Fic: Lie a Little (Gambit/X-23) - Mature
Title: Lie a Little
Characters: Remy LeBeau, Laura Kinney, Julian Keller, Logan, Rogue
Pairing: Remy/Laura
Rating: Mature
Author's Notes/Warnings: Underage
Summary: When Remy goes to visit Laura, he makes a mistake that threatens to transform the nature of their friendship.
Lie a Little
He decides not to tell her that her gift arrived broken. The cup-a blue ceramic mug-didn’t survive its journey from California. When he pulls away the tissue paper and lays the pieces on his desk, he sees that its handle is chipped beyond repair. There will be no gluing this back together.
With the gift is a letter written in Laura’s neat up-and-down handwriting. Dear Gambit: I saw this and thought of you, it says. Then, her name.
The terseness of the letter isn’t unusual; Laura’s texts and emails are short and to-the-point. Tonight we had pizza, she emailed a week ago. Tomorrow we have the day off and are going to the beach.
The week before that, she emailed him this: Gambit, I’m glad to hear from you. Yes, the Avengers are treating me well. We have class during the day and practice at night, so I am busy but not overwhelmed. I hope that it is not too cold in New York. Please be safe. Laura.
Remy saves these correspondences. He doesn’t delete them. To delete them would feel unlucky.
He decides to call her right then. He makes sure his door is closed and then picks up his phone.
She answers on the second ring. “Gambit.”
“Hey, petite,” he says. “Got your gift. What’d I do to deserve something so nice?”
“I am glad you received the package. The man at the post office said it would arrive today or tomorrow.”
He glances down at the pieces. The U.S. Postal Service-no wonder! “You busy right now?” He can hear city noises in the background.
“No more than usual.” Then, quieter: “I am happy to hear from you. I have something to ask.”
“Ask away,” he says.
Nothing in his life surprises him anymore, but he can’t help but wonder at this: his friendship with Logan’s quiet, self-possessed female clone. If you’d told him a year ago that he’d look forward to emails and phone calls from Laura-that she’d know more about him than he knew about himself-he’d be mystified. Open to the idea, but mystified nonetheless.
As she talks to him, he stands at his window, looking out onto the courtyard. The new school’s campus is beautiful-well-kept and important-looking. It’s been a mild winter, so they’ve held practices outside on the brown, spongy ground. He’s lucky to be here, lucky to have the X-Men, lucky to still have a job. Still, in California it’s three hours earlier and warmer, and he can’t help but shake the feeling that he’s not supposed to be here.
***
An hour after he hangs up, he turns off his computer and shoves a bunch of ungraded papers into a folder. He’s not grading them now, he’s decided-he’ll have to grade them when he gets back to his room. A de facto homework assignment.
He checks his office, making sure the light is off and the place is tidy. After closing the blinds, he gives the place another once-over, checking that all his papers are put away and that nothing is left out-no incriminating evidence, no unguarded quizzes and tests.
He doesn’t know why he does this. He’s got no incriminating evidence, and he hasn’t yet even thought about the midterm. No one can steal it from his mind, let alone his office. He’s been having so many paranoid moments like this, feelings he can’t shake, and he doesn’t know why.
Perhaps it’s because the X-Men are fighting again. He’s not surprised about this-just glad he’s not the reason for all the drama. Still, this is a nasty divorce. Tragic that the kids have to sort through their loyalties, that they have to choose between the guy who doesn’t like children but wants to teach them, and the guy who likes them but wants them in the line of fire. Yeah, flip a coin for that.
When Logan first offered him a teaching job at the new school, he was flattered. Now he doesn’t know what he was thinking. Him, a teacher.
The kids don’t seem to take him seriously either. A couple of those little bastards have him by the balls-each day, Julian Keller and Santo sit in the back of the room and act either as a peanut gallery or an initiation crew. There’s nothing they won’t say or mock, nothing that’s off limits.
Santo’s basically harmless. He’s just trying to get girls to notice him, and Remy gets that. But Julian? With Julian it’s clearly personal. Each day he stares up at Gambit from behind his shaggy hair, his eyes two black coals of animosity. He’s even filed two complaints about Remy to Kitty Pryde. (Kitty said she knew the complaints were bullshit, but that she had to look into them anyway. It was a grand ass-covering that resulted in a short memo and a reminder not to share too many “personal details” in class.)
