With Every Beat of My Heart

Summary: Two men at a café.

“Ya’ve got long legs, kid.”

“Eh?”

“Gonna hafta stretch mine a little, ya know?”

“Merde…sorry, mec. Wuzn’t even payin’ attention, jus’ plowin’ along…” Remy slowed his gait slightly as they neared the coffee shop, letting Logan catch up to him and catch his breath. The disparity between their heights was amusing at first glance. The top of Logan’s head barely rose above Remy’s shoulder.

“So much fer a leisurely stroll,” Logan kidded, chuckling. He lightly punched his shoulder. “Gonna make me work out on my coffee break, eh?” Remy grinned.

“Lemme know if ya wanna meet me at de crack of dawn, mon ami.”

“I wake up when the sun does, and not a moment before,” Logan admitted.

“Great time fo’ a mo’nin’ run. Sidewalks are jus’ about empty, no street traffic. Like runnin’ on de beach sometimes, too. Best sunrise in creation, an’ we can hog it all t’ ourselves.”

Despite Logan’s protests, his own stride was relatively long and he was fit from taking Daisy on her daily walks.

Remy nearly salivated at the scent of French roast as they entered the shop. There was already a decent crowd inside, uncomplicating their decision to sit out on the patio.

“Hungry?”

“I could pick at something…nah. Not here.”

“Can’t tempt ya?”

“Nah. That’s fine. M’fine.”

“I’d like de cranberry scone.” Remy’s long, slender finger tapped the glass countertop. “Ain’ got much of a sweet tooth?”

“Not so much.”

“More of a salty an’ savory guy.”

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

“Might like Remy’s barbecue, den. Or dis place downtown dat his friend Luke owns.”

“What kinda food?”

“Steakhouse.” Logan grinned.

“Lucas’. I know that one. Man, it’s been a while since I went in there. Jean took me there, once…” His voice trailed off for a moment before he got back on track. “I like their marinade.

“Dat’s what I mean. Luke uses a heavy hand wit’ de seasonin’s, and he don’ skimp on de heat, either.”

“I like my food to have a little flavor, a little ‘oomph,’” Logan agreed. “I ain’t much of a cook myself, but the thing is, I don’t even eat out that often, either.”

“Where’s de fun in dat?” Remy was all about fun. “Ya oughta get out more, ‘specially now dat de weather’s warmin’ up.” Logan mused on this while he read the drink menu on the back wall.

“Double latte, skim. No flavor.” Remy made a low “hmp” and shrugged.

“Pretty straightforward.”

“I don’t play when it comes to my caffeine, bub. So sue me.”

“Non. It’d be a crime if ya came in here and paid three dollars jus’ fo’ ‘coffee regular.’” Remy rocked back on his heels and made a snap decision for the barista scribbling their names and orders on their cups. “Single mocha. Nonfat. Half a shot of vanilla, half a shot of-“

“Almond,” Logan murmured, reciting it with him in unison. He scowled. “Uh, almond, right?” Remy was staring at him oddly, making the tingle of déjà vu creep and spread down his back more keenly.

“Good guess.”

“Ya just seemed like the almond type.” Logan had no idea what possessed him to say that. He was having a hard time thinking around the expression on Remy’s sculpted features and the surprise in his dark eyes.

It was hard not to look at Remy. But he glanced away, easily distracted by their server asking if that was all they wanted. Logan was quicker with his wallet than Remy, automatically yanking out a crumpled twenty.

“Ya don’t hafta do dat,” Remy insisted.

“Neither do you,” he shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Den Remy’ll get de next one, next time.”

“If ya want,” Logan said. It took him a few seconds to realize that he’d agreed to a “next time.”

But it wasn’t a problem. Remy was a decent fellow. More than decent. Remy smiled with satisfaction, then led them outside.

They sat at a different table than the one Remy occupied before.

“I never got the chance ta ask ya, Rem, what do ya do for a livin’?”

“Try not ta waste anybody’s time,” he scoffed. “Non, jus’ bullshittin’, mec. Remy does a little of dis, lil’ o’ dat. Work as a graphic designer and do art on commission.”

“No shit,” Logan murmured. “Hm. What kind of stuff have ya done?”

“Local stuff. And some not so local stuff.” Logan noticed that Remy had a carryall over his shoulder like the one he used for his laptop. He laid it over his lap and unsnapped it, moving his scone plate aside.

He removed a leather-bound notebook from it and opened it. “Remy always keeps one of dese wit’ ‘im. Never know when I’m gonna feel inspired.” He slid the book over to Logan. He watched him pick it up, face shifting as he turned each page, from curiosity to wonder.

