purse and two plastic sacks of groceries by their handles as she ascended the front walk.

“Can’t lend a hand?” she accused sourly. Remy grunted gently nudged Rene aside before taking his son’s backpack. “Merci,” she added with a roll of her eyes. “Big help.”

“Had a long wait, Belle,” he reminded her on a low grumble while she fiddled with the keys. “Remy t’ought de cows’d come home befo’ his son’s maman did. Hit some traffic?”

“What’s it t’you if I did, Remy?” His cheeks darkened as he hurled the backpack on the couch with a thud.

“Ain’t like yer de one dat’s gotta wait on pins an’ needles, Belle! Y’see Rene every mo’nin’ when y’wake up, an’ kiss ‘im goodnight every night! An’ ya jus’ ‘spect Remy t’wait fo’ Belle t’creep on home, easy an’slow as ya please? Like Remy ain’t waited long enough?” He was plowing his fingers roughly through his hair, lips twisted as though to tear into her. He felt Rene’s small hands tugging on the hem of his sweater.

“Papa, look at my picture!” That defused him quickly as Bella made her escape to the kitchen to deposit the bags. He dimly heard the rustle of the plastic bags and of cans hitting the hard pine table while Rene filled his ear.

“Well, lookit dat! Mon fils is an artist,” Remy mused fondly, ruffling his son’s chestnut brown hair. He drowned in soft hazel eyes and mentally counted the freckles sprinkled generously over his nose and cheeks. He sat on the old brocade couch with his son snuggled up against his side as he attempted to recognize the queer arrangement of shapes scrawled in crayon on dark blue construction paper.

“Dat’s Coyote Ugly, Papa,” he informed him proudly. Remy squinted and made out four blobby wheels and what looked like a twisted hood ornament and lopsided doors. The stick figure grinning beside it had a shock of brown hair sticking up from its head.

The shorter figure beside it was grinning just as broadly. “To Papa” was scrawled above it, right below a yellow sun and cotton ball clouds. Remy still had a fingerpainted handprint hanging in a frame made of dried macaroni hanging from the bulletin board of the shop for him and his uncle Philippe to enjoy. Remy’s heart twisted in his chest, pushing a lump into his throat.

“Course it is, Rene! Papa knew dat. How was school?”

“S’alright. A girl tried t’kiss me on de playgroun’.” Remy’s chuckle was hoarse.

“Really, now? Startin’ young, mon fils!”

“Non, Papa, NON!” His son’s face was scrunched up as he attempted to lean away from his father’s tickling hands. Bella was greeted by Rene’s cackling giggles as she made her way into the living room with a plastic cup of juice for Rene and water for Remy. Then both of their smiles faded.

“Wanna take him fo’ de weekend an’ bring him back Sunday night,” he informed her. She sighed heavily.

He didn’t deny that she was still beautiful. Faint character lines flanked the corners of her mouth, and her eyes were still that piercing crystal blue, almond shaped with dark brown lashes and arched brows. Her figure was still almost boyishly slim. She wore snug jeans and a white sweater that clung to her, its cropped hem just landing a couple of inches above her waistline to show a glimpse of her fair skin. She reached back and tugged on her thick blonde ponytail impatiently as she mulled his words.

“Take him, den. Don’ bring him back too late, Rem,” she warned. “Not like de last time.”

“Ain’t often dat Remy’s kept him dat late, chere,” he reminded her, his voice colored with disgust. “Tony been ‘roun’ lately?”

“Oui. Pourquoi?”

“Just askin’.” Rene watched this exchange warily before he hopped up from the couch to retrieve his backpack. In typical fashion, he retreated to the table and unzipped it, extracting two Star Wars action figures. He busied himself with his toys, effectively drowning out what they had to say. Remy’s gut pinched with shame.

“Den dat’s all Remy needs to know,” she snapped. “Wanna give Rene his dinner first.”

“Wanted t’take him out t’eat,” Remy argued blandly, standing up. She remained seated and crossed her ankle indolently over her knee.

“Don’ keep feedin’ him junk.”

“Who said a t’ing ‘bout junk? It’s called food, Belle. Might be nice if y’took mon fils somewhere t’eat wit’out draggin’ Tony along fo’ de ride. Jus’ him an’ you.”

“Don’ gimme dat, Remy. Bella don’ answer t’you no mo’.” She finally rose and deserted him, calling back over her shoulder. “Lemme pack ‘im a bag.”

“Fine,” Remy huffed. “Ain’ like y’couldna done it by now. Had long enough.” He wandered over to his son and watched him manipulate the articulated limbs of his Anakin Skywalker figure before he picked up the one of Jango Fett, poising it for attack. Rene giggled and practically attacked his hand.

