Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The morning of his wedding dawned bright and flawlessly sunny, but it set Logan’s stomach to gurgling too acidly to even risk coffee.

It’s not like the weather was odd for southern California. Bluebird days were the norm, not the exception. But guys like him didn’t get perfect wedding days with perfect blonde girls. Guys like him were more likely actors in a movie like that, after which they went home and beat their kids and broke their wives’ hearts, and then fucked the maid.

An actor in somebody else’s life. It’s exactly what he felt like as he held back the curtain of his window to look out. There was a sense of unreality to all of it, and had been for every step of the wedding planning process. Every suit he tried on and every menu he approved on the way to the wedding. He kept signing things, knowing it would all have to be cancelled, that there was no way it would actually happen.

Things with him and Veronica were solid, had been for years now. When her hands were on his skin, his breaths escaped easier, and laughter felt closer to the surface. Everything felt quick and competent and like it was exactly the way it was supposed to be. But that was just her aura, and she carried it with her everywhere as she tied up loose ends and set the world to rights.

It wasn’t her he doubted, not really. It was just the wedding. His ring on her finger. It was too much to believe in, for a guy who’d had every rug he’d ever stood on yanked out from underneath him.

Veronica Mars choosing him. Not for a good time, but for forever.

The floor started feeling less steady under his feet and he clutched at the curtain. She trusted him, but what if she was wrong? After today, everything he ever screwed up would affect her. Logan damn well knew how volatile he could be, how impulsive even on his best day. How long could he go before making a mistake again? A month? Six? It seemed insane he could ever make it a full year without messing up. And they’d be together for decades. Or until he fucked up so hard that she left him, the way she had to several times when they were younger.

If he didn’t show up at the wedding today, he could save her all the pain he’d ever cause her.

His fingers went cold, everything in him rebelling at the thought of not seeing her, of not marrying the hell out of her when he had the chance. But there was no denying what a crazy risk he was taking, tying her life to his.

His phone rang on the bedside table and a laugh coughed out of his stiff chest. She had a talent for calling when he was freaking out the most. When he’d just shaken a pill into his palm or poured too big of a drink. It was never to check on him. At least not ostensibly. She always needed him to go with her on a case, or help her figure something out, or send him to check in on someone vulnerable. But it was funny how often it came at just the right moment.

Veronica Mars, psychic. It would explain a lot of things, actually.

He went to retrieve his phone. It looked like he wasn’t the psychic of the two of them because it was Dick, not his fiancée.

“Dude, did you see the surf report? We can’t miss a tide like this. Grab your board and meet me in twenty.”

“Uh, Dick, remember I’ve got a little thing today? Called my wedding. Ring a bell? Suits, cake, bridesmaids you can’t bang because most of them are dudes...”

“Yeah, way to remind me you’re having the lamest wedding ever. Taking my best wingman off the market and without the bridesmaid consolation. Although Mac is pretty hot, in like a nerdy, cotton panties kind of way.”

“Mac would laugh in your face if you tried to bag her. Has, in fact, on several occasions laughed in your face when you tried to hit on her.”

“Can I help it if I’m funny, bro? Chicks dig that. Anyway, quit your gossiping and grab your board. We’re going to miss it!”

“Again, wedding. Kind of busy.”

“Eh, that isn’t for hours. How long do you need to do your hair? You’re never going to be as hot as me, no matter how you primp, and you can’t seriously need allllll day to put on a pair of pants.”

“No,” Logan said. “Actually, you’re right. There’s nothing I have to do until it’s time to get dressed.” His two very pricey wedding planners had made sure of that. And he couldn’t see Veronica, because stupid tradition. So really, it was get entirely wasted to keep his nerves calm, or not get wasted and never go to the wedding at all, which would feel like carving his heart up with a grapefruit spoon. “Yeah, you know what? I never thought I’d say these words but brilliant idea, Dick. Let’s go surfing.”

#

They caught the right tide, had some fish tacos near the pier, laughed about old times that Logan really didn’t miss that much—or at all—and still had time to shower and show up at the church four hours early. He paused at the doorway. A goddamn church. How long had it been since he’d been in one of these?

He’d gone to confession once, though they weren’t Catholic. Just wanted to see what it would be like to confess how much he wanted to kill his own father. The priest had been silent for a long moment, then assigned him to say a bunch of Hail Marys and Our Fathers, which was irony at its finest.

Logan didn’t know what those were and didn’t care enough to google it, so he probably hadn’t been forgiven.

Which was maybe why he was having trouble walking through the church doors now. Feeling God’s wrath, just waiting to descend upon him. If the big guy up there wanted to get his revenge on Logan, today was the day his Achilles heel was laid bare. His balls on the chopping block. The love of his life, walking up a long aisle toward him where only ten million things could go wrong. Murderers, rapists, people with a grudge against her could hurt her. Or, Occam’s Razor. She could just realize what insanity it was to marry the biggest fuck up she’d ever met, no matter how loud he made her scream in bed. And she could bounce his lovingly chosen ring off his face and take off into the sunset.

