Logan
Another nine months pass.
Another change of plans.
If you told me a year ago I'd be working security for one of the biggest music venues in the Pacific Northwest, I'd have laughed in your face.
Hell, even six months ago, I didn't expect to be here.
But when I got home, I needed a job and started working security. It was a good job, paid well, but not something I could do full-time.
Then, when spring concert season rolled around, the Gorge asked me to come back. They were looking for someone with my background—military experience, logistics, crowd control. They had taken advantage of these traits of mine last year.
I had no expectations for this year.
At first, I figured it was temporary. A side gig while I figured out my next move. But then the venue kept calling me back, throwing more money at me, asking for input on operations. Before I knew it, I wasn't just working security—I was running it.
There was a fallout with their security company's president.
Then they wanted me to start a company and bid for the Gorge security contract.
Me? A business owner?
Sounds insane.
But the money's there. So after some scrambling, I put together a security company. I secured funding from a rich uncle, hired guys—mostly locals with a military background—set up training, and now we have a company and we do good work.
I'm even getting offers to head up security for other places in Seattle and as far away as San Francisco. But I couldn't leave the Gorge. I love this place.
People who've never been don't get it. The way the sun sets behind the stage, painting the Columbia River gold. The way the amphitheater sits on the edge of the cliffs, how the grass replaces traditional seating, making every concert feel like something bigger than just a show.
The venue hasn't changed much in the last thirty years.
The music industry? Different story.
Back in high school, I saw a Summer Jam here—Eminem, Dr. Dre, Busta Rhymes, even Beyoncé. Big names. Legends.
Now? The biggest show in years isn't some rock band or a hip-hop festival.
It's a K-pop group. As in Korean Pop Music.
Nova.
I swear to all that is holy, the world has lost its damn mind.
I don't get it. K-pop isn't just popular—it's *religion-level* hysteria. These fans treat groups like Nova like they're the second coming of Jesus, and security has been tripled just to handle them.
Which is why I'm here.
I'm making more money in one night than I made in almost my entire time in the Marines.
Yeah, that's a big-ass number.
But the chaos hasn't fully hit yet. The show's tomorrow, fans are just starting to arrive, and we've got time to breathe.
Which is why the team decided to grab food at a small diner about thirty miles away in Moses Lake before the real madness starts.
The place is nothing special. An old-school, family-owned joint with a faded menu and booths that have seen better days.
Perfect for a quiet meal.
Or at least, it should be.
I'm halfway through my steak when the diner door swings open.
And I hear it before I see it.
That laugh.
Loud. Annoying.
Cindy.
And, of course, she's not alone.
Derrick Owens, smug as ever, strolls in beside her, his hand resting possessively on her waist.
I don't react.
Don't care enough to.
I just keep eating, barely acknowledging them.
But Cindy?
Cindy isn't going to let that happen.
She wants a reaction. I can see it in the set of her jaw, in the way she's talking just a little too loudly.
What the hell is wrong with her?
I can feel my coworkers watching, most of them local guys who know the history. But they also know my complete indifference.
I cut another piece of steak. Take a sip of my drink. Let them squirm in their own desperation.
Cindy cracks first.
She saunters closer, her voice syrupy sweet. "Wow, Logan. Didn't think I'd see you here."
I don't even bother looking up. "Sure, Cindy. I'm sure you had no idea."
Her smile falters. Not what she expected.
Derrick, always eager to be the biggest asshole in the room, steps in.
"Didn't know you were still around. Thought you'd be somewhere... I don't know, being poor."
I snort. "Ahh, yes. The classic 'you're poor' insult. Real creative, Derrick." I glance at him, unimpressed. "The 1980s called, and they want their dialogue back. Besides, I'd rather be poor than have a silver spoon up my ass."
A couple of the guys at my table choke back laughter.
Derrick's jaw tightens, but he keeps talking.
"You seem tense, Logan. Maybe you should take a vacation." He smirks, pulling Cindy closer like she's a prize. "Actually, Cindy and I just got back from California. First class. Saw the Redwoods. Maybe I should send you our travel agent's number."
I hum, unimpressed. "Good for you. How'd all that go with the OARC complaints you've been getting?"
Derrick freezes.
Like a deer in freaking headlights. "You know about that?"
I grin. "Everyone knows about that. That's what happens when you use ChatGPT to write your legal briefs, dumbass."
The guys at my table lost it.
Derrick's face darkens. Cindy shifts uncomfortably.
She tries to recover. "Logan, I didn't realize you were so petty. I'm disappointed."
I raise an eyebrow. "You did just hear him make fun of me for being poor, right? Maybe you should worry less about me and more about your boyfriend, who's about to lose his law license."
I take a slow sip of my drink, watching as her confidence crumbles.
Derrick, realizing Cindy is completely failing, tries one last jab.
"I will be fine, Logan. Don't worry about me and mine. You just keep doing your little security job. Isn't that a bit pathetic? Weren't you, like, valedictorian at one point? What happened to being smart?"
I smirk. "I don't know. Protecting people from entitled assholes like you seems like the smart thing to do."
The table erupts into laughter.
Derrick's face reddens.
Cindy looks like she swallowed a lemon.
I level a look at Derrick. "Blow it out your ass, Derrick, and take your, uh, *girlfriend* with you."