Chasing Impossible (Pushing the Limits #5)(69)

I do some math in my head, calculating how many carbs I’m about to put in my body, dig out my insulin from the cooler, and measure out my dosage. I stand, yank my shirt that had been sticking to me over my head, toss it to the ground, then inject the insulin into my arm.

I toss the needle and garbage into a container I keep for this shit, sink to the ground and open the jar of peanut butter I brought with me. Protein. Protein is what will keep me from tanking.

Like I’m a science experiment, everyone gawks. I’m brewing as if I am some chemistry lab beaker over a flame and I stab the spoon in the jar harder than needed.

“I thought diabetics had to take their shots in the stomachs,” Chris says.

I mumble through a glob of peanut butter, “You can use the arm, too.”

They’re staring. Every single one of them.

“Do you need a break?” Ryan asks. “If so—”

“Not any more than any of you. I have diabetes, not cancer. My body doesn’t make insulin so I have to shoot it into my body through a needle. That’s it.”

Each of them look away, chewing slowly because I’m not who they know anymore. I’m diabetic—that’s what I am to them now, what I’ll always be.

“Bet you can’t reach that bird’s nest,” says Abby.

My head jerks up and I glance around, wondering who she was talking to. My heart stops when her hazel eyes remain on me. A breeze blows over the pasture and it lifts several pieces of her long chestnut hair. Abby’s testing me...she could be saving me, but I don’t understand why.

“What?”

Abby points one finger up. “There’s a bird’s nest. Up there. I want to know if there are baby birds in it or eggs or something like that because baby birds are cute and I like cute. I was going to ask you to do it and then I thought, nope, that’s way too high. Even too high for you. But then I thought, naw, Logan’s just crazy enough to do it.”

I take my time, eating the spoon of peanut butter, then assess the challenge set in front of me. The nest is high up. Almost to the roof of the barn, but there are a ton of low-hanging branches and most of them appear sturdy.

“Thanks, Abby,” says Chris. “Now Junior’s going to do it.”

Can’t help but like the familiarity of Chris’s nickname for me—liking the slight feel of normal it gives. Chris first used it in middle school as a harassment to remind me I’m a year younger than he and Ryan. After a few months though, it lost its sting and became a part of who I am for him.

“It’s high up.” Ryan crunches on an apple, and I spot the spark in his eye.

“It is.” I clean off my spoon then drop it back into the plastic bag. “Think you could climb it, boss man?”

Ryan takes another large bite then tosses the apple away from us. “Bet I can do it faster.”

I choke on the laugh. “Bet you can’t.”

We both stand, fully aware the dare is on. Ryan flips his baseball cap backwards and I toss mine to the ground. Ryan’s a pitcher. Can throw faster than anyone I know. He’s all shoulders and upper body. We’re built similar, but this kid is a machine.

Abby claps. “It’s like my own version of Gladiator. Now, go fetch me a baby bird.”

Ryan and I stand near the tree, me on one side, him on the other.

“First one to touch the limb with the nest?” I confirm.

Ryan nods. “Count it down, Chris. Not unless you want to join us.”

“I’m good,” Chris says.

I smile and Ryan does, too. Chris hates heights, but other than that, he’s always interested in joining us in a good dare.

“Chris is just sore because he’s on a losing streak,” I say. “Doesn’t want to get further behind as I continue to win.”

“Kiss my ass, Junior.”

I chuckle. “Waiting on that countdown.”

“Both of you are crazy,” he mumbles. “And when you fall to your deaths, I’m using the bulldozer to shove your bodies into a ditch. On your mark...”

I do a quick study of the tree and before I can completely formulate my path up, Chris yells, “Go.”

Damn. Ryan springs up and I do, too. I kick off the side of the tree and grab the first thick low branch. I swing up, get my footing and jump to grab the next. The tree shakes as me and Ryan navigate through the fragile limps, thick foliage, all while trying to beat the other.

Ryan doesn’t like to lose and I don’t like losing to Ryan. There’s a mean streak in me that likes to see the kid squirm. With each jump, every pull up, that adrenaline that I crave pumps through my body. Leaves fall into my hair, small sticks bounce off my face. Below us, people call out our names, clap, cheer us on, but it’s Abby’s voice that’s driving me to go faster, higher and then the nest is within sight.

Another push off with my legs, a reach of my arm and right as I smack my hand on the branch so does another hand and I immediately call the win. “Got here first.”

“No way, Logan. That win was mine.”

“Who won?” I call down.

Both of our names are shouted back up to us, and declaring it a draw is never an option for Ryan. He wants a win and he wants a win that’s decisive. “We do it again.”

The way his eyes bore into me, there’s no doubt what he sees—me, his friend, the guy he hates losing to. “Fine, we do it again and I’ll kick your ass again.”