The garment bag in his hand sagged until it brushed the pavement. Now, before he crossed the threshold. That was the perfect time to leave. It wasn’t too late. There weren’t even any witnesses.

“Hey, Logan, just the man I wanted to see.”

Keith Mars jogged up the porch steps, still in jeans and a polo with a camera bag over his shoulder.

Logan managed a sick-feeling smile. “Hey, Mr. Mars. Is it time for our little talk with a shotgun? I hear that’s a time-honored wedding tradition. Something borrowed, something blue, something in a nice twelve-gauge buckshot.”

His almost-father-in-law chuckled. “I think the shotgun is supposed to get the guy to the altar. Considering I’ve never met anybody who wanted to marry my daughter more—which is saying something—I’m not really sure where a shotgun is going to come in. Except to shoot all the guys who jump up during the ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ part.”

“Oh, I took care of that. A crisp Benjamin to the pastor and they’re not even going to ask.” Logan winked. “No sense in even opening that particular Pandora’s Box.”

Keith smiled. “Agreed. Hey, are you headed anywhere right now? Because I’m really in a bind.”

“Need something picked up? The wedding planners can send a runner.” He pulled out his phone.

“No, it’s more like a case problem. A runner couldn’t handle it. I thought it’d be all wrapped up by today and suddenly we’ve got a hot lead on a suspect and we’re all headed for the church.” He winced. “I need to go do something for Veronica. Is there any chance you have a free hour before you need to be ready that you could snap a picture or two for me?”

“You don’t hang around Veronica too long without learning to go on a stakeout. I think that was our first date, actually.” Logan swapped Keith his garment bag for the camera bag, trying not to look too eager. “Happy to help. Just point me in the right direction.”

#

Logan got the pictures, and relevant license plates and slim jim’ed his way into the suspect’s car to find a handgun in his glove box, and was back at the church in a couple of hours. It was far from the first case he’d helped out on, and there was a comfort to it, now. He liked the easy problem-solution nature of it, the way he had to think fast on his feet sometimes. He especially liked staying in the loop on their cases, so he had a heads up when something dangerous started to heat up and he needed to go along with Veronica and knock a few heads together. It was his favorite part.

He’d left the gun he found, but taken the bullets. Better safe than sorry, if Mars Investigations was involved.

Unfortunately, that still left him two hours to go. 120 of the longest minutes of his life. He tried to remember there had been days and weeks and whole years before he met Veronica. One hundred and twenty minutes should be nothing to hold it together. Except now, with that nagging question of if he could really risk tying his life to hers, it seemed like thousands too many chances to do the wrong thing.

He pulled out his phone and texted her a random emoji. Giraffe.

It had become a game with them, because no matter what he texted her, she spun it into something witty. Not that she’d probably answer today, when she was so busy—

Her answer popped up on his screen before it even started to dim.

Duck Duck Goose.

He grinned, and countered her childhood game with one of his own. It took him a few minutes to translate the emoji version of Heads Up Seven Up, but then she texted him a thumbs up, so he must have gotten it right. Immediately after that she responded:

Better be taking care of that ugly face of yours. And whatever Dick says to do, do the opposite.

But wait, it’s my turn up to bat on the cocaine piñata! Don’t worry, we should make it back from Tijuana in time for the wedding. Border crossing’s always slow this time of day.

LOL as if I didn’t bribe Hank and Bruce at the border to not let you across today.

LOL as if the Echolls didn’t long ago dig their own underground tunnel to carry me safely to trouble.

*winky face emoji * dynamite emoji* *shovel emoji*

He was grinning before he could help himself. Damn, she was funny. It was against the laws of nature for a girl that hot to be funny, but there it was. He got out of his new Xterra and started toward the church. She was trusting him to be here, to stay steady and not get drunk to combat his own cold feet. He could do that for her. Fuck, what wouldn’t he do for her?

By the time he got inside, though, doubt was starting to creep in again. He never thought she’d say yes. Not to him. No matter how much she loved him. No matter how much it was physically impossible for them to be in the same room and not be touching, or thinking about touching. He thought that part would fade, like all the old married couples said, but instead it had gotten more intense. Now, it wasn’t even enough to touch her.

She was the first person he wanted to tell, whenever anything happened. He needed to make her laugh, to be the first one to make her smile every morning. He wasn’t even sure she knew he was doing it, because he worked so hard to use a different method every day. But if he won her first smile of the day, he was good all day long, no matter what else happened.

He paused at the door to the church. His staff had already decorated, placing flowers on the end of every pew to line the long, long aisle. He went cold underneath the collar. What if she was supposed to walk up that aisle to another man? What if he was doomed to be the ex whose name always made her glance away when anybody mentioned him?

He bounced his keys in his hand, glanced at the exit door.

But then he remembered that some nights, he would wake up to her tracing his scars. She never did it when he was awake, like she didn’t want to draw his attention to them. But at night, she would touch them so softly it felt like she was doing something deeper than touching. Like a blessing, or some kind of spell. He would never move because he was afraid she’d stop. In his sleep-hazed mind, her touch erased every scar she traced, the marks and the memories evaporating into the night.

