Toxic: Logan's Story (Torn #4)(73)

I ran my hand against Jade’s still flat stomach and smiled. Yeah, I’d found my happily ever after.



The End





Coming Fall 2014





Chapter One


My feet were killing me. All I wanted to do was go home, take a shower, and crawl into bed. Work had been brutal tonight.

I’d worked at the same diner for almost two years, but up until last week, I’d only been part-time. The day after I’d graduated from Morgantown High School, I’d switched to full-time.

I didn’t mind waitressing, not really, but my body was still getting used to being on the move constantly. The diner, a small family-owned business, was always busy with the same customers. Most of them knew me by now and usually tipped well. We had a few college kids come in from time to time, but they usually went to one of the more popular spots in Morgantown. I didn’t mind because they were normally the ones who would leave crappy tips.

I pulled into the driveway of my foster parents’ house and yawned. I hoped they were asleep. My foster dad, Rick, was an * to me most of the time. The only reason he kept me and the other foster kids around was because of the nice checks he would receive for taking care of us. I knew my time here would be up soon. Today was my eighteenth birthday. Hopefully, my foster dad wouldn’t remember. I didn’t feel like getting kicked out of the only place I had to go tonight. My foster mom, Tammy, wasn’t as bad as Rick. She was even nice at times, but her fear of Rick’s temper would keep her from defending any of the kids. Rick wasn’t abusive physically, but when his temper got the best of him, he would go on a rampage that rivaled a three-year-old’s. Tammy had learned long ago to lock up anything breakable.

I’d been in twelve different foster homes since I was three. Tammy and Rick’s house wasn’t the best, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. I shuddered as I thought about my last two houses. Yeah, I could deal with Rick’s * ways. I didn’t give a gigglef*ck about Rick’s temper as long as he didn’t try to touch me.

I climbed out of my piece-of-shit car and headed for the house. My car was the only thing I truly owned. I’d saved every penny I could and purchased it two months ago. I’d paid six-hundred dollars for it, and I’d definitely gotten what I paid for. It was a 1989 Chevy Impala. The body was rusted out in several places. The rear fender was an ugly green color while the rest of the car was a faded red. It was the ugliest Christmas-themed car I’d ever seen. It was the ugliest car I’d ever seen, period. But it would get me from point A to point B most of the time. Sadly, it wasn’t even legal, and I didn’t have the extra cash to get everything I needed to make it so.

Once I reached the house, I stuck my key in the lock and turned it. I frowned when the door didn’t unlock. I pulled the key out, thinking that maybe I’d shoved it in backward, so I tried again. Realization hit me when the lock still wouldn’t turn over. Rick had changed the lock while I was at work.

I sighed in defeat before knocking loudly on the door. Lights turned on in the living room, and then I heard the door unlocking.

Rick opened the door and frowned at me. “Yes?” he asked.

“Um…the door wouldn’t open for me,” I said.

“Probably not. I changed the lock.”

“Why would you do that?” I asked even though I knew the answer.

“You’re eighteen now, Claire. You’re no longer my problem.”

I laughed humorlessly. “Seriously? You’re kicking me out on my birthday?”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” he said without remorse.

“Can I at least get my clothes and stuff?”

He shrugged. “Make it quick.”

He moved out of the way, and I hurried past him toward the room I shared with Shelly. She was a foster kid, too. She’d been here when I arrived. She was only ten, but I’d found myself gravitating toward her from the beginning. We would look out for each other. I hated to think about her being here alone. I was pretty sure I was the only person in this house who cared about her. I passed by the boys’ bedroom on the way to my room. There were four foster kids here total—Shelly, me, and two boys. Kevin was thirteen, and Jerimiah was eight. I wasn’t as close to them as I was to Shelly, but I would still miss them as well.

I opened the door to my room and flipped on the light switch. Shelly was sound asleep in the bottom bunk. I moved around the room quietly, shoving my clothes and personal items into the suitcase I’d carried around since I was first put into foster care. It didn’t take me long to pack. I had very few clothes and even less personal items. My eyes misted as I picked up the only thing I had left of my mom—a locket. I opened it up to see the tiny picture of her and me. I was only a few months old in the photo.

My mom had been killed in a car accident right before I turned three. Her parents were also dead, and no one knew who my father was. With no family to take me in, I had been thrown into the foster system.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember my mother. As always, nothing came to me, except the way she had smelled. That was all I knew about her—that she’d smelled like strawberries. I closed the locket and slipped it into my jeans pocket. Once it was tucked safely away, I closed my suitcase and glanced down at Shelly. I hated to wake her up, but I couldn’t leave without saying good-bye.