With Every Beat of My Heart

Summary: Logan gets to know Remy better through his craft, and through his heartache.

Author’s Note: I took a diversion from this fic to work on Thrill is Gone, and I would like to extend my thanks to Lady E, who gave me helpful questions to re-confirm what I want to do with that story.

Black was the new black.

Everywhere Logan looked as he entered the gallery, he saw black. It was like attending Jean’s funeral all over again, minus the altar flowers and pulpit. The patrons ranged from middle-aged art snobs to nineteen-year-olds fresh out of design school going through their “boho” phase. Logan almost felt out of place in his coffee brown slacks and cream-colored guayabera shirt. His leather dress shoes resounded more noisily than he would have liked against the gallery’s hardwood floors as he ventured from one display to the next.

Logan overheard a girl in Raggedy Ann stockings discussing a homely nude study with a straight face to a young man with facial piercings and a Mohawk. She gave the artist entirely too much credit.

It really is in the eye of the beholder. Damn, that thing’s ugly. Logan peered at the signature in the lower right corner. A. Frost. He peeked at his program for the show and scanned the list of featured artisans. Halfway down, he spied the name and brief bio of Adrienne Frost, local painter. She was a striking woman and had a master’s in fine art. Logan clucked his tongue; maybe her specialty was art history…

Logan politely accepted a glass of wine from the steward, also garbed in – surprise – black from head to toe.

“We’re serving additional refreshments in the rear lounge,” he offered.

“Thanks. Hey,” Logan said, stopping him. “Be honest. Whaddya think of that one?” He nodded to the nude.

“Oh. Wow.” He looked flummoxed, stepping back from the painting as though it would give him cooties. Logan smirked.

“Glad it isn’t just me.”

“Trust me, it isn’t.” The steward then turned and nodded toward the left wing. “Head that way. There’s some gorgeous stuff by this one guy, LeBeau. He draws, he paints, he takes pictures. He’s frickin’ awesome.”

“He is, huh?” It was Logan’s moment of truth. “Thanks for the tip, kid.”

Despite his misgivings, fate seemed to be pushing him in Remy’s direction. All that was left was for Logan to figure out what to do when he got to his destination…

Logan wandered through the crowd, perusing the neat rows of framed words and a few life-size sculptures. Low violin music underscored the buzz of chatter around him, and Logan felt surprisingly relaxed.

They ran together twice more since their first excursion to the beach. Logan begged off for the last two trips, falling martyr to shin splints. But Remy showed up every evening, as promised, to take Daisy for her walks, leaving Logan’s spare keys under the mat. Logan assumed Remy was showing up earlier; whether it was for Daisy’s benefit or because he felt off-kilter like Logan did was anyone’s guess.

It was frustrating.

He missed Remy whenever he didn’t see him, but he seemed to tap dance around it whenever they were together. And it was growing harder to pretend he didn’t feel…something.

Compelling and frightening. Those were the only words he could use to describe the flush that settled over him when Remy looked at him and gave him that lopsided smile, or the way Logan’s mouth seemed to run on autopilot whenever they spoke.

Logan wanted to explore those feelings. He just didn’t have any idea where to start.

The further he ventured into the wing, the more he began to recognize Remy’s work.

“Damn,” Logan muttered. “Kid’s been busy.”

The compositions were stunning.

The Cajun’s sketchbook was only the tip of the iceberg. Logan stood in awe as he let his eyes travel over a huge study of a Roman Catholic church and the surrounding garden rendered in charcoal and Grumbacher pastels. The piece was rich with warm colors; even the shadows managed not to look flat. The scene seemed to have movement, as though Remy had captured a mid-afternoon breeze and drifting clouds. The piece was roped off to prevent curious critics from touching the fragile pastel.

One by one, Logan visited each work, taking in the small details that took genius to capture so well.

His works were grouped together by medium. Remy’s exhibit included six poster-sized black and white photo studies, several pastels and four paintings done in oils. Logan recognized the strip of beach where they took their morning runs. Sunlight poured like a river of honey across the waves at dawn; the water was dotted with red and white buoys and gulls cackled and swarmed in the distance.

The photographs were handsomely backlit, suspended away from the walls for a more dramatic, solid effect. They took what was left of his breath away.

Each one focused on a slender young man. Even in black and white print, Logan could tell his eyes were a clear light blue. He was striking and memorable, built on long, clean lines, like a dancer.