Logan pocketed his keys and headed for the upstairs dressing rooms. If you got a woman who touched you like that, you did whatever you had to do.

#

He made it forty minutes of pacing in his dressing room before he heard voices coming into the church below, giggles and Wallace’s playful drawl. The rustle of cloth and plastic. Veronica’s voice—the bright tone of sarcasm she saved for when she was very happy. He went to the door and laid his head against it. When he heard her laugh, right outside the door, it felt like his heart hiccupped. It was pitiful, he knew that. And he was way too far gone today for dignity. Especially since there was no one to see him.

Even after she went on down the hall, he stayed, eyes closed. The whole building felt warmer with her inside it and the tips of his fingertips tingled where they rested against the door.

When someone knocked, the door rattling against his forehead, he reared back and frowned.

He turned the knob, and when he saw nothing, adjusted his gaze lower to see Heather beaming at him. Even in her early teens, she was still just a little squirt of a thing. Though it had given him a good deal of pause when she’d gotten her first boyfriend. That night, he spent a long time lecturing her on the less-than-fairy-tale nature of the behavior of the American Male Teenager.

“Dudddde this is heavy,” Dick complained, and Heather waved him inside right past Logan.

“Set it up right there.”

“Seriously?” Logan asked, holding the door for them. “You’re crying about the weight of a gaming system? Grow a pair, Casablancas.”

“Says the guy who has a little girl for his bridesmaid.” Dick set down the electronics and started hooking up wires to the old TV in the corner.

“Is that any way to talk about your sister-in-law?”

“Did you see her yet?” Heather interrupted to ask.

“It’s bad luck.” He scrubbed a hand back over his hair, his bicep twitching.

“If you’re gonna girl talk, I’m outta here. Hell to raise, chicks to bang.” Dick slammed the door on the way out.

Heather was eyeing him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

She immediately looked more concerned. “Do you need a hug?”

“I do not need a hug.”

She launched herself at him just as aggressively as she had when she was eleven, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing until he was pretty sure he could feel the imprint of her charm bracelet in his spleen.

“Stop that,” he complained, but gave her a little pat on the back so she wouldn’t get upset. “Jeez, have you been working out or what?”

“Had to. Otherwise our weekly ice cream dates would go straight to my hips.”

It weirded him out when she said something to remind him that she had very quickly grown into an actual woman and not a little girl. He nearly killed her first boyfriend just on principle, and the only thing that stopped him was the full Veronica Mars special of a background check his fiancée had run on the kid. She had him cross-indexed down to the last time he’d clipped his toenails and the worst thing she could find was that he preferred Boggle to video games. Logan had decided to let him live, though the dispensation was temporary and could be revoked at any time.

“What are you doing here so early?” he asked Heather.

“I was bored, and too excited to sit still, so I figured you could play Mario Kart with me until it was time to get ready. It’s more fun in person than online.”

He shuffled over and grabbed a controller. “You know, you haven’t gotten any better at lying since you were a kid. Your voice still gets high. You should work on that if you ever want to cut class without getting caught.”

“Why would I want to cut class?”

He grinned. “Don’t go changing, Heather.”

“Well, fine then. I’m here because I thought you might be freaking out, and look at you. You’re freaking out.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m a fingernail away from the razor blades right now. You’re just trying to psych me out so you can beat me.”

“I don’t have to psych you out to beat you.” She grabbed her controller. “I’m just that good.”

Her shit talking had gotten a lot better, he noted with some pride. Can’t say I never taught you anything, kid.

The Mario Kart, though…it could definitely be Heather’s idea, but it was also just like something Veronica would do, if she knew he was freaking out. He didn’t like the idea that she might be down the hall, putting on her wedding dress and worrying that he had cold feet.

He grabbed his phone on his way to the TV, quickly texting,

Hey, while you’re getting dressed, feel free to save some time by not putting any panties on. You won’t be needing them.

Oops, just added the third padlock to my chastity belt. Hope you packed your WD-40!

Your dad is so sad he taught me how to pick locks right now. And don’t worry, I’ll provide all the lubricant you need.

He clicked off his phone, satisfied that she was okay, and that she wouldn’t be worried about him having second thoughts. Flirting was basically a vital sign for an Echolls.

Thinking of his last name gave him a flush of bittersweet heat that made his molars ache with longing. He checked the clock. Hour and forty-two minutes. Jesus Christ, even waiting to see if he’d go to prison for murder hadn’t slowed down time this badly. He grabbed up the controller.

“Okay but if I beat you so bad I make you cry on my wedding day, no fair running to Veronica.”

She snorted. “Same to you.”

He grinned, and started the game.

He beat her twice, just like he thought he would. Unfortunately, she beat him three times.

“Way to pump up my masculine pride, kid,” he complained as he shut off the game. “If I look all shriveled and testosterone-depleted on the altar, I guess we’ll know who to blame.”

She lit up. “Damn right.”

He gave her a look.

