Toxic: Logan's Story (Torn #4)(29)

Me: Asshole.

Drake: Love you, too. :P

I rolled my eyes and shoved my phone into my pocket.

“You could have stayed,” I mumbled once the house disappeared from sight.

“I could have, but I didn’t want to. What I do want is to spend the summer getting to know you better.” He didn’t look at me when he spoke, obviously unsure of how I’d respond to his words.

I leaned across the console and kissed his cheek. “I want to get to know you better, too.”

I had no idea how long we would be in Tennessee. If things went my way, I’d probably spend most of my time off with my sister. Otherwise, we’d probably be back here in a week. Regardless of how long the vacation was, I wanted to spend it with him.

Let the fun begin, I thought as we hit the interstate.





I’d spent so much time traveling over the past year that being in a car didn’t even faze me. When we’d toured the summer before last, I’d been climbing the walls of the bus to get out. At least, I had been in my head. I never let the guys know when something was bothering me. Being the only chick in the band, I always felt like I had to make sure that I fit in. That was stupid because I’d been with the guys for years, but a part of me—a teeny-tiny part—was afraid that they’d decide they were better off with all guys, and then they’d leave me behind.

Now, traveling was my norm. Where I should have felt confined by the small interior of Logan’s car, I felt only comfort and security instead. Despite just waking up and trying my hardest to keep my eyes open, I slipped into a peaceful oblivion less than an hour after we’d left the house.

I awoke when the car door slammed. I opened my eyes to see Logan pumping gas. I frowned when I realized that he’d paid for the gas. From the very beginning, I’d told him that I would pay for everything on this trip, and I’d meant it. I didn’t want him to waste his hard-earned money on stuff for me even if it was only gas.

Logan finished filling the car and climbed back in. He smiled when he noticed that I was awake. Before he could say anything, I grabbed the gas receipt out of his hand.

“Hey!”

“I told you I didn’t want you to pay for anything on this trip. It’s because of me that we’re doing this, and I won’t let you waste your money on me,” I said as I shoved the receipt into my pocket.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s just gas, Jade.”

“I don’t care. I’ll pay you back when I can get to an ATM.”

While I knew Logan wouldn’t be hanging out at the local homeless shelter anytime soon, I also knew that he was barely making enough to cover bills and food. I’d been in the same situation before I moved to L.A. I didn’t want him to waste a dime on me.

“Where are we?” I finally asked.

He pulled out of the gas station’s parking lot. “Just south of Princeton, West Virginia. We’ll be in Virginia soon.”

“Dang, how long did I sleep?”

“Only a couple of hours. You can go back to sleep if you want. I know you’re tired.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine now. I feel wide awake.”

“Okay. Mind if I turn on some music?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He reached over and turned on the radio. We heard static for a split second before he pushed the CD button. I winced when I heard the beginning of a country song. I’d forgotten that he liked country music.

“Bleh,” I muttered as the song filled the car.

He laughed. “What? You don’t like ‘Country Boy’?”

“You know I hate country. My ears are already bleeding,” I joked.

“Oh, come on. It’s better than that screaming shit Amber, Chloe, and you seem to like.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not screaming shit. It’s rock. So, I take it you don’t like my band’s music?”

He shook his head. “I like your songs. Drake doesn’t scream like an idiot when he sings them.”

I frowned. Logan would hate the new album we were working on. There was more than one song that had Drake screaming. We’d tried a few of them on the bus to make sure that Drake could get the vocals right, and he had. I was excited to start working on them. The guitars were faster, but the drums carried those songs. To perfect the songs we’d created, I’d be playing harder than I ever had.

“What’s wrong? If the music is that bad, I’ll turn it off.”

“It’s not that. I’m just realizing how different we are. I live and breathe the music you hate.”

“I don’t hate all of it. Pick a few of your favorite songs, and play them on your phone. I’ll tell you what I think.”

I nodded as I tried to think of a few songs that had stuck with me. I knew my favorite—The Amity Affliction’s “Open Letter”—wouldn’t go over well with him, so I decided not to play it. Once I figured out what I wanted him to hear, I pulled up one of the songs on my phone.

“Okay, listen to this one,” I said as I pushed play.

We were both silent as we listened to Chevelle’s “The Red.” This song meant more to me than he realized. It was an older song, one that I’d heard when I was still living at home. The bullying, the anger—it all played out in this song, like it was the anthem to my life then. I hoped that he could understand why I’d played this song.