“We’re all under a lot of pressure here,” Kitty told him. “City on a hill, eyes of the world are on us, blah blah blah. So let’s not explain to them the great varieties of dildos unless we have to.”
“It was an honest question from a student, chère,” he said. “And it’s a sex-ed class. What am I s’posed to do? Say, ‘See me after class about dildos?’”
“We need to wait until the Julian thing blows over.”
Fat chance of that happening. When Julian isn’t skulking around the courtyard or promising to blow things up, he’s having emotional outbursts, crying jags. There are days when he doesn’t leave his room. Logan thinks he’s probably bipolar-it’s a common enough thing. But Remy knows the truth: he’s grieving the loss of Laura, a girl he never even had. Or was never all that nice to. Remy understands that-he understands how you can take a woman for granted and not realize it until it’s too late.
But he won’t go so far as to give Julian a pass. Remy did a lot of shitty things when he was younger, but he was never so entitled. He directed his anger and frustration at himself-made lousy decisions, ingested things he shouldn’t have. But he never went out of his way to hurt other people. Julian, on the other hand, has made it his personal mission to make life at the Institute a real shit show for everyone, especially Remy.
When Remy steps into the hallway to lock his office door, he inspects things to make sure they look okay. Last week there was a sign that said I have no penis. Two weeks before that: NEEDED: Asian girls for social experiment involving bamboo cage. Will pay by the hour.
Nothing on his door today, no evidence of Julian’s intellectual prowess. He hurries down the hallway and out into the courtyard, his folder under his arm. As he cuts across campus to head for the residential wing, he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. It’s Rogue and a couple of students coming inside from outdoor practice.
Before he can turn away it’s too late. She sees him-and worse, she knows that he’s seen her. He could wave to her before heading inside, but that would seem rude and so obviously avoidant. Instead, he puts one hand in his pocket and waits by the door. They’ll have a stop-and-chat, he tells himself. That’s all. Just two colleagues sharing a moment outside. A shame that’s all there is between them these days-painful small-talk he could be having with anyone.
He misses her. It’s palpable.
“Hey you,” she says, bounding up the steps. She smiles and lets the other students shuffle past her and into the building.
“Good practice?” he says. He regards her carefully, reminding himself not to leer. Even though it’s cool outside, a fine line of sweat dots her upper lip. She looks great.
“Better than yesterday. Which is all any of us can hope for.” She smiles more broadly.
He smiles too, his mirror neurons kicking in. He wonders how long former lovers can smile at each other before something primal happens.
She gives him the once-over and then gestures to his folder. “Your uterus is hanging out.”
“What? Oh.” He chuckles and checks the folder. One of his tests has flapped loose. “Technically it ain’t my uterus. It’s Victor’s. And it’s not just a uterus but the entire female reproductive system. I think he did a good job on it.” He holds up the diagram . . . to show her what? Something she doesn’t know?
Thankfully, she smoothes over the awkwardness with a laugh. “Go Victor.”
He slips the test back into his file and reaches for the door.
“So how was your day?” she asks as they clamor into the stairwell.
“Good,” he says. “I’m goin’ to California. I mean-” She turns her head sharply to look at him. “To see Laura at her new school.”
“Oh,” she says, “that’s wonderful!” She pats his arm as they go up the stairs, and he can’t help but wonder if her gesture isn’t relieved. At least he’s got something good in his life. “Laura must be lonely out there. Hope she knows she’s lucky to have a friend who’ll fly all that way to cheer her up.”
“I’m the one who’s lucky,” he says, but not as forcefully as he should. He doesn’t know what possessed him to share this information with Rogue. He hasn’t even run it by Logan yet. What if Logan doesn’t let him take the time off? (Logan better give him the time off. It’s the least he can do.)
“You goin’ at the end of this month?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Their spring break overlaps with ours. Takin’ the weekend.”
“It’ll be fun to get out of here.”
“I know, right?” They stop at the top of the stairs and face each other. “This place is more a zoo than I remember.”
“I know, Remy,” she says, her eyes wide with empathy and exasperation. “If we’re not saving the school from some
wrecking crew then we’re keepin’ the kids from rippin’ the toilets out of the floor.”