“I swore before I met you!” she protested. “If I was parroting what I’d picked up from you, I would have said co—”

“And on that note,” he interrupted. “Scram. I need to perform my one duty for the day and put on my suit.”

She hopped off the bed. “Okay. I’m going to go get dressed down the hall, and then I’ll be back to help with your tie.”

He’d taught her all the knots for ties when she was twelve and helping him get ready for a big anniversary dinner with Veronica. Heather’s home life was so boring that she was ferociously interested in learning anything new, especially “boy stuff” since she only had sisters. Like everything he taught her, she’d quickly surpassed his own skills. Something about how she did it made the knots hang more elegantly than any others he’d ever seen.

Watching her gather her stuff, he remembered he needed to reshuffle her portfolio. In the last quarter, her college fund really hadn’t been getting the returns he wanted. Then again, maybe he should take her along and teach her to do it instead. Maybe give her a grand or ten for her next birthday, play a little stock market game matchup between the two of them to make it interesting. He used to leave it to his financial advisor, since every stock market tip his father had ever passed to him only ended up losing him money. But then Beaver had taught him a thing or two before he turned out to be a raping psychopath.

Nausea panged in his stomach like it did whenever his old friend crossed his mind, and he fought the sudden urge to go down the hall and bust into the bridal dressing room just to make sure Veronica was okay.

The thing with Beaver was years ago, he reminded himself. And she was the most resilient person he knew. The first time she’d ever gotten locked up, he’d been down there as soon as he heard, even though they were basically still in the mushroom cloud moment of their latest breakup. Only to find her with temporary tats drawn on her arms, cracking jokes like the bars were just part of the set on a standup comedy stage. Not much could shake his girl. Still…
“Are you going to the bride’s changing room, or do you have your own?”

“The bride’s.” She gave him a sly smile, but with a whole world of innocent warmth behind it. “Want me to check on Veronica?”

A quick lie came to his lips, but it was Heather, and there was no point. So he just shrugged. “Yeah, could you?”

The smile rebounded into a grin and she came across the room to give him another bone-crushing hug. “You two are too cute.” She bounced back to the door. “See you in a sec.”

It was two long, excruciating minutes before she knocked and then came back in, shielding her eyes like he might be glowing with nuclear radiation.

“I’m decent,” he told her dryly. “Or as decent as clothes can make an Echolls.”

She frowned. “Don’t joke about that. You’re nothing like him. I hate it when you say stuff like that.”

Her earnestness made it so hard to keep his usual flippant guards up. Always made him feel like an asshole. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s okay. Veronica’s fine,” she reported.

“What kind of fine? Like a little nervous, or quiet, or smiling, or?”

“She was working on a case on her phone, teasing Wallace about not fitting into his tux if he ate any more of the snacks, and the reception venue had a rip in the tent. She already called in a favor from the next county over to get a borrowed tent from that girl whose parrot she found in January, no charge. Weevil went to get it and should be back in time to start doing his usher thing.”

That sounded like Veronica was better than fine. Logan started to smile, then it jerked into a scowl. “What the hell is Wallace doing in the changing room?”

Heather laughed. “Nobody’s naked, Logan, oh my gosh. They’re just doing her hair and stuff. It looks really pretty. You’re going to be impressed.”

Nausea punched him straight in the throat, that flower-draped altar flashing before his eyes again. It was like a death sentence for her future, binding himself to her.

“I gotta go change.” She hesitated before the door. “Are you going to be okay while I’m gone?”

He tried to swallow, nearly dry heaved, and just pushed forward without it. “You know, I was alive for a lot of years before I met you, and I managed to take care of myself just fine, squirt.”

“No,” she said. “You didn’t. That’s why I’m worried.”

Fuck. He was not going to cry in front of a little kid. Even if she had had her first kiss and her first boyfriend.

“Veronica looked really happy, Logan,” Heather said softly.

That jerked an even sharper pain in his chest, a slicing stabbing searing kind of feeling that made him think twice about all those years of popping uppers. What were the chances of a heart attack in your late twenties? Probably pretty high, if you lived as rough as he had in his early twenties. He made a mental note to buy vitamins.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Heather handed him a black walkie talkie, with a sparkle in her eye, and before he could ask her where it had come from, she vanished.

Chapter Text

As Logan stared down at the walkie talkie Heather had brought him, the pain in his chest dissolved into a warm glow. God damn, Veronica was good. He clicked on the button.

“Breaker one, the eagle has left the nest.”

“Roger. The early worm has been consumed. Stand by, please.” Veronica’s voice was bright with energy, even through the crackly walkie talkie and yeah, he was grinning like a fool. His fiancée knew him pretty well, to realize the exact moment he’d need to talk to her the most, superstitious traditions aside.

While he waited, he shucked his jeans, stepped into his suit, and shot his cuffs with the cufflinks Veronica had given him for his birthday, after she found out he’d inherited his old ones from his father. He couldn’t prove it, but he had a strong suspicion the Echolls family cufflinks had taken a swim off the same bridge where he’d lost his mother.

