Chasing Impossible (Pushing the Limits #5)(85)

“There has to be another way for Abby to get out of drug dealing than for her to disappear,” I rephrase the statement from before. “Another way that doesn’t mean her leaving.”

Isaiah stays silent and it’s the kind that’s like being at the end of the funeral and nobody wants to leave. He’s losing his sister. I’m losing the girl I’m in love with. Unless we come up with a better solution, to love her is to let her go.

Abby

Grams has been asleep a lot longer than I’d care to admit and I close the book. For years I kept her a secret. I told stories, manipulated, and lied to keep her safe and now I’m abandoning her because I don’t want to sell drugs anymore. Because Dad can’t guarantee I’m safe within my organization. Because I don’t want to be deeper than I already am and by doing this I’ll lose everything I love.

There’s no such thing as happy, just the idea of happy.

I place the book on the table and walk out onto the front porch. Isaiah and Logan were both sitting and they stand when the see me. I already tried to say goodbye to Isaiah and Logan once. Both of those moments sucked. Now knowing I’ll have to do it again and that neither of them will be chasing...

I shove my hands in my pockets to will away the pain then force a smile in Logan’s direction. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“You move your feet, so do I. We travel from one place to another. A walk. Girls do it. I’ve seen them. They gather together at a house and then walk around the neighborhood. I always wanted to do that—just walk.”

Most girls never wanted to walk with me—the drug dealer’s daughter.

Logan offers me his hand and I take it, feeling a bit giddy and a bit silly as I slip my hand into his. I like Logan’s hand. It’s warm and strong and a bit rough in places yet soft in others.

The summer day is warm, but not nearly as oppressive as the morning had promised it would be. Hard to believe that earlier today I was eating breakfast with people I feel comfortable claiming as friends and had hope of having a real life with and now I’m on the verge of being the person who will once again disappear.

“Will you miss me?” I ask.

Logan’s fingers tighten around mine. “Yes.”

“Sometimes, when I was younger, I used to pretend Dad was an accountant. It’s what I told people he did and then it became a fantasy. That when he was gone, he was at some high-level accountant conference, because they do those things, right? But I loved the idea. The strong guy sporting a pocket protector and then he came home to have turkey and stuffing with pie every night for dinner. Some kids dreamed of beaches or some video game thing. I wanted dinner and accounting.”

“My dad works on a factory line,” he says. “It’s a good job. He works hard for not enough pay, but it’s enough to take care of me and him. He’s tired all the time. Works third shift since it pays more. Mom is a manager at one of those organic foods/new age places.”

I smile at the thought of the people behind producing Logan. “Your mom and dad sound different.”

“Night and day. Mom would have loved you.”

“And your dad?”

“Loves me.”

“Nice nonanswer,” I say and Logan chuckles.

“You remind me a lot of my mom,” he says.

My forehead wrinkles. “Never say that to a girl again, Logan. That is if you want to get laid.”

“If you met her, you’d understand that’s a compliment. People are naturally drawn to her and she dates guys half her age.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Mom’s eccentric.”

“So I’m eccentric?” It’s a pretty word for weird, but he has me.

He circles me and then plants his hands on my hips. “Very.”

His hands feel right on my body and my heart thumps. I lick my lips thinking of him kissing me and this gravity that exists only around him attempts to drag us closer, but I don’t know how I’ll say goodbye if I let him as near as he’s been for the past few nights. It’s like he’s already imprinted on my soul and withdrawals are going to suck.

I twist and duck to move around him, hating the loss of his touch. “Now, now, Logan. I have a reputation to protect in this neighborhood. People around here think I’m respectable.”

Logan glances around at the old houses as if he’s trying to guess as to what the people inside look like. “Do they?”

“Yep, I told them I run a food bank.”

“You did?”

“Nope.” My thirty seconds of playfulness fades away. “They all think I’m just like my father, but I’m going to do better than him. I’m going to get out and stay out.”

We continue to walk and ahead is a park. The sound of little kids screaming and laughing echo along to us down the street. Dad used to take me there. So did Grams. Sometimes when I felt too heavy after selling I would sit by myself in the dark and swing, pretending to be six and carefree and not a teenager who was drowning.

“Want to swing me?” I ask.

“Sure.” Logan stops walking and my heart aches because he has that expression on his face. The one that says he hears someone calling him home and that it’s time to stop playing.

“Please keep walking,” I say.