Chasing Impossible (Pushing the Limits #5)(71)

“Are you saying that because you feel sorry for him?” I blurt, irritated that he thinks he has the right to voice an opinion on my life. Like what Logan confessed to him regarding me was Logan’s business to share. “Because Logan admitted he has diabetes you want me to pity him?”

Chris works his jaw. “I’m saying it because he cares about you, but if you can’t get past what he told us, maybe you shouldn’t give him a break. Maybe I should drive you back to Louisville now.”

I wither, but Chris doesn’t see it because he strides off. I don’t know Chris that well. I only know Ryan and him through the occasional time Logan has brought me along to participate in whatever craziness he was interested in doing with Ryan and Chris. Pissing off my host, not my plan.

Logan shoves his shirt hard into his backpack and my head falls back. Pissing off Logan because he overhead that little conversation with Chris was most definitely not in the plan.

He snatches his stuff off the ground and stalks for the door.

“You think you’re the one that gets to be mad?” I demand. “You betrayed what I told you and then I find out you’ve been lying to me the entire time.”

Logan rounds on me, anger blaring from his eyes. “How is keeping my diabetes a secret any different from keeping your grandmother a secret from us? From me?”

“Diabetes is something inside you. Something you can’t change. Something that I’m guessing could kill you.”

“Like dealing drugs won’t kill you? At least you have a choice. I don’t. And so you know, diabetes isn’t cancer or a death sentence. My pancreas doesn’t produce insulin so I inject some into my body to make up for it.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

“You’re right, it’s not, but excuse the f*ck out of me if I don’t want to be known as the boy with diabetes. The broken boy everyone feels sorry for and does things for because of pity.”

My words being flung back at me hurt. A sharp knife cutting into me over and over again. “I was mad. I didn’t mean what I said to Chris. This isn’t about pity or feeling sorry for you. You didn’t trust me!”

“You didn’t trust me, either!” Logan shouts then circles away from me. His chest expands and deflates at a rapid pace and he tosses his pack to the ground.

He threads his fingers behind his head and yells, “Dammit!”

I don’t flinch with his anger. Maybe because I’m just as mad, maybe because I’m too numb to emotion, maybe because I know Logan would never hurt me. Logan paces. Back and forth and each pass is less hurried than before. Finally, he halts in the middle of the barn and drops his arms to his sides.

Besides the cooing of a few pigeons in the rafters, the barn is quiet, but heavy. Filled with all the words I don’t know how to say, emotions I’m not sure how to feel.

“I did trust you,” I say, softly. “When it counted, you are the one I told about Grams. I trusted you to take care of what I love the most.”

Logan blows out an audible breath. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Me, too. I study Logan under the dim light. His shirt is off, his muscles flexed in tense emotion. He’s beautiful and strong and I trust him more than I trust anyone else. Have been honest with him more than I’ve been honest with anyone else, even myself.

Would I have looked upon Logan differently if I had known from the beginning he had diabetes? I purse my lips. Wish I could say I’m a better person, but I’ve never claimed to be good. Odds are I would have second-guessed him—would have wondered if he could have really kept up with me and Isaiah.

Knowing Logan like I do, he would have eventually proved himself, but that’s the problem—why should Logan have to prove himself because of the shitty hand his genetics dealt him?

“I did it for you,” Logan says to the dirt floor. “I told everyone about my diabetes for you. I risked my best friendships, risked changing how they think of me, for you. I knew telling them about your grandmother would hurt you so I made them mad at me. To make it fair between us—I told them my secret. So thanks, for what you did today. For distracting them after my shot. Just...thanks.”

Logan grabs his bag again and shame heats my face and it’s not an emotion I’m used to. It’s a sickening feeling and I’m experiencing it because I’ve hurt Logan’s pride. “Logan.”

But he ignores me.

“Logan!” And when he won’t stop, I fall into step with him and place my fingers on his bicep. “Logan, please stop.”

He does, halting so quickly that I almost ram into him. We’re at the barn door and he stares out into the night.

Logan’s done what I wanted, but I’m paralyzed. Talking, convincing people to stay, giving words to my emotions—that’s not something I’m used to. Not something I’m sure how to do. “I was mad...at Chris for stepping in and...I am mad...at you...for telling everyone...but then I’m not...and...”

“Be quiet, Abby.”

He’s angry. Logan should be angry. I cut him down...proved why he never wanted to share what he did... I thought leaving him or him leaving me was what I desired, but there’s this desperation I can’t shake. “Just listen...this isn’t easy...”

“I mean it,” he says in a harsh whisper. “Stop talking.”