Bella approached with a small, red canvas duffle bulging with two days’ worth of clothing. She gently shoved it at him and eyed him carefully.

“What ‘bout you, Remy? Who’s been hangin’ outside yer door?”

“Does it matter, Belle?”

“Does if mon fils is gon’ be stayin’ wit you.”

“De hell you say,” he growled. “Remy’s been livin’ like a damned saint since he walked out dat door, chere.” He beckoned to his son, who was diligently scooping up as many action figures as he could carry, frequently dropping them again until Remy grabbed two and stuffed them into his own pockets. “Don’ worry about what Remy does ev’ry time he leaves dis house. Y’aint never hafta worry ‘bout me bringin’ ‘im back.”

“Come an’ kiss Maman,” Bella clucked, holding out her arms to Rene. He gave her a dutiful, loud kiss on her cheek, and for the only time since she came home, her smile reached its full wattage. “Be good.”

“I will, Maman!”

“Bon nuit,” Remy murmured on his way out the door.”

“Remy knows when t’bring ‘im back. Don’ take liberties, chere,” she muttered from the doorway. Her arms were folded before the screen swung shut with a clang. His only reply was a wave over his shoulder, without looking back.


~0~


Logan despised shopping. The weird scents emanating from the makeup and perfume counters, the closely packed floors with rack after rack of clearance items that nearly poked your eye out when you bent to pick up the clothes that never seemed to stay on their hangers. All of it. His method of getting what he needed was a three-step process. One: Tell the hovering sales clerks “No thanks. M’good,” when they asked him for the third time if he needed help. Two: Pick up the nearest button-down shirt and hold it up to himself without even looking in one of the mirrored pillars. Three: Dig out some cash. And he was good.

He was in Hecht’s browsing a shelf of one-pocket tees in a rainbow of solid colors when he felt a hesitant tap on his shoulder. He reacted sharply and stepped back, accidentally bumping into someone solid.

“Oof,” muttered a voice by his ear, rumbling and familiar. Logan tensed, feeling his whole body stiffen even more when the same large hand gently closed over his shoulder. The warm presence at his back retreated so he could turn around.

“Walt,” Logan confirmed gruffly in a low voice.

“Hi,” he nodded. Slate blue eyes studied him expectantly. “What’ve you been up to? Saw you here, looking around.”

“Yeah. Just…lookin’, I guess. Haven’t been up ta much of anything.”

“How’s work?”

“Just finished another house with Summers.”

“Oh? How did it turn out?”

“Fine. But look, Walt, I better get goin’…”

“Don’t.” Logan’s massively built former partner lunged left to cut off his flight. Logan swore under his breath. His expression was calm but pleading.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“You can’t give me a minute?”

“Walt…uh-uh. I already gave ya a helluva lot more than that. An’ I’m tired.” The cords in Walter’s neck strained as he swallowed.

“I wasn’t ready for you to just walk out, Jamie.” His stomach knotted up at the use of his old pet name; Walt was the only one who liked his legal first name, James, better than his customary handle. “I’ve thought about you.”

“Yeah?” There it was. That same plaintive look settling over his European features. Logan rubbed his nape absently, conjuring the same memory for both of them.

His head had dented the plaster. Dented it.

“You know I’m sorry.”

“Walt…I’m sorry now. I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“I need to talk about it!” His insistence was almost boyish. Logan sighed. “It’s different now. I know I acted like an asshole, but I’m ready for a real commitment, Jamie! Come on. Please,” he offered, reaching out to tug Logan’s sleeve.

Walt still held that fresh, slightly metallic scent. Logan’s body reacted to having him so near. Once he craved this man, cried out beneath his touch and his seeking mouth. That old tingle was still there.

But the trust was gone.

“I think we’ve moved on, bub. The two of us. What we had was good, but it wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t perfect.” Logan fell back on old habits. Put the blame back on myself… “In some ways I’ve changed, Walt, but a lot’s still the same.”

“Jamie, I miss you. Come and talk to me. Not here.”

“I’ve gotta run errands and head back to the house.”

“You haven’t seen my new place.”

“It ain’t such a good idea fer me ta do that, Walt.” Logan replaced a tee shirt he’d been fingering back on the shelf, deciding on a hasty exit.

“If you cared about me…” Walter began hopefully.

“I did. Don’t start. Goodbye, Walter.” Logan broke away from him, heading in the opposite direction. He’d made it ten paces before he heard heavy footsteps dogging him past the women’s wear.

“You never understood that about me, Jamie!” He didn’t raise his voice, despite his rush to catch up. “I was upset. I wanted you to listen to me. I wanted to make you understand how I felt.”

“Walt, ya just about tore me a new one fer not callin’ ta let ya know I was comin’ home late. That was just the tip of the friggin’ iceberg. Shit…I don’t wanna talk about this here.” There were too many arguments, too many angry words and even angrier silences that haunted him.