Veronica hated bow-ties, so for the wedding they’d gone with a slick black shirt, charcoal vest with a fine-grained texture, and a tie the color of blood dripping over a ruby. It was tailored so sharply that he could feel the extra tightness in the ass. He shouldn’t have done so many squats at the gym in the last few weeks between the wedding and his last fitting. He’d gotten pretty motivated on the weights, thinking of the way Veronica’s eyes would catch on his abs when he was in his swim trunks. And with the private beach they were headed to for the honeymoon, there was a lot of swimming on the menu; swim trunks optional.

He glanced toward the black walkie talkie that was still silent, a bitter taste curdling on his tongue as he remembered all the doubts that had been nagging at him before she called. He wasn’t used to being so alone in a problem anymore. He could talk to Veronica about most anything, and the things that were about Veronica herself, he could talk through with Heather. But both women loved him too much to tell him if he was making a huge, selfish mistake, letting Veronica marry him.

If he could just see her, right now in this last chance moment, maybe he’d be able to tell. If she was meant for him, or for some other, luckier, better man. Logan threw a desperate glance toward the hallway.

Fuck bad luck.

It would be bad luck if his head exploded before the wedding. He needed to see her or he was going to come entirely apart before the ceremony and do something immeasurably stupid.

He took a step toward the door, panic starting to press at his skin, urging him to get the fuck out. He was torn between bursting into the bridal dressing room and the equally impossible idea of calling Heather and begging for some kind of help.

The walkie talkie crackled to life. “Go to your window.”

He blinked. Did he imagine those words? He picked up the device. “Is this the part where your dad’s sniper picks me off before I can marry into the family?”

“Clearly, you didn’t hear the lecture Dad gave Piz when he showed up about twenty minutes ago.”

Logan’s eyebrows went up. “Smidge early for a wedding guest to be here. Do I need to have a little talk with him?”

“You know, he promised me when he RSVP’ed that we were friends and everything was cool, but that must not have been true, because I saw his car pull away after that little heart to heart he had with Dad. Didn’t even stay until we cut the cake.”

Logan got a little tingle, thinking of the cake. For the cake topper, he’d gotten a custom-made little female Sherlock figurine, in a houndstooth dress with a pipe, alongside a surf-bum blond Watson who was pretty darn handsome, if he did say so himself. She hadn’t seen it yet, but he was looking forward to her reaction.

Veronica mused, “Now that you mention it, I really should have checked to see if Dad’s shoulder holster was still in the house when we left this morning. I wouldn’t put it past him to be packing.”

“Should I be worried?”

“You?” She snorted. “Only about getting blood on your suit when you’re helping him hide the bodies.”

“Good thing we chose black and red, then.”

“Yeah, I was a couple steps ahead of you on that one, champ.”

“On pretty much everything,” he admitted, pulling back the curtain.

There was an alley, a plain office building across the way. No cars in sight.

“A little higher up.”

“That’s what she said,” he retorted, his eyes traveling.

“Actually, she said, ‘you better fuck me harder if you’re going to be so superstitious that I can’t see you for the whole night before the wedding.’”

He grinned. She had said that. “I’m pretty sure sleeping apart last night was your idea. I’d never propose something so crazy.”

She was there. His heart gave a bang so loud he started worrying about his history with uppers again. Veronica was standing in one of the windows of the office building directly across from his, wrapped in a black suit jacket about a million sizes too big, her hair up in this pile of curls and coils he could look at all day…or for about twelve seconds until the pull to mess up all the silky strands with his fingers would be too strong. She smiled, that sly, sexy one that made him jerk a quick adjustment to his pants, because it meant she was thinking something dirty.

“So,” she said through the walkie talkie, “how many times today have you decided it’d really be the best thing for me if you left me at the altar and went on the run in Mexico?”

He thought about denying it. He really, really didn’t want her to think he had doubts about how much he loved her. How much he wanted to wake up every morning of his sorry life to her glorious face. But she was still smiling, the twinkle in her eye not looking the least bit jealous, or even nervous. So, he just shrugged, and told the truth.

“Seven. Maybe eight. I was headed for nine, just now.”

“Logan…” Her chiding voice was like a caress, and he closed his eyes for just an instant to enjoy it trickling along his skin. “How smart am I?”

“Wicked fucking smart,” he said without hesitation. “Outmaneuver the FBI smart. Sexy as hell smart.”

“Smarter than you?”

When he was younger, he’d have lied, played it cocky and flippant, but he’d tired of that kind of masculine posturing years ago.

“God, yes. No contest.”

“Then trust me,” she said softly. “When I decided that you were the right man for me, I didn’t do it lightly. We both know it started with just that crazy, can’t-think-straight lust—”

“Why, thank you,” he said modestly.

She laughed. “But it’s been more than lust for years and you know it. You’re the best match for me, in bed or out of it. You can keep up with me on cases, you have a sixth sense for when they’re going to go wrong and I’ll need backup, you’ve been through all the same horrible shit I have, and you get my jokes. Nobody could ever keep up with me but you.”

He tried to swallow, but now his throat was tight for an entirely new reason.

