Chasing Impossible (Pushing the Limits #5)(73)

“I’m scared he’d be right on me, too,” I say. “I’m not sure I know who I am, either.”

“You’re a girl who likes bunnies.”

I smile at that and let the back of my head rest on his chest. “Not a bad start.”

“No, it’s not.”

I pull back from Logan and my fingers trace along his bicep where he had given himself a shot at lunch then along his stomach where I had seen him give himself a shot before dinner.

How cruel is fate to bring me and Logan together? A girl whose lifestyle will kill her and a boy who can’t exchange the health hand he’s been dealt. “Does it hurt? The shots I mean?”

“I’m used to it.”

Not really an answer, yet it is at the same time. “I have a ton of questions. Besides movies and TV, I don’t understand diabetes at all. Like what’s the difference between type 1 and type 2? Why do I see you eat sweets—like are you cheating? Which I’m okay with unless chocolate cake can kill you then we’ve got a problem. And how do you know how to test and give yourself shots? And are you going to be okay?”

“Do you mind breathing between those questions? It might help me keep up.”

I scowl and Logan attempts to smother a smile.

“Movies and TV often get it wrong. With type 1, my body no longer produces insulin. With type 2, the body doesn’t use the insulin it produces properly. I’m allowed to eat sugar, I just got to watch how much. I can explain testing and my shots as I go. As long as I take care of myself, I’ll be fine.” Logan links our fingers together. “And we’ve got time for me to answer all of the questions running through your head.”

I search his eyes. Never once did Logan look away. His body didn’t twitch. His movements weren’t off. He means all that he says and more importantly, he truly believes he’ll be fine. Good because I can’t stand the idea of losing him.

I inhale. Five days, four minus today. Four days away from Grams, four days being MIA from Ricky, Linus, and my clients, four days’ loss of money.

I breathe out. Four days to possibly fix my crumbling life. Four days to figure out how to handle Tommy and Linus and Ricky. Four days to figure out how to salvage what’s left of the Abby I want to be. Four days to explore who I want to be. “Okay.”

Logan flashes that gorgeous, crazy smile then tugs on my hand. “Come on, but be quiet.”

“Why?”

“I saw the look on your face when Chris asked you to drive the tractor. I bet you don’t know how to drive one.”

I raise my chin at his forever arrogant assumptions. “I’m a smart girl and can figure it out.”

“You’re smart.” And his grin only grows. “But it doesn’t mean you know how to drive a tractor. It also doesn’t mean that you had the forethought to steal the keys from Chris.”

I mock gasp and place a hand over my mouth. “Stealing? Logan, are you suggesting that we do something illegal?”

“You want to learn or not?” Logan opens his palm in front of my face and keys dangle from his fingers. “You’re going to be cranky when you can’t start that puppy up and go.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“Then you’re mad an awful lot, aren’t you?”

“Then you’re mad an awful lot, aren’t you?” I sarcastically mimic.

Logan tugs on my hand again and I go with him because...I don’t know how to drive very well, and I especially don’t know how to drive a tractor...and because, right now, I’d probably go anywhere this strong hand leads.

We walk through the yard and a dozen bunnies gloriously spring out of our way. Bunnies surrounding me, a hot guy holding my hand, and I’m pretty sure tractor theft in my future. Life can’t get much better than this.

Logan

Green corn stalks fly at us and Abby squeals in a combination of delight and horror. I reach around her and one-eighty the tractor. It’s tough to do with her on my lap, but can’t say I’m not enjoying Abby being this close.

One of those barn bunnies hopped in front of Abby and the result was a detour through the cornfield. A huge grin spreads across my face and Abby laughs as pieces of green stalks fall down around us like rain.

Abby’s laughing as she helps me maneuver the huge machine away from the corn and back into the empty pasture. She has a magical laugh, a light laugh, one that I could listen to for the rest of my life.

“Good thing Chris put up the dairy cows otherwise we’d be offering steak for dinner,” I say loud enough for her to hear. She elbows me just enough to nudge me, but not enough to hurt.

“Better cow than bunny croquets.”

We’ve been driving for the past half hour and she caught on quick. Turning the big wheel with me, pressing the clutch when we have to shift, and resisting the urge to use the clutch as a brake when she wants to slow.

The tractor climbs a hill and when we reach the top, I put my hand over

Abby’s to show her how to take the tractor out of gear, into Park, and turn it off. It’s deafening when the loud engine rumbles off and the only sounds remaining are Abby’s leftover tingling giggles.

Abby giggling. Feels like a gift.

Abby slides off me and onto her feet on the ground and I follow. Like me, Abby wears jeans. The day was scorching, the night is humid, but being out on the farm requires pants. Too many things out and about that can scratch the hell out of your legs.