“Then come home with me.” His eyes really said Just come home TO me.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” The beginnings of anger and frustration began to tighten the corners of his chiseled lips. Only moments ago, Logan had been drawn in, lured by the same easy charm that attracted him in the first place. Walt was everything Logan wasn’t: A gregarious, needy man who craved attention and approval and who wasn’t used to hearing the word ‘no.’ His defenses reared up once more, fortifying the walls around his heart.

“It ain’t home ta me anymore.” His hand was poised on the swinging exit door leading out the parking lot. “Don’t do this. Walt…I cared about ya. A lot. I want ya ta be happy, but it ain’t gonna be with me anymore. I…I don’t know if ya ever really were. Ya wouldn’t have done what ya did if ya were.” Walter’s breathing was heavy and his shoulders drooped. His jaw worked and his eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna walk away? You’ve got somebody else?” Logan froze; any words he could give evaporated into thin air. His grip tightened on the door handle, and Walter pounced on his silence. “You have, haven’t you? That’s why you’re being so dodgy, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” he repeated harshly. “I knew it. That was it the whole time, wasn’t it?”

“The hell it was!” Logan snarled, all patience gone. “Ya always thought ya couldn’t trust me, Walter! I tried…God knows I tried.” His nostrils flared; anger sparked in his dark eyes, and his posture spoke of hurt. “I tried so hard, Walt. Ta love ya and be the kinda man ya needed, but I wasn’t. Someone ruined it all for ya at some point, so ya couldn’t accept me as someone who loved ya and wouldn’t hurt ya. I never wanted ta hurt ya, Walt. But ya got angry and couldn’t hear what I was tryin’ ta say or see what I was tryin’ ta show ya. You were my only, Walt.” Ugly, hot prickles washed over him, and his voice grew soft and hoarse. “I ain’t gonna keep ya. I’ve got errands ta run. Take care of yerself, Walter.” His face resumed its stony mask before he turned on his heel and exited the breezeway.

Walter didn’t try to follow him. Logan didn’t turn back to witness the anguish scarring his face.

The entire ride back to the house, Logan beat himself up, guilty about one thing: In a sense, he’d lied to Walt. You’ve got somebody else?

The worst part was, Logan really didn’t know.


~0~

Remy’s eyes were glued to the sea of movie screens lining the walls at Hollywood Video as Rene filled his ears with the comparative benefits of every title in the kids’ section of the store.

“Dis one has Donatello, Papa! Donatello an’ Raphael!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can we get dis one, Papa? I wan’ Batman!”

“Why not, petit?”

“PAPA!”

“Eh?” He was drawn from his reverie by the faint smack of a plastic DVD case against his backside. “Hey!”

“C’mon, Papa! Wan DIS one!” Remy relieved him of the case and took his hand, staring down into diminutive features so much like his, currently screwed up in a pout.

“Hafta let Papa pick one out fo’ a sec, chere,” Remy offered. “Den we eat.”

“PIZZA!” Rene crowed, all signs of a pending tantrum gone as he practically dragged his father out of the kids’ movies toward the new arrivals. Remy sighed and continued to let his son fill his ear, pointing out each title on the shelf and extolling the reasons why his father needed it. Loudly.

He was just making up his mind between Samuel Jackson or Ben Stiller when he heard the clatter of plastic cases hitting the floor in a heap. “RENE! NON! C’mere!” he snapped.

“M’sorry, Papa,” he murmured, shrinking under his gaze

“Pick ‘em up an’ put ‘em back,” Remy shrugged.

“Wuz tryin’ t’get you dis one, Papa,” he insisted, pointing to a case on the top shelf. Die Hard. His son meant well…

“Ain’ tall enough.” He patiently waited for his son to pick up the remaining cases when a low voice spoke up from behind him.

“I might be.” A thick-knuckled, broad hand reached past him to pluck Die Hard from its perch. “Yer kid’s got good taste.” Warm chocolate eyes crinkled at him and a faint smile quirked his lips.

“Just spent ten minutes in de kiddy section that says otha’wise, mon ami.” Logan’s chest shook.

“They can’t all be gems.” Logan peered down at the little boy who was giving him the once-over, looking like a deer in the headlights. “Hey, big guy.”

“Papa, who’s he?”

“G’wan, Rene, tell ‘im yer name, it’s okay dis time. Papa knows ‘im.” Instead of waiting for intros, Logan knelt down and helped finish the boy’s chore.

“Rene, eh? What’d ya pick out fer yerself?”

“Turtles! It’s got Donatello,” he announced proudly. Remy rolled his eyes and waved the case over his son’s head. Logan suppressed a grin.

“Man after my own heart. Any movie with ninjas in it’s good in my book.”

