Maybe I should have grabbed a sweater. There wasn’t really time, but I’m freezing. I don’t even want to ask if I can turn on the heater, because I’m in the car with Logan and two teenage boys. I may be a fiery Southern girl, but I guess I was born with the circulatory system of a 72-year-old woman. We’ve been driving for close to an hour, and with every minute that passes I’m getting more and more self-conscious. I’ve got on a satin nightgown, no shoes, no socks, and I keep pulling it down to at least touch my kneecaps. Who am I kidding, though? The only person who would want a peek is Bobby, and he’s all the way in the backseat playing twenty questions with John.

“Okay, okay, okay, I got one,” John announces. “Who am I?”

“Alive?” Bobby asks, his voice gravelly with exhaustion.

“Yes.” Finally, after all this time, John doesn’t choose someone who's six feet under.

“Guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Ummm…” I hear Bobby fidget with his seatbelt. “Mutant?”

“Of course!”

“Evil?”

“Of course…”

Bobby sighs in frustration. “Magneto?”

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner!” John laughs obnoxiously. I swear, that boy gets on my last nerve. Logan eyes him through the rear-view mirror, the first sign of him paying attention to anything other than the road. “Lucky guess, Iceman.”

“There’s nothing lucky about it. You’re obsessed with the guy.” Bobby cracks his window slightly, and I feel the goose bumps on my arms right away.

John slugs Bobby in the bicep. He’s obviously offended by his words. “It’s not an obsession, dude. I just admire him, the same way I admire Hitler.”

Was that a snort from Logan? I smirk.

“You…admire…Hitler? That’s not something you should share, John.” Bobby rubs his smarting arm.

“You gonna do your history report about him?” I tease. “Professor Munroe would be thrilled to hear what you have to say…”

“Shut up,” John glares. “It’s not about the actions, okay? I just think it’s cool that Hitler could persuade the masses."

"It's called brainwashing," Bobby reasons.

Ignoring the comment, John continued. "People fear Magneto, but they respect him, and that’s not easy to come by.”

“You’re a regular Machiavelli, kid.” Logan switches on his high beams as we approach a dark patch of the Interstate. I twist my head to exchange an amused glance with Bobby. John slumps back against his seat, pouting. For a minute, it looks like he’s going to play with his lighter in a moving vehicle, but he shoves it back into his pocket.

“Um, Logan?” Bobby clears his throat. Logan grunts in response. “Could you…uh…pull over? I have to…you know…”

Logan's posture changes subtly, and I can tell that he’s assessing the situation. If we stop, it has to be fast. We’re on a mission. “Five minutes. Take a piss and stretch your legs. A second longer, and I’m leaving your ass in the woods.” I smile. A gang of kids turned him into a softy. He guides the car to the shoulder and uses one of his blades to kill the engine. The lights flick off automatically, and Bobby doesn’t wait for the door locks to disengage. He pulls the knob up manually and hops out of the car. John hesitates, and follows him a few seconds later.

It’s just me and Logan, now. Out of habit, he explores and dissects the surroundings. He turns on the interior light. “You cold?” he asks without even looking at me.

“No,” I lie.

“Kid, I can hear you shivering.”

“Then why’d you ask?” For some reason, I turn into a smartass when he’s around. I’ve caught his attention and his gaze lands on me. Did he just check me out? Hollering from a few feet away cuts the tension. The night sky is a deep indigo, and I can barely make out Bobby’s silhouette. He’s shuffling around a tree, the white of his eyes glimmering in the darkness. John shouts something about frozen piss and I roll my eyes.

“What do you say we take off, kid?” Logan grimaces, cracking his knuckles. It’s loud, and it makes my stomach churn.