“Wow. Wow. That’s somethin’, kid.” The images felt so real that Logan thought he could touch them. Still life drawings, animals, passerby at what looked like the local park. Logan chuckled at one of a sleeping toddler in a stroller, bottle still clutched in a plump hand. “Love this one. It’s cute.”

“Thanks. Remy likes drawin’ lil’ ones.”

“Ya have a gift for it.” Logan continued to flip, peering up at Remy occasionally. The younger man was watching him expectantly, leaning back in his chair and toying with his drink. He dragged the red coffee stirrer through the whipped cream, drawing patterns in the sprinkles of nutmeg.

He spoke to him while his eyes roamed over Remy’s fine line work of a large brownstone building that Logan knew he’d seen downtown before. “How long ya been doin’ this?”

“Since I wuz a kid. Loved cartoons an’ superheroes. Sports teams. Ya know de deal, young boys’ stuff. After a while, though, Remy knew he liked t’draw anyt’in an’ ev’ry’tin.”

“What do yer folks think of it?”

“Mattie’s my biggest fan.”

“She an aunt, or…?”

“She’s ev’ry’tin t’me. Took me in. Finished raisin’ me.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“I’m glad she was there for you. She’s a real sweetheart; it was nice meeting her.”

Not wanting to leave Logan in suspense, Remy supplied, “Remy’s pere liked his alcohol.”

“That was rough for you.”

“Whatever don’ kill ya,” Remy shrugged. His smile was impish, but Logan saw sadness in his eyes.

“Just you, or any brothers and sisters?”

“I wuz an only child. Jus’ as well.”

“That’s hard, though. Lonely. Not to mention, ya don’t have anyone else t’blame it on when ya get caught doin’ somethin’.”

“No shit,” Remy agreed dryly. “Remy was always caught redhanded. Could’ve been anyone who done it, but everyone pointed de finger at poor lil’ me.”

“Shame,” Logan murmured. His chest shook.

He continued to leaf through the drawings. Some were in ink, giving them more depth, making them pop.

Logan stumbled on one that gave him pause. “Where is this one done from, a hospital?”

“Oui.”

“Hm.” It was sketchier and less detailed than the previous ones, one of a series of sketches in the same setting. Logan saw people in each one in lab coats and scrubs working from carts and nurses’ stations. It brought back the too-fresh image in his mind of the E/R and black gurneys crowding the hallway, the large portable X-ray cart, telemetry monitors adding their beeps to the buzz of noise…

Logan clapped the book shut, hastily sliding it back to Remy. Remy blinked.

“Y’all right, mec?”

“Um…yeah. Just…fine.”

Remy felt worried at the sudden shift in Logan’s features as they went from quiet reflection to remembered pain. He tried to change the subject as he put away the art journal.

“Been pretty busy with a new account for a company that makes cross-trainer shoes.”

“There money in it?”

“One of my most lucrative accounts. Lookin’ forward t’finishin’ it.”

“Was this what you always wanted to do with yer life?”

“Took me a while t’figure out how ta marry what I always enjoyed with tryin’ t’make a livin’.

“Not everyone does that. I sure didn’t.”

“Still got a lot of yer life ahead of ya, homme.”

“I ain’t exactly green, youngster.” Remy chuckled.

“Ya still got a little flavor left. Ya ain’t ready ta be spit out yet.” Logan barked a rusty laugh.

“Smug little bastard.”

“Non. M’just m’own biggest fan. Remy’s perfect as soon as he wakes up every mo’nin’.”

“Ya are, huh?”

“Yup. Problem is, de he gets outta bed. No promises, den. All downhill from dere, give or take.”

“No shit. Felt like my office manager was about to make me help her bury a body today.”

“Who?”

“My office admin or the guy she wanted ta kill?”

“Both. Either,” Remy shrugged.

“Betsy’s my right hand, the sweetheart with the purple hair. Vic, he’s the delivery guy. Works her last nerve, keeps gettin’ fresh.”

“She don’ seem like one t’take much nonsense offa anyone.”

“He knows not ta take it too far with me around ta kick his ass, too, but Bets can hold her own.”

“Ya like sales?”

“Eh. It’s a living. Been doin’ it for a long time.”

“Ever considered doin’ somet’in’ else?”

“Jeannie an’ I put a lot into the store. Kind of a mom n’ pop business. Gives it more characters than those discount warehouse stores where ya get a cookie cutter living room set of furniture that looks like everyone else’s house.”

“True dat,” Remy agreed easily. “Remy likes t’ings dat have character an’ old charm.” Logan smiled.

“Like me?” he joked. Remy shook his head. His answering grin was wicked.

“Like I said, ya ain’t dried up yet.” Remy sucked a dab of whip from the end of his stirrer.