“Also, you’re batshit crazy if you think my dad would let me marry you if he thought you’d be bad for me. As he’s fond of saying, if he can find anyone, it also means he knows how to make anyone disappear.”

He drank her in. The sight of her through that window, the sound of her through the black box in his hand. And something clicked inside of him, settling in so that there were no sharp edges anymore, just a seamless fit. He couldn’t imagine her with anyone but him, and he knew, with a flash of passion as bright as anger, that no other man on earth would take care of her as thoroughly as he wanted to.

“Promise me,” she said, holding his eyes through two panes of glass and across an alley. “Promise me when I walk up that aisle, you’ll be waiting at the end and you won’t leave me hanging. I don’t think—” Her voice faltered for the first time. “I don’t think I’d ever be okay again, if you did.”

She was smart enough to manufacture that little wobble, his Veronica. Machiavellian enough, too, bless her devious little mind. But he knew her heart and her abandonment issues well enough to know it could just as well be real.

“I swear,” he said hoarsely, panic fisting in his gut as he realized he meant it. No matter what, no matter how unmanageably much pain it might cause them someday, he wasn’t capable of walking away from her today. Of giving up a shot at the life he wanted more than he had words to express. The life that flat out terrified him with how much he wanted it.

She just looked at him for a long moment, and he felt that gravity-strong pull between them that had never faded, no matter how many times they tried to fuck the edge off their insane attraction. It helped, somehow, to know she wanted to touch him as much as he wanted it, in this moment.

“I better go,” she finally said. “Twenty-two minutes.”

Whoa, really? How had it gotten late so fast? How long had they been talking across the alley like a couple of kids with a can and string between their tree houses?

“Hey, Veronica?”

She paused, half-turned away from her window.

“Your hair looks really pretty.”

Even across the alley, he could make out how her smile started small and soft, and grew. It wasn’t the sly, sexual way he usually complimented her, and seeing her reaction, he filed it away to use on the rare occasions when her steely resilience faltered.

When he let the curtain fall over this window, Logan felt almost…better.

#

Veronica spied on the opening processional from her spot at the top of the stairs, because she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to miss a single moment of her one and only wedding, and besides, their gender-bent, bizarre wedding party was looking particularly dapper.

Weevil had been a very gallant usher. Some of the older guests took an extra glance at his neck tattoo, but he was surprisingly good with elderly folks.

Because of the oddity of their brides-friends and grooms-people, they had opted to do a single file procession instead of pairing people up. Logan’s side went first, with Dick strutting and Heather nearly skipping, her steps coiled with barely contained excitement. Instead of a dress, she had opted for a smaller version of Logan’s suit with more feminine tailoring and low heels. Mac and then Wallace went next, poking each other in the arms and joking right up until the church door opened. Veronica had to admit, Wallace was looking pretty sharp in his suit, and she was hoping he might meet somebody special at the wedding. For all his charm, he’d never had great luck attracting the right kind of woman.

Then, before she knew it, it was her and her dad’s turn.

He came up behind her. “You know, the spying was better on the balconies.”

“Is that what you were doing?” She played innocent. “I figured you were doing a last sniper sweep for unruly ex-boyfriends.”

“Oh, I already laid the bear traps out front for those. Problem solved and I hope the mailman doesn’t come too early or he’ll get a little surprise.”

“How did Piz take it?”

“With a lot of Kleenex,” Dad said. “But I think it was good closure for him, seeing the church and all. I’m hoping it’ll slow the flood of love letters. His Axe body spray keeps getting into the water bill, and the tearstains soaked through to my Giants tickets last month.”

Veronica clucked her tongue. “Not the Giants!” She felt a twinge, but Piz’s incessant love letters had long since dulled any sympathy she had for the guy.

“Shall we? Before Logan gets nervous and breaks into the communion wine?” Keith offered his arm.

“Aww, your little father/son bromance is reaching epic proportions.” She gave his side a pinch. “Look at you getting all concerned for his feelings.”

“I’d rather not have to dress up in this monkey suit more than once, so I’m very interested in getting you married off to Logan this first time.”

It wasn’t quite passive aggressive, but Veronica was definitely aware of the times she’d gotten close to committing to someone else, just to avoid the tumultuous reunion and breakup cycle she and Logan hadn’t been able to snap out of until college was over. Her father had always warned her, in a very soft voice and just one time for each breakup, that she might as well make up with Logan because she’d end up going back to him in the end anyway.

He’d never been wrong.

They paused outside the church doors, waiting for the processional music to change. Veronica’s heartbeat started to pick up. Her sleeve was fresh out of tricks, which might be why her nerves were taking this first opportunity of the day to appear. She pressed her lips together to keep silent, but only lasted three seconds.

“Will you peek?” she whispered. “Just real quick, nobody’ll see you.”

“He’s there, Veronica.”

“You didn’t even look!”

“I’m a private detective, honey. I have a pretty good grasp on human nature. He’s there.” He hesitated for just a second. “Besides, if the altar was empty or he took off during the processional, we’d have heard the commotion.”

