Chasing Impossible (Pushing the Limits #5)(49)

“Abby,” I try again and she keeps going.

“They gave her the wrong meds, they gave her too many meds, they didn’t give her enough meds, they tried to put her on things she didn’t need, doctors we didn’t request came, doctors we did need never showed, they let her piss and shit all over herself and wouldn’t clean her for hours. If I didn’t show up daily, they wouldn’t have even changed her clothes. They would have left her to rot with bedsores.

“She cried, Logan, every time I was there. Not understanding why I locked her up in that place, why I left her with people who yelled, who left her in the dark, and she begged me over and over again to bring her home so I did. I did what I had to do and I brought my grandmother home because they treat animals in zoos better than they treated my grandmother.”

God help for saying the following. “They aren’t all like that. The place my grandfather was at, it wasn’t like that.”

“I know.” The weariness in her tone only underscores the burden she carries. “But I’ll bet you the money hanging out in my cubby those places are filled and, in the end, I can’t take that risk.”

A cloud must have passed over the moon as the light streaming in through the blinds fades and then strikes Abby again.

I state the obvious. “You need an out.”

“There is no out.” She motions with her chin to the hand I still hold the pain meds in. “Except for stuff like what you hold in your hand. My job is a testament to that. Lots of people find an out in a high, but that’s not really an out, that’s just another form of pretending your reality is different.”

My stomach knots. “I care about you.” And from that kiss, she cares about me.

“None of this changes anything. I sell drugs and I refuse to hang around any of you anymore. There is nothing you are going to say or do to change my mind.”

I roll my neck as it tenses. “You care about me.”

“Yes,” she admits. “But I care about Grams more.”

I respect that. Drives me further to discover the out she needs. I leave the water bottle on the nightstand then dump the pill back into the bottle. “Still don’t think you’re capable of being a junkie.”

“I’ve learned that none of us are really aware what we’re capable of until we’re confronted with the options.”

The bunny I gave Abby at the hospital, the one she kept tight in the crook of her arm as she slept, sits on the dresser. I pick it up and pull the covers down. Abby tilts her head as she smirks. “Am I two?”

I smirk right back at her. “Two-year-olds are easier.”

That gains her genuine smile and she slips her legs under the covers then settles so that she’s lying down. “Remember that time when you snuck into my room night after night during third grade and stayed with me because you were scared of the monsters under your bed? We stayed up late and read comic books under the covers.”

“I didn’t sneak in because I was afraid.” I hand Abby the bunny and try to imagine what it would have been like to be friends with Abby when we were younger. Considering I’ve always been gasoline and Abby’s a raging inferno, we would have been the elementary school version of Bonnie and Clyde. “I snuck in because I liked hanging out with you.”

Abby’s fingers circle my wrist. “I’m going to miss you.”

She’s given up, but she doesn’t know that I haven’t. That Isaiah hasn’t and that when West and Rachel hear the news, I’d bet my left ball they won’t give up, either. I kiss her lips, softly, briefly and it aches how tenderly she kisses me back.

I caress her face with my thumb. “You need to rest. Your wounds aren’t healed and you’re still weak from the blood loss. Take it slow, and do me a favor, stay out of trouble.”

“Why not ask me to stop breathing? That could be easier,” she mumbles as she turns away from me, folding into a fetal position, that bunny cradled in her arms. “I’ll see you around, Logan. Guess when school starts.”

A month away. And she thinks that means from across a crowded room. Abby couldn’t be more wrong. I don’t bother saying anything as I walk out the door because Abby will be seeing me a lot sooner than she thinks.

Abby

Denny slides a Styrofoam container in my direction and I smile when I spot pancakes. I love pancakes. Love. It’s practically cake for breakfast with a bonus of syrup. Because one thing is going right this month, the pancakes are warm and there’s bacon.

“I can’t believe nobody married you.” Using the plastic fork, I cut up the big pieces of fluffy goodness.

Denny choke-laughs as he digs into his eggs on the other side of the nicked bar from me. “Who says I’m not?”

“My bad. I forgot about that heiress you married that has a summer home in the Alps. We should visit her soon. It’s been forever since we’ve been skiing.”

“You don’t even know what skis look like,” he says.

I half laugh. I do know what skis look like, yet I don’t.

It’s nine in the morning and Denny’s bar is empty. It’s a hole-in-the-wall that’s situated toward the end of the aging strip mall in the neighborhood where I do my business. It’s sticky floors, old tables and chairs, a pool table, neon signs at night for light and lots and lots of alcohol for people who have been ridden hard by life.