“Yer a real pip.” Logan took a sip of his own drink and wiped his lip with his finger and thumb.

“Seem t’be in good health, great shape.” With those words, he treated himself to a long look at Logan.

“Ain’t gona enter any beauty pageants any time soon.”

“Might give other boys a run fo’ dere money, mec. Show ‘em how it’s done.”

“Yeah. Lemme break out my Speedo and some wax,” he tsked in disgust.

“Whateva. Y’look good.”

And he did.

His looks had character, indeed. Logan’s eyes were hooded, deep and dark, so brown they appeared black. They were webbed with fine laugh lines and topped with strong, bushy brows with a slight arch. His mouth was wide when he smiled; Logan owned the type of grin that split his face and promised mischief.

He sported a shallow, thin scar beneath his jaw, something Remy noticed when he scratched it.

“How’d ya get dat?” He tipped his own chin up and motioned to an imaginary spot there.

“Messin’ around. Showin’ off fer Jeannie on one of our vacations together. Walkin’ a fence. She distracted me, somethin’ it was easy for her ta do. My pride was more hurt than my face.”

“Ouch.”

“At least it made a free souvenir.”

“Stick with tee shirts an’ shot glasses, homme.”

They enjoyed their coffee and chatted away the hour. Logan was surprised that they would have so much to talk about, with them having so little in common. But Remy’s personality was bubbly and grew on him. It was hard to resist such a smart aleck.

He sobered briefly, watching Logan thoughtfully.

“Seriously, tho’, mon ami. Whateva ya do wit’ yer life, make sure it makes ya happy. It’s short. Too short.”

“I know.”

“Dere wuz days Remy didn’ t’ink he’d wake up in de mo’nin’. Nights where I didn’ sleep too well, wonderin’ if de dark wuz de last t’ing I’d see. Ev’ry time I woke up t’see de sun, dere wuz a chance. Dat’s what I tol’ maself. It wuz hard, de day dat dey called me an’ tol’ me dey had a heart. Cried fo’ joy, cried fo’ sadness, cuz I knew someone had t’leave dis earth fo’ Remy t’have his chance t’live.”

Logan’s face was a rictus of pain.

“Ya have a nice life, kid. I’m glad.” Remy sensed he’d once again said too much.

His slender hand darted out and captured Logan’s. He felt the jump of every muscle in his arm as they tensed, the faint jerk of his body as he resettled in his seat. He was right; Logan was about to flee.

“Don’ go. Please.”

Logan breathed long, deep breaths as he tried to compose himself. His mouth felt numb as it pushed out words that he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Ya don’t understand how it is fer me. Ta lay awake nights, in the dark, with the same question burnin’ in my head all the time. Why Jean? Why my Jean? Why now? It wasn’t her time.” His tone was slightly pleading, as though needing Remy to understand. From the look in his dark eyes, he could tell that he did. Remy’s artists’ fingers gripped his hand, stroking his warm skin with his thumb absently as Logan spoke. “It just wasn’t her time. So it’s hard, meetin’ ya. Talkin’ to ya. I always wondered who it would help. Signin’ the papers ta donate her organs. I’m so glad ya have yer life back, but it’s killin’ me, not havin’ her in my life anymore. Killin’ me. Everything’s just swallowin’ me up in a big, black hole. It’s like, I can still feel bits an’ pieces of her when I’m alone. That little bit of her scent’s still in the house. I go t’bed in the sheets she picked out and eat dinner out of the pans she cooked with and still see old notes she made on the calendar for all the stuff we did together, all the stuff she wouldn’t let me forget. She was the organized one, like a fuckin’ walking Rolodex…”

Logan felt so raw that he didn’t even notice the tears rolling down his cheeks until Remy silently handed him a napkin.

“So I thought I’d have some closure, y’know? Meetin’ the one who got her heart.”

“Ya saved my life.”

“No, Jeannie did.” Logan flicked away the moisture cooling on his skin, hating the way it made his lower lids itch. He cleared his throat and carefully withdrew his hand from Remy’s grasp, then regretted it. The contact had soothed him, loosened something tight in his chest for those brief moments.

He rose from the table. “I’m gonna head out. Look, it was good seein’ ya again. I don’t always get out much. Ya know…” he hedged with a shrug. Remy shrugged back, nodding.

“I bet. Logan?”

“Eh?”

“Don’ be a stranger.” Remy handed him a business card on cream stock. His eyes looked hopeful as he waited for him to take it.

Logan reacted slowly, different emotions flitting over his features. His fingers closed around it, and he could swear he felt a charge, a current transfer to him through it.

“See ya, kid.”

“See ya, Logan.”

As he watched him leave, Remy hoped it was true.