Upon closer inspection, Logan noticed that his face was slightly drawn, skin stretched almost too taut across his high cheekbones. He had thick, wavy black hair with prominent streaks of white over his brow and threaded through his temples, surprising since he didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Fine laugh lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes and slightly full mouth, even though most of his poses were sober.

The last one gave Logan pause. Remy’s model was lying back in bed, half-propped on several pillows. He captured him reading the paper, a mundane enough thing, but Logan notice a plastic hospital identification bracelet on his wrist. The tiny print told him that he had been discharged roughly eight months prior.

“Logan?” Before he could even turn toward the sound of his voice, Remy gently closed his hand over Logan’s shoulder, giving it a warm squeeze. “M’so glad ya made it, and dat ya took de trouble t’come an’ see my showing. M’honored.” When he faced him, Logan saw the sincere gratitude in Remy’s dark eyes and a sweet smile that seemed to remove years from his face. Pleasure tickled his gut that something so simple as showing up could produce a smile like that.

“Remy, I wouldn’t miss it.” Without further greeting, Logan surprised him with a snug, solid hug. Remy chuckled, pleased.

“So, whaddya t’ink?”

“Do ya hafta even ask? They’re freakin’ amazing. Every damned one of ‘em. Ya were holdin’ out on me. All I got t’see were yer sketches before.”

“Dose were jus’ de appetizers. Dese are de main course. Ya still haven’t seen Remy’s commercial work, but dese are my favorites. Dis ain’t what puts food on de table, but it is what makes it worth it t’get up in de mornin’.”

“Ya have a nice way with light,” Logan pointed out, nodding to the photo he liked. Remy looked wistful.

“He had a way of wrapping light around him without even trying. Every time I had him sit fo’ me, every frame, he owned dat light. It lit him up from de inside.” Logan heard the sad note in his tone. Even though Remy was smiling as he stared with Logan at the photo print, there was a deep yearning in him that felt familiar.

“Is he gone, Rem?”

“Oui.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul Beaubier. He wuz twenty-six. Too damn young t’be gone.” Remy cleared his throat. “Took a whole mess of pictures of him dose last coupla months. Most of dese were done when he wuz still well.” Before Remy could elaborate any further, two patrons assailed him and drew his attention away.

“I LOVE your work! Are any of these for sale?”

“Once de exhibit is over, chere. T’anks fo’ de kind words.”

“It’s amazing what you do with color.”

“Might wanna look into de classes at de junior college, petit. Teach one every month, little one-day seminars t’rough de extension school program.”

“I’m there, I’m totally there!” Then they handed him what looked like postcards like the one Remy had given Logan that night, along with a fine point Sharpie pen. Remy deftly signed the white backings, then did an impromptu sketch of each girl beside his heavily slanted signature.

“Perhaps Remy’ll see you two later dis evenin’ in de lounge. Go, have some treats, enjoy de show!” He fanned them away with his hands, giving them a charming smile to distract them from the fact that they were being dismissed. It worked; they stared after him as they left, comparing the postcards and making a big fuss over having “authentic signed art.”

“Ya probably get that a lot,” Logan accused.

“Eh. On a night like tonight, folks get t’meet the artists face t’face an’ hear us talk about de process or how our muses inspire us. Most of de time, Remy can sit in de coffeehouse wit’ his sketchbook out, an’ hardly anyone bothers him. It’s dese big pieces dat grab dere attention.” Remy eyed Logan’s empty glass. “Need anot’er one?”

“Nah. I might switch to water. Or maybe just eat somethin’, I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”

“Aw, ya didn’ grab a bite befo’ y’came, mec? Why didn’ y’tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna dawdle. Wanted t’show up early and get good parking before the crowd. And, uh…I wanted ta kinda make sure I caught ya before ya got swamped.” Logan cleared his throat. Remy chuckled, clapping him on the back.

“C’mon,” he beckoned, tugging Logan along by the wrist as they wove their way through the growing crowd. If Logan felt awkward at being clasped that closely or led behind him, he said nothing.

They turned the corner and head for the lounge. Logan saw two familiar faces seated at one of the tiny round tables. Mattie had a walking stick parked on her lap and sipped a glass of iced tea. Anna was making short work of a small plate of canapés.

“Remy!” she squealed, hopping up from her seat. She hugged him tightly, trying to pull him into a silly little dance with her. Mattie tsked. Remy rolled his eyes and swatted her hands. “Bout time, shoog, ya just went off an’ left me an’ Mattie like we were…oh, hi, sugah, didn’t even see you! How’ve ya been?” Anna sidled up to Logan and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek, automatically wiping away the smear of red lipstick.