“That was the boys’ wing yesterday,” he says, relieved for this faculty bitch session. As teachers, it’s something they can always fall back on. When they have nothing else in common, they’ll still have an endless litany about teenagers doing the darndest things. The in-class texting! The cheating! The blatant disrespect!
“And lord knows how my class is going. I have a feeling that my evaluations are gonna to make me want to start a bonfire.”
“Count me in,” Remy says. He smiles. The conversation is wrapping up nicely. He hasn’t said anything too emotional-nothing that will come back to bite him in the ass later. He feels like a guilty man who’s been given a reprieve.
“See you around, Remy,” she says as she turns to go in the opposite direction. She gives him a wave.
“See ya,” he says.
***
Julian blames Remy for the fact that Laura’s gone. He’s told everyone that Remy’s a pervert-that he stole Laura away and ruined her with European culture and told her that she was hot shit, too good for the X-Men. The story circulates. It comes back to Remy a dozen different ways. No one really believes it-not the students, not the other teachers-but it sticks with him nonetheless, like an unpleasant taste.
But Remy didn’t want to see Laura go, either. If it had been up to him, she would have stayed.
That’s the thing. Julian might blame him for her departure, but secretly Remy blames Logan. He thinks Logan should have made a bigger play for her. He should have told her how much he wanted her here. Shit, he should have promised her a pony and a little red car and a full ride to Harvard.
Even if he had, that’s not what would have kept Laura around. Laura would have stayed if Logan had told her that he wanted her to stay. All he had to do was say the word.
Remy’s given up on making Logan see the error of his ways. They’ve had half a dozen tense conversations about it, all of them ending with Logan saying things like, “X is a different kind of girl,” or “she wanted a new start.” And maybe Logan’s right. Maybe Laura did deserve a new start after all that’s happened. But what he wants to say-and doesn’t, to his credit-is that attending a fancy academy doesn’t make up for the fact that your dad doesn’t want you studying at his.
When Laura got into that jam with the FF and was unconscious for a few days, Remy called Logan constantly. Every few hours. It didn’t matter because Logan didn’t answer. His phone was turned off. He was in the field. He was with X-Force. Whatever. Remy left six or eight messages. He paced the halls of the Baxter Building. He ducked into the stairwell. The tone of his messages became more hostile, more desperate. Who went days without turning on his phone? (Logan, of course.) “You need to pick up, Logan,” he said, crouched on the stairs. “Mon Dieu, it’s serious. Get your ass to Manhattan. Don’t give a shit what it takes.”
Then he called Kitty. And then Hank. And neither of them could get in touch with Logan either.
By the time Logan called him back two days later, Laura had come out of her coma. She was sleeping in the infirmary. Sue thought she might be groggy for few more days, so Remy went into the hallway to take the call.
“What the hell’s going on?” Logan said. He sounded anxious.
“It’s Laura,” Remy said. He leaned against the doorjamb. “Listen, she’s okay. She was in some kind of coma but she’s awake now.”
“What the fuck? Where the fuck are you?”
“I’m-” He dropped his hand. “Didn’t you get my messages, homme? We’re at the Baxter Building.”
“The Baxter Building? Huh?”
“We’re-” Remy switched the phone to his other ear. “I left all of this on your voicemail.”
“I had a shit ton of messages and missed calls from you, Gumbo. They ran down my battery. I only listened to the first one, and it was insane. So Laura’s fine?”
“She’s fine now,” Remy said. “Sleeping.”
“Good.” Logan seemed to sigh.
“Not ‘good.’ Where the fuck-” Remy collected himself. “How soon can you be here?”
Logan went quiet for a second. Then he made a sound that sounded like a cross between a sigh and a grunt. “It’ll take me a good fucking while. Everything’s gone to shit out here. You wouldn’t believe the crap that Scott’s pulling now. It’s gonna be hard for me to slip away, and I’m on the other side of the country besides.”
“You need to book a flight-”
“Is Reed looking after her? What does he say about her condition?”
Remy thought for a moment and then conceded: “That she’s fine.” He closed his eyes and tried not to shake his head. He hated how Logan always engineered each conversation to get the answers he wanted, backing Remy into a corner so he couldn’t prevaricate. After all, no one could argue with a Reed Richards diagnosis.
“You got this, right?” Logan said. “You’ll let me know if anything changes?” A pause. “X is a tough girl.”