This was good logic. Cold hard evidence: the most soothing drug Veronica had yet found for herself. Her heart rate slowed.

Logan had been surprisingly calm through the whole engagement. If anything, his eyes glowed even brighter every time he looked at the ring on her left hand, just waiting for its paired wedding band to strengthen it. There had been no binges, no freak outs, no self-sabotaging arrests. Which meant nine months worth of worries were probably all going to hit him the day of the wedding.

He’d been to a lot of therapy since college, but not that much therapy.

So Veronica had planned ahead. She’d had a whole lineup of distraction tactics to keep him busy all day, and it had gone rather smoothly. She hadn’t even had to pull her trump card of getting a Mercer-lookalike actor to walk past Logan’s house. Which was good, because she didn’t want Logan to miss the excellent surfing at their honeymoon beach because his knuckles were all battered and didn’t like the sting of the salt water. Plus, she didn’t want to have to pay for the actor’s injuries. Especially since she hadn’t been totally honest about the risks of the job, if he wasn’t able to keep Logan from catching him. She’d hired the actor with the best sprinting times, but that was really no guarantee at all, when Logan was in a rage.

He could be very fast.

According to Heather, the walkie talkie stunt had come just in time. She wasn’t sure she was going to have to do that one, but figured right before the wedding was the most critical flight risk time, and didn’t trust anybody but herself to talk him down at that point. She also hadn’t been wearing anything under that suit coat, just in case she needed an extra distraction to keep him from an emotional tailspin, but he’d been steadier than she expected.

The music changed and she sucked in a breath.

“Last chance to run away and grab a pizza instead of marrying the love of your life and chowing down on overpriced dry chicken with distant relatives all night,” Keith offered. “Going once…”

“Bring on the dry chicken,” Veronica said, pulling him toward the door.

“Easy there,” he said as she towed him along. “I only came standard with two of those arms and I didn’t shell out for the extended warranty.”

“Should have planned ahead, Pops. You know what the Navy SEALS say. One is none, two is one, and three is—” She forgot the punchline as she reached the end of the aisle, the laughter falling from her face and her steps faltering so one ankle rolled in her heels and her father had to catch her.

“Easy there,” he murmured. “No drooling in public. If Backup can behave himself, so can you.”

She didn’t hear a word.

Logan was at the end of the aisle, and as soon as he saw her, his lips parted slightly, his eyes starting to shine with tears she knew he’d hate for any of these people to see. He hadn’t looked at her like that in years, like she was pulling his heart out of his chest by not allowing him to touch her. Since they quit breaking up every few weeks, it had been all sly smirks and laughter and inside jokes over their cluttered kitchen table.

But now, his feelings were scraped bare in a way that only the angst of their early tumultuous relationship had ever shaken him up enough to reveal in public. She couldn’t look away.

“Honey…” her dad prompted very quietly, and she registered the chill in her lips, the pins and needles prickle of the goosebumps that had raked her arms in the sleeveless dress.

She coughed, checked the sweep of her train, re-tucked her hand in her father’s arm, and remembered to walk. This time, when she lifted her eyes back to Logan’s face, his smile was shining. So open and innocent that years fell away from his face and he looked like a carefree youth all over again.

The view across the alley hadn’t done him justice. She couldn’t remember any suit in existence ever fitting a body that beautifully and her mouth went dust dry. His tie hung so gorgeously that Heather must have tied the knot herself. She was a pro and had redone Wallace’s, too, to great effect. Dick, she left on his own.

His smile tugged a matching one onto her face and for once, for once she stopped trying to hide her reaction to him and simply beamed. Holy Christ, she was happy he hadn’t left her at the altar. That he’d proposed, that they had a home together, and a honeymoon stretching before them in gloriously open weeks of sand and sex and sky.

That Logan loved her.

More than Madison or Kendall or any of the women on earth that would have been his for the asking, which was pretty much all of them.

At his side, Heather was squirming with joy, having lifted up on her toes to see better. She nudged Logan, half-falling into his side as she whispered something through her grin that looked very much like, “It’s her!” which is what she’d said when Veronica and Heather had their first awkward meeting in the elevator of the Neptune Grand.

Then, like now, Veronica wondered what the hell had happened to make closed-tight Logan pour his heart out to a little girl, because that kid understood the depth of their relationship better than any outsider honestly should.

Logan glanced away from Veronica for just a moment, a soft laugh falling from his lips as he caught the wobbling Heather in a side hug, giving her a squeeze and setting her back more solidly on her feet before he looked back up to his bride.

Awe quieted his face all over again at the second glance. Now she wasn’t sure if she was smiling or staring, just knew that she was still walking and all of her skin had gone numb and shining at once.

She’d worried, just a bit, about feeling self conscious while walking up the aisle to him with all these people watching, but now she couldn’t have named a single face in the audience even to win a year’s worth of free utility bills.

By the time she was in front of him, her chest had gone too full, her dress too tight around her lungs and her eyes started to itch in a way that boded very poorly for her mascara. She couldn’t catch her breath and hot and then cold flashed at the base of every one of her hair follicles. Her body seemed to be going haywire—which wasn’t that abnormal when she was around Logan, to be honest, but it was doing it in a big way just now and in front of a very awkward number of witnesses.