“What ya lookin’ fo’, mec?”

“Dunno yet. I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Rene…go ‘head an’ pick out anotha’ one. Papa’ll be along in a sec.” Rene grinned and trotted off. Logan’s face was full of questions.

“He’s seven.”

“Good looking kid.”

“Ain’t gonna argue dat.” But Remy beamed.

“Got anything good planned for him tonight?”

“Dinner. Movie. Knock-knock jokes till m’ears fall off. De usual.” Logan chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that warmed Remy and brought back a memory he’d locked away of how he sounded that morning a few days ago. He almost felt that broad, solid chest against his back again, setting the pace of his own breathing…

Remy shook himself.

“I ain’t gonna tear ya away from it. Enjoy yer time with her son.”

“Hey…chere? Gimme a minute,” he muttered, anxious to keep him there. He was still burly and rugged, dressed in comfortably faded jeans and a black corduroy shirt. “Ya left early de last time.”

“Didn’t wanna overstay my welcome.”

“Ya didn’.” Hooded red-on-black eyes peered at him a moment as he dug a crumpled receipt out of his wallet. “Got a pen?”

“Uh-huh.” Logan handed him a Bic with a well-chewed end. Remy’s scrawl was long and jagged as he used the video shelf as a writing surface. He folded the slip of paper around the pen as he handed it back.

“We didn’ get t’talk much.”

“Nope. Hey, Rem?”

“Oui?

“Thanks. Fer dinner. Fer breakfast.” Logan repeated the same gesture he’d given Walter; his eyes dropped to the floor as he raked his fingers through the coarse curls at his nape. Remy looked at him with a hint of disbelief. Logan was shy.

“Dat’s if y’wanna reach Remy away from de shop.”

“Got caller ID?” Remy nodded. “Then that’ll give ya my number when ya hear from me.” He didn’t suggest when. Remy didn’t press.

“Betta get Rene befo’ he tears dis place up.”

“Fine.”

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Remy jus’ t’ought ya should know…” he murmured, his voice low enough to draw Logan closer. “Y’make dis funny l’il sound in ya sleep.” His lips curled. A hot flush bloomed in Logan’s cheeks.

“Shit…” Remy’s eyes were full of mischief and something resembling affection. “G’night.”

“Bon nuit.

Before Logan finished making his selection, he heard a high-pitched voice chirping “Bye!” He turned to see Rene practically turning his head off his neck to look back at him, waving frantically. Remy’s smile and a brief nod accompanied it as they took off.

His own lips cracked a smile intermittently as he drove back to the site.


~0~

Scott wiped his brow on his sleeve, smearing a streak of dust and sweat across his skin. He sat back on his haunches and admired their handiwork, namely a brand new tile floor in the kitchen. Their budget had been steep when they upgraded to the travertine that was Logan’s favorite, but it had been worth it.

“That’s one mighty fine floor.” Scott rose and took a sip from a depleted water bottle on the counter.

“It’s a friggin’ masterpiece,” Logan agreed. “Wanna sign it?”

“Fuck off!” Logan grinned smugly.

“Think I’m done, Summers.” Various muscles in his back pinched and twisted into hard knots. He was dying for a shower, steaming and pounding in his ears.

“Think you’re right. Unless I can talk you into working through? Grab you a sleeping bag?”

“If yer nice ta me, Summers, I’ll tell Aleytys where I buried yer body as a wedding present.”

“Ahhhhh! Hold up, hold up. You just reminded me. I wanted to ask you about that. Better yet, Lee wanted to ask you. She has a friend.”

“No.”

“No details? Not even a little curious?”

“Nope. Don’t waste yer time an’ mine, bub.”

“Lee said she’s a kick in the pants. Nice looking. Likes dogs. Works at the community center.”

“Pass.”

“Not even a little tempted?”

“She’s got all that goin’ for her, she’s still single, and yer wife’s askin’ around ta yer single friends? What’s left ta ask?” Scott sighed.

“Yeah…whaddever. I’ll just tell her you’ll be at the reception, then. Shouldn’t put you on the spot.”

“Just tell her I’m the one runnin’ fer the door.”

“Har-de-freakin’-har.”


~0~

“Did you ask Logan about Mary? Did he sound interested?”

“I couldn’t wear him down.”

“Nuts.” Aleytys sighed as she rubbed scented cocoa butter cream into her elbows. “Thought we had him. Hey, what’m I talking about? Mary’s gonna be riding with me to the church in the limo.”

“And?” Scott raised his eyebrows as he climbed into bed, turning down her side of the bed.

“There might not be enough room for all of the bridesmaids in it on the way to the hall,” she informed him smugly. Her smile was beatific as she sat on the edge of the bed and extinguished the lamp. Scott groaned in the dark.