“Listen, Logan,” Remy said, moving away from the door of the infirmary. He lowered his voice. “I don’t care what kind of shit special X-Force has gotten itself into this week. But it’d do her good to see you when she wakes up. Speed the healin’ process. All that.”
“Yeah, but you know you’re better at that shit than I am,” Logan said. “If she’s with you, then no worries here.”
More inarguable Wolverine logic. No wonder this guy ran every team in the country! He just made up the rules as he went along.
“Fuck that,” Remy said. “You should be here with her, ami. Not me. You. You’re her family.”
Three thousand miles away, Logan seemed to wince. Family was a fact he couldn’t argue his way out of. “I know. It’s shitty. I feel like shit, believe me.” He paused. “Under normal circumstances I would come. But this whole thing is-ah, damnit. I’m not gonna fill your ear with excuses. I have no real excuse. I just can’t make it. And I know X is . . . strong. With you there, she probably won’t even miss me. Right?”
Remy didn’t say anything. If it was Jubilee you would come, he thought. If it was Kitty you would have been on a plane yesterday. What kept him from trotting out such pronouncements was Logan’s low, penitent tone. By folding so easily, Logan made a public trouncing almost impossible.
The next day, when Laura was well enough to move around, she confessed to him that she was hungry. Not just a little hungry, not just hungry for the chicken noodle soup and healthy macrobiotic shit that Sue kept around, but super-atomically hungry.
“You want pizza, petite?” he said. “I’ll go out and get it.”
“I want to go too.”
The city was windy and cool, autumn coming on. Laura looked cold, so Remy took her to the nearest place he could find. They ducked into a pizza parlor and ordered two large pies, one pepperoni, one onion and hot pepper. Laura did most of the eating. Remy watched her and chatted and checked his phone for messages.
When Laura finished with the onions and the hot peppers, she started on the pepperoni. “Logan called me this morning.”
“Oh?” He put his cell phone aside.
“While you were at breakfast. He wanted to know if I was alright.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I was fine.” She folded her piece of pizza in half. “He said that he talked to you yesterday. But I did not know that. You did not tell me.”
“I didn’t get a chance,” he said, sitting up straight. “Listen, petite. Logan wanted to come see you but apparently there’s this . . . shittiness . . . out in California. I was gonna tell you today but lost track.”
Laura shook her head. “Logan did not have to come. I am fine. He said he knew this, and that’s why he didn’t come.”
“Yeah, but he would have come, though. To see you. If he could have. But he just couldn’t get away.”
“Logan understands my healing factor like no one else. And that I will always be fine. You know, in X-Force-”
He waited for her to finish her thought, but instead she trailed off. He was almost glad for that. He’d heard too much about X-Force.
“I am always fine,” she reiterated.
Remy waited a beat. “Of course we all knew you were going to be fine,” he said, even though he’d spent several tense hours preparing for the worst. “But we were still concerned. And so was Logan. He would have come to see you. He just got all tied up on the other side of the country.”
“Gambit,” Laura said. She set her pizza down and placed her hands on either side of her plate. She looked at him.
Remy knew he was about to be called out, leaned into, laid bare. Laura never let him get away with anything; she always met him on his feet. He never really believed that she was sixteen.
She said, “I know you want to make me feel better. But you do not need to. I know what Logan and I are to each other. He is not my father, Gambit. Not even when he wants to be.”
“That ain’t true. Logan cares for you a lot.”
“He does,” she admitted. “But caring for someone . . . and being a father . . . these are two different things.” She looked
down at her plate. “I am not really his child. I am his clone.”
“That’s immaterial.”
“I have always been something of a burden to him.”
He was still for a moment; then he pressed his hand to his chin. “That’s not true. That’s just not-I can’t imagine . . .” I can’t imagine you being a burden to anybody. Which was not the same thing as Logan does not consider you a burden.
“Imagine if you were Logan,” Laura continued. “How would feel about me?”
He swallowed. “That you’re great.”
“I am evidence,” she said. “Of what happened to him.”
“No.” He sat up and shook his head. “Petite. You can’t-” He stopped himself. What was he going to tell her? That she couldn’t think of herself that way? That if he thought of his own existence in such brutally reductive terms he’d never make it through a single week? Who was he to tell her how to think about herself?
“You do not have to lie to me, Gambit,” Laura said. “Not about Wolverine . . . or anything.”