And a pastor.

She was 90% sure she was about to freak out, or burst, in some sort of terrifically embarrassing way, and then Logan held out his hand. Palm up, patiently, like he’d been waiting for decades to do just that.

She shoved her flowers at Wallace and took Logan’s hand, getting a little crossed up when she remembered she was supposed to do a ceremonial cheek kiss with her dad first. She turned back, still clinging to Logan, and her dad was right there. Taking both her shoulders in his big, steadying palms and laying a kiss on her cheek, his eyes shining with a happiness that brought tears to hers.

“Dad,” she whispered hoarsely, her fingers going convulsively tight in Logan’s. But he held onto her just as hard.

“I love you,” Dad whispered, and then looked to Logan, clapping him on the shoulder and giving it a solid squeeze before he stepped back to his pew.

Logan gave her hand a tug that brought her easily up the last step to the altar. Suddenly, she remembered the plan had been to hold her flowers through the ceremony and then pass them off before the exchange of rings. But she couldn’t stand here in this electrified moment without touching Logan, just could not do it, so she threw an apologetic look over her shoulder at her brides-people, as Heather had dubbed them.

Wallace was holding her flowers awkwardly away from his body, like they were a baby with a soggy diaper, and Mac reached with an amused smile to take them. Veronica heard Logan’s soft chuckle as she turned back and met his eyes.

They were glowing a golden maple brown, the way they did when he was in a particularly good mood, and her other hand found his unerringly. As soon as they locked, her heartbeat settled, and her dress started to fit just right again. She felt beautiful, in a way she couldn’t remember ever feeling exactly in this way, and she remembered how he’d called her hair pretty.

Her smile went soft just as his went wicked, his thoughts apparently travelling a road a little closer to the gutter than hers, and that made her choke on a laugh. Wallace poked her in the back.

“Get it together, Mars. This is serious.”

That made Logan grin, and the pastor took a breath and gave them both a look.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate an event many of us have looked forward to with bated breath—the day when we will never again have to live through another Logan and Veronica breakup.”

The crowd had taken their seats, but that was met with laughter, then spontaneous applause that built to a standing ovation.

And Logan, never one for rules, tugged her closer so his hand fit perfectly in the small of her back, taking her weight so that when his soft kiss touched her lips and she went weak with the swell of emotion, he was already there to catch her. A soft kiss flamed to a passionate one, and she was clinging to his shirt collar, the blood roaring in her ears, when she felt a tap on her shoulder, followed by a clearing throat.

“Not quite to that part yet, folks, if you please.” The pastor gave her a dry smile. He’d been presiding over their neighborhood church her whole life, on the infrequent occasions she had gone, and this was far from the first rebuke he’d given her.

“Sorry, Father,” Logan said, sounding anything but. “Got confused by the applause and just jumped to the good part.”

He tucked a loose strand of her hair back into her coiffure, and she used a quick swipe of her thumb to get a bit of her lipstick off his cheek. He licked his lips with a smile so satisfied she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“As I was saying--” the pastor began again pointedly.

The ceremony went along smoothly, and just about the time her cheeks began to ache from the smile she couldn’t seem to let go of, it was time for the rings. She tried to whistle, but her mouth was too dry, and then a whistle went up quickly from her father in the first pew.

Backup trotted out, the satin pillow attached to his collar starting to slip to the side as he darted up the aisle. Logan caught him and gave his head a scratch, passing his trailing leash to Heather as he pocketed the rings.

“Do you, Veronica, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

She didn’t even hear Logan’s vow when he took his turn. All she could see was his eyes, glowing on hers like he could see inside her to something no one else ever recognized. Something she never knew she needed so badly to have seen. She didn’t realize she was pulling him ever so slightly toward her until he tapped her wrist in a laughing reminder to wait, and then the pastor finally said,

“You may kiss the bride.”

There was no romantic warm-up kiss this time. He swept her up, lifting her a little off her feet and taking her mouth in one of his steam-her-eyeballs and incinerate-the-panties kisses that she could not believe he was doing in public. Her nipples went hard and pushed suffocatingly against the stiff bodice of her dress. She bit his lower lip just for revenge, to get him as worked up as she was. Judging by the hoarse way his breath went ragged, and the trembling of his hands against her back, she’d succeeded.

He set her back on her feet, which was when the cheering and wolf whistles of the audience finally registered. He wrapped her left hand in his, his long fingers laying protectively over her shiny new rings as they turned to face the audience.

Veronica’s eyes went misty again, knowing what was coming next, and a second later, she felt Logan’s hand gripping hers, his palm going a little clammy.

She was pretty sure she knew what his favorite moment of the wedding had been, but she was also very sure she knew what his second favorite would be, and it was coming on the next breath. She linked their hands together as tightly as they could go, savoring this last moment with him that she knew he was eager to put behind him in favor of what came next.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Logan and Veronica Mars!”