“You’re not getting this published.”
“Logan--”
“It’s not gonna happen, Marie. I may have let you write me into one of your little stories, but there’s no way in hell I’m gonna let you write me like this. I do not cry. It’s unmanly and I don’t do it.”
“Oh please! I’ve seen you cry, Logan. Don’t you try to deny it.”
“I did not!”
“Yeah ya did! Think back a little while. Last spring. Rainy night.”
“That doesn’t count! It was game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals. Detroit against Colorado. Third overtime!! Yzerman netted one of the most amazing goals in the history of hockey!”
“Logan, it was game 2 o’ the first round o’ the playoff. Detroit against Toronto. Pre-game show. Ya were outta beer an’ ya couldn’t go get more cause the road leadin’ t’ town was flooded.”
“That still doesn’t give you the right to turn me into a pansy-ass!”
Marie pinched the bridge of her nose and straddled Logan’s waist. She cupped his face in her hands, making sure that she had his full attention. “Logan, Ah’m a writer. Ah write stories. Sure, most o’ them are cheesy romance novels, but Ah still write ‘em.”
“You. Made. Me. Cry,” Logan ground out.
Marie rolled her eyes. “Ah also had us rollin’ round in bed and naked in the shower. What’s yer point?”
“I cried!” Logan shouted. “People all over the world are going to read this and think that I’m some fuckin’ cry baby! Look, Marie, I love you like crazy and I think you’re the most amazing writer that ever lived... but I can’t let you turn me into a whimpering whimp.”
Struck by sudden inspiration, Marie ground her hips against Logan’s. “Not even if Ah make it worth your while?”
“Oh yeah....” Logan moaned, allowing his head to fall back. Suddenly, he flung his head back up and placed his hands on Marie’s waist to keep her still. “No! Stop that! You’re not gonna win! I am not now, nor have I ever been, an experiment of the Canadian government. I am not a mutant. I do not have claws. I do not have a metal skeleton. And I do not cry. Even if I had no memories and really bad nightmares, I still wouldn’t cry.”
Marie made a frustrated noise and dropped her head onto Logan’s shoulder. “Yer a real difficult person. Ya know that, right? Most guys would be thrilled that their wife was makin’ them the hero in their books. At least this way ya know Ah’m not fantasizing ‘bout anyone that’s not ya.”
Logan continued to shake his head. “It’s not gonna work, darlin’. Go back to your blondes with the bulging muscles. Better they cry than me.”
With an annoyed scream, Marie rolled off Logan and jumped to her feet. She glared down at him, pointing a finger in the centre of his chest. “Ya tell me somethin’ ya like ‘bout mah story or yer sleepin’ down here with Boris fer a week..... No! A month!”
“Marie--”
“Don’t ya ‘Marie’ me! It’s not gonna work! Tell me somethin’ ya liked.”
Logan stood up and pulled Marie into his arms, rocking her back and forth. “I liked how you wrote yourself. So beautiful and so strong. I liked how you had us meet. So close to the real thing, but not. I liked seeing myself through your eyes even if you did make me cry. And how you wrote Boris. I loved it all, Marie. Just not the fact that I cried.”
“Gawd, Logan!” Marie cried, exasperated. “What’s so big ‘bout me makin’ ya cry? Just ‘bout everyone who’s gonna read this will have no clue that it’s you Ah’m writin’ ‘bout.”
“Well, every time you get a new book published everyone in your family buys a copy. Everyone in my family buys a copy. Hell, everyone in town buys a copy. Each and every one of those people know who I am and are going to know that you made me cry,” Logan explained, scratching at the back of his head.
Marie stood up on tip toe and pressed a kiss to Logan’s cheek. “Come ‘ere, sugah. Ah got something else Ah want ya t’ read.”
Grabbing hold of Logan’s hand, Marie led him from the living room to the small room in the back of their cottage that she did most of her writing in. She went straight to the computer and clicked on the icon that read “Shall Rise Again” under the picture. The content box appeared and Marie brought up a file and let Logan read it.
“To my beloved husband, Logan. You’re my inspiration, my muse and the strongest person I know. You may not cry like the Logan in here, but I love you anyway,” Logan read out loud, the awe evident in his voice.
“See, everyone who reads this is goin’ to know that ya don’t cry,” Marie said, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Happy now.”
Logan grinned down at her and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Very. But I’d be even happier if we can go do that shared shower thing you wrote about so much.”
One thing Marie hadn’t lied about in her story was how sensual Logan was. He was very big on sensation and would spend hours just touching her. It drove Marie insane when he did this, but she loved every minute of it. They had exhausted the hot water heater many times because Logan couldn’t get enough of touching her in the shower.
“Ah’ve got no problem with that, sugah,” Marie murmured, running her finger along the jagged scar on Logan’s neck. They had been brought together when Logan had received that scar and hadn’t been apart in the three years since.
With a feral grin, Logan scooped Marie up into his arms. “Then let’s get going, darlin’.”