His throat tightened. “Not even a little?” he said, his breath catching.
Her hand skimmed across the surface of the table and grabbed his. Outside the window, people zipped up their jackets and rushed to get out of the cold.
***
The night before he’s scheduled to fly to California to see Laura, Julian comes to his door. It’s late and he’s making some last minute additions to his bag. He’s trying to decide whether or not to pack sneakers when Julian knocks.
In the hallway, Julian looks like he always does: disheveled, nervous, and a little bit hostile.
Lately Julian hasn’t misbehaved in class. However, he’s still taping things to Remy’s office door. Last week, Remy arrived at his office in the morning to find a picture of a big bloated face with red and black eyes. When he got closer, he discovered that the face was a copy of a diagram he’d passed out in class-a diagram of the male reproductive system. The penis was meant to be his nose, the testicles his chin.
“Mr. Keller,” Remy says. “What can I do for you?”
Julian holds out an envelope. He looks Remy straight in the face and doesn’t flinch. “You’re going to see Laura, right? I need you to give this to her.”
Remy stares at the envelope. Julian doesn’t drop his hand.
“I don’t-” Remy begins. “I think you should send it to her in the mail, Julian. If you want, I can give you a stamp.”
Julian continues to hold out the envelope. “That’s bullshit. You’re flying across the country to see her and you offer me a stamp instead? How does that make sense?”
“It makes sense,” Remy says, clutching the door, “because I’m not givin’ her anything that will upset her. Is that clear enough for you?”
Julian lets his arm drop. “I’m sorry.” He looks down. “I don’t want to upset her. My letter is an apology. For some of the things I said to her. I just want to tell her-I’m sorry-”
Julian takes a big breath and puffs up his chest. He’s trying not to cry.
Remy doesn’t say anything, so Julian takes the opportunity to elaborate. “What I said was horrible.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I like, hate myself for what I said to her. And now it’s over and I can’t take it back . . .” He pulls his arms tighter and looks down. His shoulders begin to shake.
Remy doesn’t know what happened between Julian and Laura, and he doesn’t want to know either. Still, it’s time to step in here. He doesn’t want another public Keller meltdown. “It’s okay,” he says quickly, even if it’s not-even if the last thing he wants to do is give Keller a pass.
“I just want to apologize,” Julian squeaks out. His breathing hastens.
Remy holds out his arm. Then he regrets the gesture, worried that Julian will see it as an invitation to hug.
Luckily, Julian ignores it. He pushes past him and staggers into the bedroom. Sinking onto Remy’s mattress, he hangs his head and sobs quietly.
Remy doesn’t know what to do, so he closes the door over and stands in the middle of his bedroom.
Julian glances up at him. He wipes his eyes and nose on his sleeve. Fat tears continue to roll down his cheeks, and his face is wet and messy.
“Here,” Remy says. He picks up the box of tissues on his desk and hands it to Julian. “You’ll be okay. You just need to cry it out.”
Julian sets his letter on the bed and reaches for a tissue. “Thanks.” He scratches his shoulder. Then he scratches his chest. Then he looks up at Remy. He’s waiting for something. A benediction? A word of advice?
“You’ve been having a hard time,” Remy says. (This is all he can do: state the obvious.)
Julian nods.
“Well, sometimes these things just happen. And sometimes we say things we don’t mean. Sometimes we’re careless with people’s feelings. Sometimes we treat people wrong.”
Julian stares up at him. His mood shifts-like he can’t believe he’s sitting through such a pointless, banal little iteration of we always hurt the ones we love.
“Important thing is to move forward,” Remy continues. “Learn from your mistakes so that next time you treat someone right.”
Julian swallows and squeezes the tissue into a ball. Remy reminds himself not to look too long at Julian’s prosthetic hands, but he still secretly marvels at how well they function. They’re very much like the real thing.
“Is that what happened between you and your girlfriend?” Julian says. “Is that why she left you for Old Crusty?”
Remy says nothing.
Julian realizes that he’s just ventured into dangerous territory. “Sorry,” he says.
Remy leans against his desk, deciding whether or not to accept the apology. His own personal distaste for Julian aside, he just doesn’t feel like blowing things out of proportion. “It’s alright. Here.” He holds out his hand, suddenly eager to prove himself the bigger person. “I’ll take your letter.”