“C’mon an’ give ol’ Mattie some sugar,” Mattie told him, waving him over. Logan smiled and dutifully bent to press a light peck on her soft cheek. “Don’tcha look nice, all gussied up! He cleans up nice, Remy!” Logan blushed but grinned. Anna’s shoulders shook.

“So whaddya think, Logan? Our Rem’s not doin’ too bad for himself. Once in a while he does more’n just stick figures.” Remy feigned irritation and pretended to smack Anna with his rolled-up show program. She thumbed her nose back.

“It’s fantastic.”

“So yer enjoyin’ yerself, baby?” Mattie inquired.

“Definitely. I’m havin’ a ball.”

“Good. Then pull up a chair, Remy, both of ya siddown an’ act like y’enjoy our comp’ny. Don’ look so eager t’run off, I know how ya are,” she chided straight-faced, but she smiled with her eyes. Remy found two empty chairs, and she promptly clasped Logan’s wrist. “Take a load off, baby.” Logan found himself pulled down to sit beside her.

“Okey dokey. I’m sitting,” he promised. Logan had the feeling Mattie was that imperious with everyone.

“Still not off de hook yet, chere,” she said, waggling her finger at him. “Why haven’t y’come t’our house fer dinner?”

“Um…I guess I’ll put that on my to-do list.”

“List? Aw, honey, don’ worry ‘bout adding it ta a list. Show up on Thursday wit’ bells on. Gonna make catfish, hush puppies, dirty rice, okra and a peach pie.”

“I wanna come,” Anna whined, pouting.

“I didn’ say I wuz gonna let me girl starve,” Mattie sniffed. “Come, already, girl.”

“Yay,” Anna gloated.

“Then it’s a date?” Remy asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Come hungry,” Mattie said.

“Come REALLY hungry,” Anna corrected her.

They nibbled on the hors d’ouevres, which were barely enough to fill a hollow tooth. Logan chatted himself hoarse with the three of them.

Remy was in tempting proximity. He felt his warmth once in a while when their elbows would bump or knees would graze under the table, and it made little tingles run up his arms.

He turned to Logan after a moment. “How ya holdin’ up? Wanna see de rest of de exhibits?”

“Sure.”

“I might head on home, baby,” Mattie said. Her lids drooped slightly and a hint of fatigue crept into her voice. Anna was already up from her seat and coming around to help Mattie stand. Logan moved out of the way and helped, pulling her chair out of the way and handing her cane.

“T’anks, Tante,” Remy murmured, kissing her forehead and accepting her crushing hug.

“M’so proud of you,” she said. “G’wan. Show off a lil’ an’ enjoy it.”

“G’night, Rem. Gonna take Mattie home. Might head out later. Call me?”

“Probably,” he winked. Anna reached out and pinched him, hard. “OW! Quit it!”

“Then tell me you’ll call me. Pinkie swear,” she threatened. Remy rolled his eyes, then extended his pinkie. Logan huffed.

The women left them to their own devices.

“Let’s head out fo’ a moment,” Remy said. “Wouldn’t mind a lil’ air.”

“That’s fine, Rem.” They headed for the second floor of the gallery, following the signs to the balcony. It was spacious and wide, wrapping around one entire corner of the building. The air smelled fresh compared to the faint odors of paint, dry clay and wood indoors.

Remy leaned against railing and stared down at the street. Logan stood beside him, roughly a foot of space between them.

Remy spoke first.

“I wuz wit’ Jean-Paul fo’ t’ree years. Met him at de hospital when I wuz goin’ ta one of my stress tests wit’ my cardiologist. Jean-Paul was higher up on de transplant list den me. He wuz in de solarium restin’ an’ doin’ a crossword puzzle. Took my breath away.”

“He’s a nice looking kid, Remy.”

“Knew we didn’t have much chance or time ‘tween us, but love don’ wait, not when life’s so damn short, homme. Dere wuz a coupla times dat he tol’ me, jus’ leave him. Don’ wait ‘round fo’ my heart t’be broken if he didn’ make it. Hurt so much, hearin’ him reachin’ de end of his hope.” Remy’s face was tranquil in the dark as he spoke. He seemed to step outside of himself, in an effort to distance himself from the pain, narrating it instead of reliving it. “He wuz so strong. Jean-Paul didn’ indulge any bullshit, eit’er. Told me ‘Shit or get off de pot, an’ ask me out already, asshole.’ Swept me off my feet.”