“It hasn’t been five minutes yet,” I point out, for reasons I cannot fathom. Logan just propositioned me, whether it was serious or not, to run away with him. I twirl my hair and avoid his sweet, chocolate frosting colored eyes. He reaches across me and, instinctively, I recoil as much as possible. He gives me ‘the Laughlin eyebrow’, as I’ve affectionately named it, and mentally I bang my head against the dashboard. He pops open the glove box and snoops around. “I don’t think Professor Summers would appreciate you going through his things, Logan.”

“I thought you were on my side, Darlin’.” I bite my lip when the hair on his arm brushes against my thigh. Darlin’? That’s a new one. I know he can hear the hitch in my breathing and the surge of my heartbeat. I know it because Logan hears and sees and smells everything. But he never reacts, leaving me to feel like a red-faced, hot-blooded, wayward schoolgirl. My limbs are jellyfish, very heavy jellyfish. Please find something quick, Logan, ‘cause you’re killing me here. “Shit.” He slams the compartment shut. “Another notch in his asshole belt…no map.”

Logan moves away from me. “You know how to drive kid?”

I wasn’t expecting that one. “Yeah, but I’ve only got a permit. And it’s only good in Mississippi. And I don’t have it with me. Why?”

“‘Cause sports cars are made for puny guys like Summers, not me. I’m a truck man.” I chuckle, and he tosses me an affronted scowl. “What?”

“No offense, Logan,” I can barely keep myself from shaking with laughter, “but I pray I never have to ride with you in a truck again.” I cover my mouth to contain my amusement.

He’s trying so hard to frown, and he gives me a little shove. The gesture is too fleeting for my skin to notice. “Alright, squirt, keep laughing. You wanna walk to the next state?”

I purse my lips to suppress the menacing giggles. “You still don’t wear your seatbelt!”

He rests one arm on the steering wheel and the other on the back of my seat. “I like to live dangerously.” I feel the blush creeping onto my cheeks again. The playfulness has left his stare. What I see now is…primal. “Kid… everything you saw back there, at the mansion? I want you to forget it. You have enough of my blood-spattered memories; I don’t want to give you new ones of your own. You got that?”

My throat feels dry, suddenly. When are Bobby and John coming back? “Okay.” Something outside catches his eye. John is holding a leaf, and it’s on fire. He’s such a pyro. Bobby freezes it, and Logan returns his attention to me. I don’t know what to say, because I can’t just erase the images of Logan hacking and dicing those soldiers. He still has their bloodstains on his shirt. But, it doesn’t bother me, because, “Logan, I know that’s not you.”

“Kid…”

“No, really. I mean, I know you were just trying to protect us. You did what you had to.” I know he’s a monster, and the claws in his hands are tainted with the deathly rattle of countless enemies. But, “Logan, I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

The rear passenger doors creak open, and the car rocks as John and my boyfriend settle in. They’re arguing whether they saw a badger or a raccoon. Do badgers even live in Connecticut? Logan starts the car and mutters to Bobby about directions. We merge back onto the highway, and I lean my head against the cool glass of the window. I sense that someone is watching me. Logan. I catch him stealing an uneasy glance, and our eyes lock. It is only an instant, one moment, but our peculiar and intense connection is more effective than words.

Reflexively, I reach for the tags that customarily hang around my neck. They’re gone. They’re lying on the console, jingling sporadically with the vibrations of the car. I never took them off, even in the shower. I’m scared to death of my powers, and those tags were my armor. They were a reminder of the one person who was willing to touch me to save my life. I know it’s selfish for me to want them back, because they belong to him. I don’t see why he even wants them. They’re remnants of imprisonment and torture. But, he gave them to me and promised to come back. He kept that promise, and I kept mine. As soon as we left the mansion, I took the charm from its resting place and handed it to him, my heart permanently grafted to the cold metal.

It’s a sign that I need to move on, now. Let go. I have all of Bobby and only shards of Logan. I sigh and snuggle into the contours of my seat. Logan’s a truck, and I’m the sports car. I’m going to shift gears, push the pedal to the floor, and drive where the road takes me.