Julian scratches his arm again and then hands Remy the letter. “Thanks, man.”
As Remy takes the letter from Julian, he wonders if he hasn’t been had. Maybe Julian has just maneuvered things to get what he wanted. But no, Julian’s tears were real. Even now he’s still wiping his eyes. A glob of snot glistens on his upper lip.
Julian straightens and stands in front of Remy. “Can I ask you something else?”
Remy prepares for a personal question. Something about sex. “Go ahead.”
“Victor said you have an amazing collection of nineties CDs? I was wondering if I could look?”
Relieved, Remy gestures to the stand in the corner.
Julian goes over and studies the collection, bending forward at the waist. “Wow,” he says occasionally. “Cool.”
Remy pretends to be straightening his desk, double-checking his flight itinerary, going over the Mapquests he printed out
earlier in the day. When he gets to LAX, he’s renting a car to drive to Avengers Academy. “See anything you like?”
“Yeah, sure.” Silence. Then Julian says: “You know, I heard that song ‘Alive,’ by Pearl Jam? Was about something that really happened to him. The lead singer, I mean.”
“Really,” Remy says, pretending to be interested-pretending he doesn’t already know, that he didn’t spend his youth secretly identifying with Eddie Vedder’s desire to unburden himself of parental issues.
“Yeah, like he always thought this one guy was his father. Then it turned out to not be his father. And his mother told him that his real father who’d been like, alive for most of his life? Was dead.”
“You like Pearl Jam?”
“I guess.” Julian turns around. He’s holding a CD. “Would you care if I borrowed this? I just want to put it in my iTunes.”
It’s OK Computer. Remy’s a little surprised. He nods and hopes for the best. Maybe Julian will allow himself to be opened up by the music-changed, perhaps, by Thom Yorke’s millennial anxieties. Isn’t that what this entire educational enterprise is all about? The transformative power of art?
Before Remy can question whether or not he believes this, Julian says, “Thanks, Mr. LeBeau. For everything. I’ll get this back to you.” He scratches his chest one more time and then leaves the room.
Remy stands there for a few seconds, bewildered by the interaction. Did he just imagine it? Before he can decide, there’s another knock at his door. It’s Logan.
“You’re packing?” Logan grips the door and leans into his room to look.
“Did you run into Julian?” Remy asks. “He was just here. It was the weirdest thing, homme.”
“Julian? I didn’t see him. What’d he want?”
Remy shrugs a takes a swig from a water bottle on his desk. “A favor. You know, kid’s a real hot mess. Kept crying and shit. You might wanna look into that.”
“Crying? Jesus, what did you say to him?”
“What did I say? No, I’m tellin’ you, he needs help.” With Logan it’s always like this. They’re always talking past each other, never on the same page. “Plus, he was scratching himself. Like he’s got some kind of skin condition.”
“Scratching himself, huh. Bring back memories of that time you brought somethin’ extra back from the city?” He reaches forward as if to punch Remy in the gut.
Remy brings his hands up to block. He knows Logan is trying to be affectionate, but he’s just not in the mood. “Are you asking my professional opinion? No, I don’t think he’s got crabs.”
“I’ll look into it. In the meantime-” Logan takes a folded check out of his shirt pocket. “Make sure X puts this in her bank account.”
Remy unfolds the check. Fifty dollars. “This is for the week, right? Not the semester, I hope.”
“What?"
“Never mind.” Remy reaches over to zip up his duffle back and put it on the chair. He tucks the check in his wallet.
“Well, have a nice time,” Logan says, lingering. “Rachel’s covering for you?”
“Yep.”
“Any big plans for what you’ll do?”
“Nothin’ definite.” He imagines he’ll see the campus. Maybe they’ll go together to see a play. Then he glances over at Logan, realizing that the man is hungry for something more. “Listen, Logan. Maybe you should go see her. You want my ticket? She’d probably be thrilled to see you.”
Logan pauses for a second. Like he’s considering. Then he says: “You shitting me? I get off that plane instead of you and she’ll be devastated.”
Remy doesn’t say anything. Logan’s probably right.
“Okay then,” Logan says. “Well, tell her not to spend that money all in one place.”
“Don’t think it’ll be a problem,” Remy starts to say, but when he looks up he realizes that Logan is already gone, disappearing back down the hall as quickly as he came.
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