“He sounds great.”

“I wuz dere…the last night. His last night. Watched him go. He was peaceful. But me, I wanted t’die. All I could do was hold his hand. De machines told me he was gone. I laid my head on his chest ‘til I couldn’ feel his heart beatin’ anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Didn’ wanna live. Fo’ de first time in months, ever since I got sick, I didn’ wanna live when Jean-Paul left dis earth. Almost gave up. Mattie wuz dere fo’ me. Kept me goin’.”

“She’s a real treasure. Yer lucky ta have her.”

“I know.” He let his hands dangle over the railing as he propped himself on his elbows. He watched Logan intently. “Loved him very, very much. He showed me how. Never knew what it felt like t’love someone so completely befo’ Jean-Paul. He made ev’ryt’in make sense when I’d given up tryin’ t’understand my life anymore.”

They were silent for a while, listening to the noise from the street. Logan enjoyed the feel of the warm breeze ruffling his hair and shirt.

He wanted to ask Remy so much more.

Instead, he did the one thing that seemed impossible before that moment.

“Jeannie was a neat freak.” Remy watched him, staring at Logan’s profile as he stared at the stars. “The really organized kind. Coupon clipper, too. A friend of hers set us up. I almost cancelled at the last minute. Blind dates suck. But ours didn’t.” Logan sighed deeply, growing lost in the memory. “She was so beautiful. She just had this amazing smile and the kinda walk that makes people turn their heads. And when we met, she had this mischief in her eyes, the kind that makes ya wanna run off and get into trouble with her, because ya know ya’ll enjoy the ride. She let me take her to an action movie. She hated ‘em, but she wanted us t’have somethin’ ta talk about for most of the night without havin’ t’do the small talk thing. Who wouldn’t love that? Who wouldn’t love Jean.”

“I can see why ya did, Logan.”

“So it’s hard t’be without her.”

“Part of her’s still here wit’ you. In here.” Remy tapped his chest. “Dat’s where I carry Jean-Paul wit’ me. He lives on in me. Gets worse at night. Once in a while, I dream ‘bout him. How he was befo’ he got real sick. Feel empty when I wake up.”

“Yeah. You do,” Logan said. It grew hard to speak around the lump in his throat. In a stark moment of clarity, they met eyes and connected, understanding so much of what the other was feeling. Their past sorrow was poured from the same essence.

“I still wake up,” Remy murmured. “Dat’s all I can do.”

Logan sought shelter from it in Remy. Instinctively his hand crossed the invisible threshold between them and reached for him. Remy’s long, slim artist’s fingers wrapped around it; he stroked the pad of his thumb over the fine layer of dark hair on his skin, caressing him. Comforting him.

“Remy?”

“Yeah, chere?”

“If ya don’t mind my sayin’…I’m just…I’m glad you’re here.” He’d been staring at their linked hands, then shifted his gaze to Remy’s face. “I ain’t much for sayin’ what’s on my mind sometimes, or wordin’ it the way I mean to, but I mean that. I’m glad you’re here.”

Remy felt a current of contentment run through him, and something inside him melted that he didn’t know was there before.

Logan didn’t want to ruin it with discussion of the other things on his mind, but there was so much more that needed to be said.

“I only really knew how to love Jean. No one else measured up. I tried before, with someone else…it didn’t work out. He tried to tell me it didn’t mean anything, what we had. That it was just a game.”

“Den dey were de one playin’ de game,” Remy said. Logan unknowingly supplied the piece of the puzzle that Remy had been missing since they met. He felt equal parts reassured and frustrated on Logan’s behalf.

“I’m afraid,” Logan admitted. “I don’t know how ta explain it yet, Rem…I’m afraid.”

“Of what, chere?”

“Of…” Logan faltered. “I can’t. Not yet. I can’t talk about this yet.” He disengaged himself from Remy’s grip and backed away from the railing. Lines of frustration settled around Logan’s mouth. There was something pleading in Logan’s eyes, perhaps even helpless.

“When ya are ready, ya can talk t’me.” Remy offered him that lopsided smile, the first he’d shown since they came outside. “I ain’ goin’ anywhere.”

Months before, that would have been a boastful statement.

Logan nodded. He patted Remy’s shoulder, but his hand lingered a moment before he turned to leave.